Free Ralph Compton Comanche Trail by Carlton Stowers

who are now gone, and they can provide wisdom and guidance as you battle against the white man.
    â€œI will ride at your side and help you to become the mightiest of all leaders.”
    After he had agreed to remove the bindings from her wrists, she reached out to him, placing a cool palm against his forehead. Soon her eyes were rolling and her body convulsing as she identified the spirit voice of Hawk’s dead father. “He has been gone since you were a small child,” Kate Two said, “but he has watched with great pride as you have grown into a strong and smart warrior. He wishes you to know that he is in a happy place, where large herds of buffalo roam as far as the eye can see and everyone lives in peace.
    â€œAnd,” she said, “he urges that you continue to fight for the rights of your people.”
    Hawk was mesmerized. “Ask him of this man named Isa-tia who is guided by the Great Spirit.”
    Kate Two was silent for a time, her eyes closed. Then her head began moving from side to side and beads of sweat formed across her brow. “Your father tells me that the Great Spirit knows of this man who speaks false promises. He says he is one who should soon die.”
    She let her hand fall to her side and looked at Hawk. “If you will allow me but a sharp knife and lead me to him, I will put it to his throat and kill him for you.”
    Hawk silently rose and left the teepee, then stood in the warm evening breeze. His eyes roamed the small encampment. He slowly walked toward a nearby stream, where he cupped water into his hands and bathed his face. Perhaps, he thought, he had found a way to regain his lost standing.
    Returning to the woman, he extended a hand, helping her to her feet, and led her from the teepee and toward the water’s edge.
    â€œWash yourself clean,” he said. “From this time forward you will be called Talks With Spirits. And you will be one of us.”

Chapter 8
    The days of summer had seemed to lengthen, the heat scorching the red clay landscape of the Indian Territory long after the sun had gone down. As Taylor and Barclay rode southward, the flat Kansas terrain gradually changed to rolling hills. There was ample water and vegetation for their horses but no hint of other humans. Most of the reservation land where the Indians had settled was on the eastern side of the Territory, leaving the route they were following quiet except for the occasional sounds of wildlife and the occasional rustle of hot wind through the trees.
    At Tater’s suggestion, they had begun their journey at the burned-out Barstow Farm, the last place they knew the raiding party had struck. “Even if I was a tracker, which I ain’t,” Barclay said, “they been too long gone for the reading of any signs. And most likely, they never travel the same route twice, coming one way and leaving another. We’re lookin’ for a needle in a sizable haystack.”
    â€œSo, what’s your suggestion as to what we best do?”
    â€œJust keep ridin’. Looking and listening. On down a ways, we’ll be getting into the Hills, where I know people to be.Maybe, if they aren’t of a mind to shoot us just for the amusement, they might provide us information that can give us proper direction.”
    â€œThe Hills?”
    Barclay grunted. “Cookson Hills,” he said. “Hiding place of half the bandits and ne’er-do-wells in this part of the country. Some of ’em have even taken up with Indian squaws, raising half-breed kids and barterin’ with the Devil on a daily basis just to avoid the law.”
    â€œAnd you’re acquainted with these people?”
    The big man looked away. “I suppose you could say that . . . a few of ’em, a long time past.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    They rode at a steady pace for three days. Packs of wolves roamed among the timberlines in an endless effort to sneak up