News of the World(11)

She stopped and held up her hand. She was looking ahead.

He twitched the long reins and Fancy stopped. Behind them Pasha pointed his ears ahead and suddenly called out in a long, ringing cry.

Captain Kidd pulled out the revolver and once again checked his loads. All dry. He laid it beside him on the floorboards next to the wagon seat on the left side and covered it with a canvas-wrapped flitch of bacon. He reminded himself that the .38 cartridges were hidden in the flour keg.

After a few moments he heard the sound of about ten horses, and the jingling of bits and saddle gear. Their shod hooves clicked on the stones of the road. A company of U.S. Army mounted infantry rode into view a quarter of a mile down the road.

He jumped down and grabbed the girl by the upper arm. He made the sign for “good” in front of her face. They were on one of the few straight and level stretches between all the thick post oak and the soldiers came toward him and Johanna in a unit of blue and of flashing well-shined leather, appearing out of the trees like ghost soldiers. He turned her to him and made the sign for “friend.” She had turned the color of pastry. Her lips were trembling. He led her to the wagon wheel and lifted her so that she put one bare foot on a spoke and then sprang up into the wagon bed and sank down in a welter of skirts and loose hair. She pulled the thick wool jorongo over her head. He came up after her, sat down on the driver’s seat, unwrapped the reins from the driver’s post.

It’s all right, Johanna. Johanna?

He knew she thought he was going to hand her over to the Army. That this was probably an arranged meeting.

The man in front was a lieutenant; his shoulder insignia with the double bars winked in the dim light. Therefore it was a regular patrol trotting up and down the road on the south side of the Red looking for signs of raiders crossing over although with the flooding it was unlikely. They all carried the squareback Navy Colt five-shot revolvers that looked as big as pork hams in their holsters and the .56 caliber Colt carbines, also standard issue for the wild country.

The lieutenant called for the column to halt and then rode alongside and said, Good day. The ten men behind him kicked their feet out of the stirrups to relieve their knees and some took the opportunity to drink from canteens. At the rear their pack mules brayed at his horses in long demented shrieks like train whistles.

Good day, said the Captain.

The lieutenant looked over the wagon and saw the girl on the floor of the wagon bed just behind the Captain, her expression of stiffened fright, or even terror. She was as close to the Captain’s revolver as she could get. She slid out her hand and grasped the butt where it lay hidden under the flitch of bacon, her hand and arm covered in the red wool serape.

The young lady seems very disturbed, said the lieutenant. There was surprise in his voice, suspicion.

She was a captive, said the Captain. I’m returning her to her people in Castroville, Bexar County. He handed over the Agent’s papers.

I’d like to have a look at her, said the lieutenant. He read through the papers. The Agent’s handwriting was very good, very clear. He read it easily, the girl’s description, her approximate height and complexion. Then he raised his head. His shoulder bars winked with drops. The river made an endless thunder to their left. They could see it through the trees.

Yes, I’ll try, said the Captain. He settled his hat more firmly on his head and stepped over the back of the wagon seat and grasped the thick red wool and pulled it from her head.

Johanna, he said. Johanna. He patted her shoulder.

Well damn, said the lieutenant. He was taken aback by the flat, wild look on the girl’s face. You’d think she would be happy to be going home.

The Captain stood between Johanna and the lieutenant. He said, They took her at age six. As far as she knows she’s a Kiowa.

I see. Well, I hope you’ll apprise her of the facts. He leaned to one side to see around the Captain and stared at her appraisingly and then bent from his saddle to hand the papers back to the Captain. He said, You’re the man who reads the news.

Yes, I am.

I was there at Fort Belknap when you read.

Glad to hear it.

I don’t suppose you have your loyalty oath papers to show me.

No, I don’t.

Since you are on a sort of official business you will need them. If you voluntarily aided the Confederate Army in any way you will need a certified copy of your loyalty oath.

I did not.

Were your boys in the conflict?

I don’t have any.

Are you armed?

All I have is a twenty-gauge shotgun.

Let me see it.

Captain Kidd drew out the old shotgun and worked the bolt and caught the shell as it flew out. Bird shot. He stood in the wagon bed and handed it over. Johanna had in some way fed her thin body almost completely under the wagon seat and again drew up the thick red wool Mexican blanket over her head. She drew the revolver close to her and stared at the wagon floorboards and listened to every nuance, every tone in the men’s voices. It was clear that the Captain was not going to let them have her. The Army man was a man with a hard voice but now his voice dropped and became more conversational.

How is it charged? the lieutenant said.

Number Seven bird shot.

Can’t do much with that. I suppose it’s all right. The lieutenant handed it back. You don’t carry a rifle or a handgun?

Well hell no, said the Captain. He slid the shotgun back into the wagon bed. I might run into some Comanches and they’d take it away from me. He brought out his tobacco and filled his pipe. They might shoot me with it, he said. He struck a match.