infectious enthusiasm among the settler congregation convinced him that to voice a contrary opinion would be to cry out in the wilderness, a voice lost in the wind.
Mike Shannon said, "Better cinch your saddle up tight, Preacher. We're fixin' to have ourselves a run, 'y God."
But in which direction? Webb wondered. He took some comfort in the knowledge that Caldwell's eighty-seven were only part of the force converging for the fight. It had been reported that Colonel Ed Burleson was on his way up from the Colorado with a large company including Chief Placido and several "Ionkawa Indians, blood enemies of the Comanche. But even so, the invaders would still be greatly superior in number.
Though most of the men favored Caldwell, Old Paint acceded command to Felix Huston, a major general of the Texas army. Under Huston's orders the Texans moved into concealment to await Burleson's arrival. The Indians appeared first, a long, thin column stretching for several miles across the prairie, people and animals moving in and out of the dust like spectral figures, seen a moment, then disappearing.
Shannon said, "They have to know we're somewhere about because they've been trailed the whole way. Talk about arrogant ... they must figure they can swat us away like so many horseflies."
Maybe they can , Webb thought. But he began to take hope. It occurred to him that the Comanches did not seem to know much about large-scale military tactics. They should realize their strung-out column was vulnerable to being flanked, cut, and diced into sections. They must regard themselves as invulnerable because of their number.
Pride goeth before a fall.
He tried to make a rough count of the horses and mules but found it impossible. There might have been two thousand, even three. A considerable number carried plunder the Comanches had acquired in Victoria and Linnville.
Burleson arrived with his men. What caught Webb's attention most was the contingent of Onkawas, all afoot and stripped to no more than breechcloths and moccasins, their bodies painted for war. They wore white cloths tied on their arms so the'Icxans would not mistake them for Comanches in the excitement of battle. Most did not know one Indian from another.
Distant firing indicated that the fight had opened, though Webb could not see the action and had no idea which way the contest might be going. A contingent of Comanches charged upon Webb's group, yelling, firing what rifles they had, loosing arrows that made a peculiar singing sound as they flew. Their initial strategy was clear: to pin down the Texans while the main body escaped with the women and children, the booty-laden horses and mules.
Webb had never seen a more splendid spectacle, savage though it was. One Indian cast aside an umbrella he had carried to shade himself from the sun. He came in a run, waving a war club. On his head was a beaver hat with red ribbon tied around the crown. A ribbon of the same color streamed from his horse's tail. Webb found himself so fascinated, watching, that he did not take aim. The Indian was within twenty yards when someone's rifle brought him down. The beaver hat rolled on the ground. The Indian reached for it, but the wind carried it away. His fingers clawed the ground, and he died.
Shannon shouted, "If you ain't goin' to use that rifle, give it to me."
"I'll tote my load." Webb bore down on a warrior who wore antelope-horn headdress. Hit, the Indian twisted and laid forward on his horse's neck but managed to hold on as the horse galloped away from the fight.
Webb lost sight of the overall battle, for he was concentrating upon his own small part of it. He could hear firing all around him, the exuberant yelling of the Texans sensing victory, the war cries of the Comanches. The Tonkawas, though on foot, charged into the fray with a fury like hell unleashed, slashing, clubbing, scalping their enemies while they still breathed. It was enough to turn Webb's stomach had he not been too busy to
Learning to Kill: Stories