In the end, the council agreed to let McAllen make his offer to the captor of the white woman. Gray Wolf was summoned.
Gray Wolf was one of the few Comanches who was not already at the council gathering. Almost as soon as McAllen arrived in the village, he had heard that a white man had come in search of a woman who had been taken captive during the great raid. While it was possible that this man sought somebody besides Emily—perhaps the woman whose infant had been so brutally murdered, and who herself had perished at the end of a Quohadi lance, or even a woman taken by another band—Gray Wolf had a feeling that this was not the case. His heart was heavy when the council summons came. No doubt the white man had described the person he was looking for, and the council had known it was Emily.
With curt words and hand gestures, Gray Wolf told Emily to remain in the skin lodge. Emily was unclear about the words—during her months of captivity she had not been able to come to terms with the Comanche language—but she understood what Gray Wolf wanted her to do. Something important was happening, but it never occurred to Emily that it had anything to do with her.
When Gray Wolf reached the council circle and saw McAllen, he recognized the Texan immediately.
This was the man who had saved his child's life at Bexar.
"You have a young white woman in your tepee," Caldero told Gray Wolf. "She belongs to this man. He wants her back. He will trade."
Gray Wolf sighed. He would be within his rights to refuse to barter for Emily. He was under no obligation to trade.
"What does he give for her?" he asked, stalling for time, trying to think.
Caldero turned to McAllen and translated Gray Wolf's query into English.
McAllen indicated the gray hunter. "I will give this horse."
He did not have to elaborate on Escatawpa's many fine points. Anyone with eyes could tell that the gray hunter was second to none. It was easy for a Comanche, who knew horses better than most, to measure Escatawpa's worth. Caldero nodded his approval. McAllen's offer was an excellent one. The gray was worth ten ordinary mustangs. He relayed the offer to Gray Wolf.
Gray Wolf was silent for a moment. Though he tried to give nothing away, his expression betrayed him, and in an instant of indescribable elation McAllen knew without a doubt that his search had come to an end. This warrior did have Emily—and he was reluctant to give her up. I've found her. Thank God in heaven, I've found her. His heart was racing. What if the Comanche refused his offer? McAllen only knew that he would not leave without Emily.
At last Gray Wolf turned to Caldero and spoke. "I will give him back his woman, and he can keep his horse."
The decision created a stir among the Quohadis who overheard it. Caldero thought at first that perhaps he had misunderstood. He had never known a Comanche to give anything away in a transaction with strangers—especially of such value.
"You will accept nothing in return?" asked the bandit leader.
"Nothing. I owe this man the life of my son."
Caldero stared at McAllen. "You saved this man's child, Captain?"
McAllen nodded. "Unfortunately, I was too late to save the mother's life." He saw something new in Caldero's eyes then. Respect.
"Come," said Gray Wolf. "I will take you to her."
They walked to Gray Wolf's lodge, followed by a large portion of the village. Bidding McAllen and Caldero to wait outside, Gray Wolf entered the tepee. Emily was sitting right where he had left her. She was making a buckskin tunic in the way that Spotted Tail's wife had shown her. Shirts, leggings, and bison-hide boots were necessary winter garments, and it was her duty to make them for herself and Gray Wolf.
The look on the warrior's face caused her to put down her work and stand, suddenly afraid. He was so downcast that Emily could tell something terrible had happened. He gestured for her to follow him outside, and she obeyed with trepidation, knowing by the sounds from outside that a crowd had gathered.
The sight of John Henry McAllen stole her breath away.
"Emily!" He surged toward her, and she ran to meet him, blinded by tears of joy, flying into his arms.
"We'll never be apart again," he whispered, holding her tight, almost unable to speak. "I love you, Emily—I love you with all my heart. We'll be together for the rest of our lives. That's a promise."
"We'll take tomorrow as it comes," she said. "Today is what matters."
McAllen glanced at Gray Wolf. "Did he hurt you, Emily? Did he mistreat you?"
"No." She was laughing and crying at the same time. "No, he saved me. He was kind to me."
McAllen turned to Caldero. "Tell him—"
Distant gunfire from downcanyon reached their ears.
The sound triggered an instant reaction among the Comanches. They scattered, the women and children making for their lodges, the men heading for the weapons and horses. McAllen knew instantly what the gunfire signified. The Rangers had found the canyon and run into Caldero's bandoleros, who were waiting at the south end. He leaped into action, lifting Emily into the saddle on Escatawpa. As he prepared to get on behind her, she shouted a warning, and he whirled to see the warrior Red Eagle coming at him with knife raised. Joshua, though, had seen Red Eagle first. The half-breed drew his pistol and fired, hitting the Comanche war chief but not stopping him. Joshua lunged into the Quohadi's path, triggering the Colt again as they collided. Red Eagle's dead weight bore the half-breed to the ground. For a moment McAllen thought the warrior's knife, meant for him, had taken his friend's life instead. But then Joshua disentangled himself from the Comanche's corpse and ran to his horse.
Swinging aboard the gray hunter behind Emily, McAllen looked around for Caldero and Gray Wolf. Both men had vanished. The shooting was much closer now, and McAllen could hear the thunder of many horses running and the screams of Comanche women and children coming from the south end of the village. He kicked Escatawpa into a gallop and hurried north, followed closely by Joshua.
Having killed all but one of the bandoleros in a running fight from the mouth of the canyon to the village of the Antelope band, Eli Wingate and his Texas Rangers tore through the Comanche camp like a whirlwind of death, shooting anything that moved. One hundred and thirty Rangers armed with Colt revolvers could do a lot of damage in a very short time, and though the Quohadi warriors outnumbered them by almost three to one there was no stopping the charge.
Wingate was in front of his men, blazing away with his pistol, the reins clenched between his teeth, and guiding his horse with his knees. Seeing the Comanches fall like wheat before a scythe gratified him. This was the moment he had dreamed of, lived for, the reaping of his vengeance. He killed a woman, shot an old man in the back, dropped a warrior attacking him with a lance. Exterminate the vermin, young and old, male and female. He and his men had virtually wiped out a Penateka village two weeks ago, but Wingate's thirst for revenge had not been sated by that bloodletting. He had dared the Llano Estacado to find and punish the elusive Quohadis and now, at long last, he had found them. A clear trail from the site of the buffalo hunt had brought him right to the village, and he would not rest until life had been snuffed out of the last of these red devils. . . .
Armed only with a knife, Gray Wolf raced to Spotted Tail's tepee. This took him south, toward the Rangers galloping north, and as he neared his destination a Texan appeared out of the dust and powder smoke and headed straight for him, bent low in the saddle. Expecting Gray Wolf to run, the Ranger was Startled when the Comanche lunged straight into the path of his horse. Gray Wolf grabbed the bridle's cheek strap and threw his legs up and around the animal's neck. With one savage slash of the knife he opened the horse's throat. The Ranger could not get a clear shot in the split second that he remained in the saddle. Then the dying horse fell sideways, and the Ranger tried to jump clear. He landed poorly. Dazed, he was slow in getting up. Covered with the blood of the horse, Gray Wolf drove his knife to the hilt in the Ranger's back. Only then did he notice that one of the Ranger's boots had come off—it had been caught in one of the stirrups—and that the dead man's foot was missing. Gray Wolf rolled the Ranger over and gazed into the sightless eyes of Brax Torrance. . . .