Ralph Compton Comanche Trail by Carlton Stowers Page A

hides, and even if hindered by the makeshift sling he fashioned to protect his collarbone, he would begin to rebuild his lost fortune as soon as he could ride. Finding the man called Boone would have to wait.
    And in time the raw memories of the assault and robbery waned. When Jolene had rejected him, he became a man without purpose, all feelings gone numb. Even summoning anger over what had been done to him was difficult. Months later, when he’d seen the Wanted poster for Boone Stallingsand was told that he had likely fled into Indian Territory, Barclay had little interest in tracking him down. All he wanted to do was forget the past. And over the years the wounds, both physical and of the spirit, slowly healed, all but forgotten.
    Until the young man from Independence returned his wagon and spoke of his own need for revenge.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Now whatever remnant of hatred he still held to had vanished the moment he saw the old man, his body bloated, his sunken eyes watery, and his stringy hair now white. Taking his life would be a kindness, releasing him from a misery far worse than death.
    Instead, as he’d chosen to do so long ago, he concentrated on his new purpose.
    â€œOur apologies for comin’ to you with no invite,” Barclay said. “We’ll be on our way as soon as you’ll allow me a few questions. It’s only information we’re seeking.”
    â€œI’ve got little of that I’m willing to part with.”
    â€œMy understanding is that from time to time the Comanches visit these hills to do selling and trading. What might go on in these parts ain’t of our concern, or wasn’t until a short time back when they rode away from Kansas with a couple of womenfolk we’re now in search of.”
    â€œI buy no women,” Stallings said. “Too much trouble. Other items of interest, maybe, but no women, white, Indian, or half-breed. It ain’t smart business. The only market for them is way farther south, past Texas and down into Mexico. It’s there you should be headed.”
    â€œThese Indians who visit, where is it they come from?”
    â€œA few travel from the reservations to the west, mostly to buywhiskey. They’re the older ones, like me, wanting strong medicine that will help them forget how bad their lives have become. The younger ones who refuse to stay put on government-given ground and make trouble, they roam, never staying in one place for long.”
    â€œHow often is it that these renegades pay you visits?”
    â€œI don’t recall admitting that they do.” For the first time since their arrival, he smiled. “But I reckon you boys ain’t dumb.” He focused his gaze on Barclay. “For the sake of continuing this enjoyable conversation, let’s say it could be I do a bit of business with them now and again. Not long ago one might have spoken of a white woman he wanted to know if I was interested in purchasing.”
    â€œJust one?”
    â€œThat’s my recollection. That and the fact that I quickly told him no.”
    â€œAny thoughts on where we might locate him?”
    Boone shook his head. “My suggestion would be that you leave him be. He’s a mean and crazy one, even without benefit of my whiskey. I’m being honest with you when I say it would suit me fine if he never set foot here again. But when a body least expects it, he rides up the hill with a few of his friends, wanting to do some business. Can’t say there’s much that scares me these days, but he does. They call him Hawk and he’s an honest-to-goodness
bhoot
.”
    Taylor said, “A
bhoot
?”
    Stallings nodded. “One of them Indian ghosts that’s here one second and gone the next.”
    Barclay reached for his saddle horn and lifted his boot into a stirrup. “We thank you. We’ll be on our way if you’ll kindly return our