"Wichita"
Part 11
Please help keep folk's creative stories, it means so much to everybody. https://donate.nifty.org – thank you.
Seeing hurt turning to anger is not good. I am a cowboy. I am Curly and believe me nothing that you hear, and only half of what you see, helps to keep one's mind on things. I'm fairy bright, but right now, one would never know it.
******* The town of Wichita had a buggy used by the mayor for special occasions such as parades and local celebrations. You couldn't mistake the silly thing because it had fringe dangling from the roof, and it was coming straight towards our Preston Ranch.
Driving the buggy was the town Marshall, and beside him sat a hunched over cowboy leaning on a cane. It was Jack.
"Howdy folks, look what I brought from the missing and lost! Let's get him into the house. Jack is still mending from being in the wilds. Take pride in who you are folks, this young man is a remarkable feller," boasted the Marshall.
Jack was quiet and still seated in the buggy. It was evident he was hurting and not moving much. Ma gave Jack a hug, followed by pa, who hugged him also. This was a bit of a shocker because men didn't hug men. They shook hands and that was about it.
I put my hand behind Jack's head and hugged him more passionately, showing affection, regardless of who was looking. I didn't care about onlookers. I only cared that Jack had come home. There is no hiding my emotion. At least I am not good at doing it. At that moment I wanted to dance in the cornfield. When Jack touched me, I became alive once again. I'm speaking the truth of it – and that's the truth.
******* Once inside the house, ma placed another pillow under his arm fussing with pillows making him comfortable.
Jack began talking as we listen to weeks of lost history unfold. "I'm sorry for giving y'all a disappearing scare."
"You should be sorry, I have been shoveling chicken shit for weeks," joked pa, getting a smile from Jack. This was good –very good. It was a tonic. Jack perked up and began to sound like his old self. He even winked at me, and that was as good as being kissed.
He began – "We tracked the robbers to where they had made camp. It wasn't dark yet but they had a fire going. The posse was behind us, so we kept eye on them until it arrived. From there, it was easy. The posse rounded them up without firing a shot, and took them to jail in Wichita. Jensen and I stayed behind until morning. Jensen was tired and fell asleep, and I stoked the fire.
The horses were tied with a short rope to a tree branch, uneasy and hearing something. There must have been a cougar nearby. The horses were pulling on the ropes and before I could get to them, the horse I was riding, pulled away and ran down the trail.
It was dark, I saw that he had stopped and didn't go very far. I didn't realize that I was on the edge of a ravine and slipped, tumbling down the sides over rocks and landing in bushes at the bottom. That's all I remember.
I'm not sure how much time had gone by, but when I opened my eyes a Comanche was standing over me. He was with a hunting party, of peaceful Indians. I heard them talking in Comanche about finding a white man. Peaceful or not, this didn't feel good.
I mumbled, in Comanche, "Help me." And those two words saved me. I am convinced of that.
They took me with them to a Comanche camp, nursing me to where I felt better, but not really good.
My hip was injured from tumbling on the rocks, but nothing seemed to be broken. A medicine man wrapped my arm tightly with cloth after seeing I no longer could move it. The pain was horrible; however after chugging down some powerful herbs, I didn't feel much of anything. I must have slept for a couple of days.
"Oh, dear Lord," ma softly spoke, with a tear in her eye.
As it happed, a local farmer came regularly to trade with the Indians and spotted me.
"Say, young man ain't yuh Jack, the lost tracker, the Marshal was talking about? A while back, a posse came to my place asking if I had seen you. Nope, I didn't see nobody, and they left. Youse is supposed to be dead, or lost or something."
"Yup that me, I was rescued by the Comanche's and been here ever since. I have to get back to Wichita but can't do it.
"You got that right partner. These Comanche's don't let go very easily. If there was something to trade, that would work, - just sayin."
He stood there shaking his head. "That's the truth partner; it looks like you're screwed."
"I have nothing to trade, they already have my horse, and they don't want money."
"Yup, kinda fucked good" added the farmer, being no help at all.
"What did the Indians want for a trade? Guns?" asked pa.
"That's it, but trading rifles with the Indians isn't allowed by the army and the Comanche's knew it. However they would settle for thirty blankets, pots and pans and colored beads.
The farmer went into Wichita the following day to tell the Marshal what he had found. The old scoundrel wanted a hundred dollars for the information, which he got, then pissed it away in the saloon, on liquor and whores.
From there it was easy. Clarence, owner of the General Store donated things the Comanche's asked for. There was one exception, however.
Clarence had only twenty blankets and not thirty, so the Marshal knew there had to be some negotiating.
The goods were loaded onto a wagon and driven to the Comanche camp. It took more persuading than originally thought. For the chief to accept the deal, he wanted one horse in place of the missing ten blankets, which he got.
They brought me to Wichita in the wagon and checked out by the doctor in town. I'm in okay shape, but will be sore for a while.
"Are you hurting right now," I asked Jack.
"Curly, I hurt in places I didn't know I had," Jack responded, trying to laugh, There was no missing the fact, he was happy being back on the farm. We were together again.
"Is there anything you want or need," Pa asked Jack.
""I shore would appreciate a warm bath with lots of water, soap and a bath brush."
"I'll get you set up in the kitchen with plenty of water, and we will give you all the time and privacy you need," said Pa.
"I'll need a helping hand getting into the water. The old hip is in poor shape." Jack remarked looking at me.
"I'll help you," I said.
"I knew Curly would volunteer for that job," said ma. Mothers know, they always know."
"Powerful right Ma," chimed in pa, who usually says very little.
"What a sigh of relief, this is. They are our boys." He stated.