“But Rufus, he’s a primitive soul. He wants something to cling to—which is what immortals never can have, right? He’s gone through a dozen Christian faiths. Last time he got converted was at a Baptist revival, and. a lot of it still clings to him. Both before and after the war he took seriously what he kept hearing about the white race’s right and duty to lord it over the colored.”
Tarrant chuckled unmerrily. “Besides, he’s been without a woman since we left Santa Fe. It was a terrible disappointment to him when he found on the Staked Plains that Co-manche women don’t free-and-easy receive outsiders like they do, or used to do, farther north. There must be a white woman or two in yonder cabin. He doesn’t imagine he lusts after them himself—oh, he wouldn’t dream of anything except being respectful and gallant and getting adoring looks—but the thought of redskin after redskin on them seems to be more than he can bear.”
“He may have to,” Peregrine said.
“Yes, he may.” Tarrant grimaced. “I must admit I don’t relish it, nor the idea of ransoming them with guns. I’m not quite as case-hardened as … I must behave.”
“I think nothing will happen for hours.”
“Good. I have to give Quanah my presents, go through any formalities—you’ll advise me, won’t you?—but not right away, hm? Let’s walk on. We’ve a lot of talking to do, you and me. Three thousand years’ worth.”
WARRIORS GATHERED around. Now they were still, in wildcat dignity, for this was a ceremonial occasion. The westering sun cast gleams over obsidian hair and mahogany skin; on the eastern side it lit flames in eyes.
Between the ranks, before his tipi, Quanah received Tar-rant’s gifts. He made a speech in his father’s language, lengthy and doubtless full of imagery in his fathers’ wise. Standing by the visitor, Peregrino said in English when it was done: “He thanks you, he calls you friend, and tomorrow morning you will pick out of his horses whichever you like best. That is generous for a man on the warpath:”
“I know,” Tarrant said. To Quanah, in Spanish: “My thanks to you, great chief. May I ask a favor, in the name of the friendship you so kindly give us?”
Herrera, in the front row though well back, started, tautened, and squinted. Tarrant hadn’t stopped by him upon returning, but had collected his presents and gone straight here. Word flew quickly about, and when he saw the braves assemble, Herrera came for politeness and wariness.
“You may ask,” said Quanah, impassive.
“I wish to buy free those folks you hold trapped. They are useless to you. Why should you spend more time and men on them? We will take them away with us. In exchange we will pay a good price.”
A stir went through the Comanches, a rustle, a buzz. Those who understood whispered to those who had not. Hands tightened on hafts, here and there on a firearm.
A man near the chief uttered a string of harsh words. He was gaunt, scarred, more deeply lined in the face than was common even for aged Indians. Others near him muttered as if in agreement. Quanah lifted a hand for attention and told Tarrant, “Wahaawmaw says we have our fallen to avenge.”
“They fell, uh, honorably.”
“He means all our fallen, through all the years and lifetimes, deathtimes we have suffered.”
“I didn’t think you people—thought that way.”
“Wahaawmaw was a boy in that camp where the Tejanos took Quanah’s mother,” Peregrino related. “He found cover and escaped, but they shot down his own mother, brother, two little sisters. A while back he lost his wife and a small son; the soldiers were using a howitzer. The same has happened, different places, to many who are here.”
“I’m sorry,” Tarrant said to any who would listen. “But those people yonder had nothing to do with that, and— well, I carry plenty of fine things like those I’ve given your chief. Wouldn’t you rather have them than a few stinking scalps?”
Wahaawmaw claimed the right to speak. He went on for minutes, snarling, hissing, flinging up his hands and crying aloud to heaven. Anger answered in a surf-noise. When he was done and had folded his arms, Peregrino scarcely needed to translate: “He calk this an insult. Shall the Ner-mernuh sell their victory for blankets and booze? They’ll take more loot than they can carry off the Tejanos, and the scalps as well.”