Ralph Compton Comanche Trail by Carlton Stowers Read Free Book Online

had once stood were the skeletal remains of a buckboard, a dark mass leaning against one of its wheels. Moving closer, Taylor was able to make out a human form. The swelled body, tied to the wheel and badly blistered by fire, was that of a man. Arrows protruded from his bared chest. He had been scalped and his tongue cut away.
    Taylor had heard stories of raids on settlers by renegade bands of Kiowas and Comanches. Instead of going quietly onto reservations, they wandered the plains to kill and plunder. But he had never before seen their savagery firsthand. And for the second time in a matter of days, bile welled in his throat and he knew he was going to be sick.
    Afterward, standing in the eerie silence, a gentle breeze swirling the smoke into wispy patterns, he let his eyes roam over what had once been an idyllic setting. Nearby was a creek, ashes settling onto its surface before being carried away.
    It was, he realized, the same stream on which he’d encountered the boy fishing on a day that now seemed a lifetime ago.
    Taylor searched the rubble but found no sign of other family members who had once called the destroyed place home. He assumed they had somehow escaped or, more likely, were carried away by the attackers.
    He mounted Magazine and nudged him toward the water’s edge. Moving slowly along the creek bank, he refrained from calling out for fear Indians might still be nearby. Instead he watched the still-damp ground for signs that someone might have managed to flee from harm. He was hardly a trained tracker, and was surprised when he saw a series of small footprints. Only then did he remember the youngster’s name.
    â€œJakey . . . Jakey Barstow . . . You here, boy? I reckon it’s safe to show yourself. The Indians are long gone.”
    Nearby, bushes rustled and the boy appeared, cold and shivering, the same overalls he’d been wearing days earlier now covered in mud. He was crying as he looked in Taylor’s direction.
    â€œYou here to help me, mister?” he asked.
    â€œReckon I am,” Taylor said, hoping there was reassurance in the sound of his voice. “You here by your lonesome?”
    â€œThey took my ma with them,” Jakey said.
    Taylor extended a hand and pulled the boy onto Magazine’s rump. The two rode in silence toward the campsite where Tater Barclay’s wagon and mare waited.
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    Jakey sat against a tree, wrapped in a flannel shirt Taylor had pulled from his saddlebag, watching as his rescuer hitched the wagon. “Where you heading, mister?”
    â€œHome. And, unless you’re of a mind to stay here, you’re welcome to come along.”
    â€œI don’t want to stay here, that’s for certain.”
    â€œThen I reckon since we’ll be traveling together, you ought to be calling me something ’sides ‘mister.’ Name’s Thaddeus Taylor. Most call me Thad and you can feel free to do the same.”
    â€œIt’s mighty nice to meet you again, Mr. Thad. And I thank you kindly for your willingness to help me. I wasn’t at all sure what I was planning on doing till you came riding up.”
    â€œBest we get on our way. You can ride the horse and trail behind or sit up on the wagon alongside me.”
    Jakey approached Magazine and rubbed his hand along his flank. “If it’s all the same,” he said, “why don’t you relieve him of his saddle and I’ll ride up in the wagon?”
    Taylor, who had spent little time in the company of children, was surprised by the adult manner in which the boy spoke.
    â€œHow old are you, boy?” Taylor said in an attempt to break the silence as they made their way toward the trail.
    â€œI’ll be nine on my next birthday.”
    â€œSeems to me you’re mighty well-spoke for being so young.”
    â€œMy ma’s been teaching me. It was her plan that whenever a town got built and