Free Chieftain (Historical Romance) by Nan Ryan Page B

not return their horses, they will take them back in the dead of night and flee this reservation.” He fixed the colonel with cold gray eyes and added, “They have lost enough. A short time ago, when I was a boy, all the Comancheria—” he lifted his hands, made a wide circle in the air “—belonged to the People.”
    Colonel Harkins silently nodded his understanding. The Comancheria—the Comanche country—was vast, stretching for hundreds of miles and including great portions of New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma and especially Texas. For centuries the Indians had been free to ride across the open reaches of the rolling prairies that were lush with grass and carved with deep creeks and flowing rivers.
    Colonel Harkins finally spoke. “I know that, Chief, and I—”
    “This fort sits squarely in the Comancheria, Colonel. It is you and the troopers who are on our land, not we on yours.”
    Colonel Harkins looked to Double Jimmy for help. The Indian agent said softly, “We cannot turn back the clock, Shanaco, but the colonel, the major and I will do everything we can to help your People adjust to this new way of life.” He glanced at the colonel and, without asking permission, said, “Some of the horse herd—they can take their pick—will be immediately returned to the young Comanche braves.”
    Shanaconodded and swiftly moved on to another subject. “Beef issues. You will deliver our beef on the hoof and allow the men to do the slaughtering. They have to retain some semblance of independence.”
    “Agreed,” said Colonel Harkins. “Now what about…?”
    The meeting continued for more than an hour. When it was over, much had been discussed and determined. They all shook hands. Colonel Harkins suggested that Shanaco ride out and have a look at the cabin he was soon to occupy. Shanaco nodded, said he might do that.
    Double Jimmy and Shanaco walked outside and stood for a moment on the shaded sally port. Double Jimmy reached into his breast pocket and took out the makings to build a cigarette. Shanaco leaned a muscular shoulder against a porch pilaster and gazed out over the quadrangle. The two men talked quietly for a time.
    Finally Double Jimmy, blowing out a plume of smoke, said, “Well, I’m off to the agency storehouse to inventory the supply of flour and cornmeal and dried beans.”
    Shanaco’s darkhead swung around. “The Comanche do not like cornmeal and beans.”
    Double Jimmy exhaled heavily, flicked a long ash from his cigarette. “That’s all we have to feed them with until the next beef ration arrives next week.” Quickly changing the subject, he said, “The colonel’s right. You really should ride out and have a look at the new cabin.”
    Shanaco pushed away from the pilaster. The yoked, pale-blue shirt he wore stretched across his shoulders as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark twill trousers and rocked back on his heels.
    “Maybe I will.”
    “It’s a nice little place, you’ll see. You can move in in a couple of days. Shall I show you where it is?”
    “Thanks. I can find it.”

Ten
    S hanaco was thirsty.
    He stayed where he wasuntil Double Jimmy was out of sight, then turned and headed directly for the civilian village on the outskirts of the fort.
    In minutes he climbed the steps to a wooden sidewalk that stretched the length of the false-front buildings.
    He passed the undertaker’s, the Federal Land Office, the tailor’s shop. A couple of men stood outside the general mercantile store. Civilians. One was a big brawny fellow with a shaggy brown beard and blackened teeth. The other was totally bald and quite short, but muscular and strong-looking. The pair exchanged glances as Shanaco approached.
    Unfazed, Shanaco walked up to them and asked, “Where can a man buy a drink of whiskey?”
    The big, ugly one snorted. “A man can buy a drink in Jake’s card parlor. But you ain’t no man. You’re a mixed-blood, so you’ll just have to go thirsty.” He