Under A Comanche Moon

UNDER A COMANCHE MOON

Pat Capps Mehaffey

Under a Comanche Moon

Pat Capps Mehaffey

Copyright 2012 by Pat Capps Mehaffey

Print ISBN 978-1479343881

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Contact information mehaffey.pat50@att.net

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Front cover photo by Free Soul Productions for iStock

E-book Formatting by Maureen Cutajar

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to Keven Mehaffey Fowler, Peggy Purser Freeman and Carolyn Johnson Smith; three faithful, tireless women who never allowed me to give up on this book.

Thanks to my patient husband who has to live with a writer. Sincere appreciation to our three daughters, sons-in-law and numerous grandchildren for their love and kindness.

PREFACE

After Texas won independence from Mexico in 1836, pioneers poured into the state from the east. Some were attracted to this free nation subservient to no other government, where they could live and prosper in accordance with their individual talents and abilities. Others came searching for fresh new land to replace the over-worked, non-productive soil of their home states.

Texas became part of the United States of America in 1845, and a resurgence of settlers began. Perhaps drawn by the security of knowing the federal government would prevent Mexico from ever reclaiming the old Republic of Texas, the newcomers could brave the hard life necessary for taming this diverse, often dangerous state.

In 1859 my own ancestors entered Texas by way of South Carolina, Alabama, and Louisiana determined to claim the 160 acres available for homesteading as the basis for permanent ownership down through generations of the family.

With oral legends, photographs and letters, my father brought these ancestors to life in my mind and imagination. Their story is preserved in this book. Members of the McGregor family are based on real persons, as are many other characters in these pages. However, all names, except of those historical people, have been changed to preserve their privacy. Names of counties, towns and geographical sites are authentic.

PCM

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Preface

1 Brave Caroline

2 Vanished

3 Ugly George

4 Buster and the Rattlesnake

5 The Cougar

6 Hellfire Horse

7 First Visit

8 A New Sister

9 Clover

10 Caroline’s Rocker

11 The Wedding

12 Charlie’s Story

13 The Princess of Comanche County

14 The Princess Finds a Prince

15 Horse Talker

16 Safe Return

17 Another Wedding

18 Young Hub Gets Famous

19 Roxy’s Story

20 A Soul Mate for George

21 Comanche County Gets Civilized

22 A New Beginning

Glossary

Chapter One

Brave Caroline

August 20, 1872

One morning while sweeping the porch, I saw a sight that almost stopped my breath. I threw down my broom weed sweeper and raced around the corner of the log cabin to the garden where my mama, Caroline McGregor, was digging potatoes.

Mama, I hollered. Two redskins are comin’. I seen ‘em on the path.

Mama stabbed the digging fork in the ground and dusted her hands. It’s all right, Jane. More than likely, they’re just hungry. I’ll go ‘round to the yard and see what they want. She spoke over her shoulder as I trailed along close behind her.

My family, the McGregors, homesteaded land in Comanche County, Texas. They staked their claim in 1860. I was born the same year. It took everybody working from dawn until after dark to make a living from our small ranch. I helped as soon as I was old enough.

The last Indian raid in the area happened in 1863 when seven braves captured two small children. My papa and other ranchers rode out and found the band of Comanche that took the children. They made a trade of horses, knives and tobacco, and returned the children to their family without bloodshed. Now most of the Comanche were driven out, rounded up and sent to reservations. Once a proud fierce tribe, the few remaining seemed pitiful, not dangerous, however, no one ignored or forgot them.

These two Comanche stood just inside the clearing in front of the cabin and stared at Mama. She stared back, then lifted her hand palm out in a gesture of welcome. We remembered them from another visit when she gave them names just for us to use. The older, taller man she called Feather because he wore a large feather from a hawk’s wing stuck in his long, greasy hair. The other one she named Squint. His right eye looked straight at you while his left eye wandered off in another direction.One time before they came bringing a wild turkey they killed with an arrow. Mama traded a bucket of molasses for it. Today they arrived empty handed. The two men moved a little nearer. Smelling of wood smoke and sweat, they looked thin, dirty and ragged. With her other hand Mama rubbed her stomach. Do you want food?

Slicing the air with a flat-hand movement and a shake of his head, Feather signaled, No.

Are you thirsty? Mama asked, pretending to drink from a cup.

No, Feather signed with another flat-hand slice.

Mama made a shuffling gallop meant to show a horse and shook her head, No horses are here. My men folk are usin’ ‘em to herd the cattle.

With dread that Feather might accept her next offer, she motioned to the milk cows grazing nearby. Do you want one of ‘em?

Again came the headshake and a sharp hand slice.

Mama looked around; I could tell she was thinking hard. She whispered, I want to give ‘em somethin’ they view as important, so they’ll let me get back to my potatoes.

She fingered the small plain brooch pinned at her throat. It wasn’t worth much, but Granny gave it to her, so she always wore it.Sometimes Indians like jewelry, she said, unpinning it and offering it on her outstretched palm.

Feather stood taller, pulled the tattered strands of a faded blanket tighter about his shoulders and appeared insulted.

I saw Mama shake as if an icy shiver traveled down her spine. She noticed that both Indians were staring at me. Mama peered at me trying to see me through their eyes. She looked at my red hair, fair skin and blue eyes. She saw a twelve-year-old girl. The Indians viewed me as old enough to build fires, roast game and scrape hides like all Comanche women. I heard her gasp as she suddenly understood the looks Squint kept sending my way.

Wheeling quickly Mama grabbed my hand and rushed us across the porch and through the door. She slammed the heavy slab and dropped the bar, shutting it tight. She ordered, Close the shutters on both the winders and latch ‘em now!

My knees trembled so bad I almost fell hurrying to do her bidding.

Don’t be scared, Jane, Mama said looking pale. We’re safe. They can’t get into the cabin.She collapsed in the rocking chair, and wedged me in beside her. I felt her heart beat hard against her ribs. Her breath came in little gasps. Both of us were scared, and I knew it. Just then we heard scrapes and rustlings on the sod roof and the sound of footsteps above our heads.

Mama, my voice quavered, I hear the Injuns up there on the roof. Can they come down the chimney?

Looking upward Mama eyed the chimney and glanced at the fire flickering in the hearth. Charlie Morgan tells stories of Indians on the roof stuffin’ grass, leaves and tree branches in the chimney to fill the cabin with smoke. When the folks inside run out for air, the Indians grab ‘em. She stood up easing me off her lap.Well, if Feather and Squint think that trick will work on Caroline McGregor, they need to think again.

Snatching a small log from the stack beside the hearth, Mama began to scrape the coals and burning wood far to one side.

Jane, be real quiet and bring me the shotgun from the corner by the door. Move extra careful ‘cause it’s already loaded.

With the gun in her hands, she crouched near the hearth, pointed it up the chimney and fired both barrels. A yelp of surprise rang out, and a few twigs and leaves drifted down. The sound of running feet beat loud in our ears.

Returning to the rocker we sat holding on to each other as the familiar rocking soothed our frazzled nerves. We still sat there when Papa and my brothers came home looking for a hot meal. When they learned about the visit from Feather and Squint, worry made them forget about food.

I think I winged one of ‘em, Robert, Mama said to Papa. Climb up there and see what you can find.Before Mama finished the sentence, my brother Allen dashed out the door, stood on the rain barrel and hoisted himself up on the grass covered dirt roof.

"You’re right, Mama. There’s blood up here. We’d better track ‘em. One may be bad hurt.