Yes, he said. Whatever that means. Hot, I suppose.
He made up coffee and a corn dodger and fried bacon. She sat under the canvas side curtain with her food in her hands for a long time. At last she sang over it, as if adoring it, as if the bacon were a live being and the smoking dodger a gift from the Corn Woman. There was no campfire to throw shadows but there was a half-moon waxing and it seemed to run in reverse between cascading clouds that flowed together and then pulled apart and then ran together again.
The Captain wiped his plate with the cornbread. She might run. She had nowhere to go, however. The Kiowa were across the river and the river was a loose and moving ocean of foaming rusty floodwater nearly half a mile wide that carried off entire trees. She might lay hands on the revolver or the shotgun, and he could wake up in the next world.
The Captain lay back on his old Spanish saddle that he had turned upside down, his head pillowed on the fleecing. He brought out the Chicago Tribune and flipped through it by the light of the candle in the candle lantern. She lay rolled in a thick serape called a jorongo in a red-and-black diamond pattern and stared at him with her open, flat blue eyes.
He rattled the pages and said, There’s a big new packing plant in Chicago. Astounding, isn’t it? They feed the cattle in at one end and at the other end they come out in cans.
She never took her eyes from him. He knew she was prepared for some kind of violence. Captain Kidd was a man old not only in years but in wars. He smiled at her at last and took out his pipe. More than ever knowing in his fragile bones that it was the duty of men who aspired to the condition of humanity to protect children and kill for them if necessary. It comes to a person most clearly when he has daughters. He had thought he was done raising daughters. As for protecting this feral child he was all for it in principle but wished he could find somebody else to do it.
You are an immense amount of trouble, he said. We will both be happy when you are with your relatives and you can make their lives a living hell.
Her face did not change. She wiped her nose slowly on her sleeve.
He turned the page. He said, This is writing. This is printing. This tells us of all the things we ought to know in the world. And also that we ought to want to know. He glanced over at her. He said, There are places in the world called England and Europe and In-di-a. He blew smoke from his nose. He probably should not be smoking. You could smell it for miles.
In-di-a, she whispered. She began to place her fingertips together one by one.
He lay back in his blankets and said his prayers for Britt, who was always in harm’s way in his travels. For the safety of his daughters and son-in-law and the grandsons, perhaps soon to travel, at his request, the long and perilous journey from Georgia. This would include crossing the Mississippi. For his own safety and that of Johanna, also in harm’s way.
So many people, so much harm.
He put his hat over his face and after a while he fell asleep.
FIVE
THE NEXT DAY they went on toward Spanish Fort. The road wound along the south edge of the river in the great valley of the Red. More than a mile away south was the rise of land and the bluffs. At some distant time the river had been there, tearing away land; over the centuries it moved like a big red snake from one side of its valley to the other. The rain had stopped for now.
The Captain was unhappy about her walking but she would not ride nor would she put on her shoes. She watched the river. She well knew that on the other side was Indian Territory. Her mother was over there, her father, perhaps brothers and sisters and all her kin group, her clan within the tribe, perhaps a young man to whom she might have been promised. The black trunks of the live oak were twisted and wiry as chimney brushes. A good place for an ambush. He wished he had a dog. He should have got a dog from somebody.
She stopped and held up her hand. She was looking ahead.
He twitched the long reins and Fancy stopped. Behind them Pasha pointed his ears ahead and suddenly called out in a long, ringing cry.
Captain Kidd pulled out the revolver and once again checked his loads. All dry. He laid it beside him on the floorboards next to the wagon seat on the left side and covered it with a canvas-wrapped flitch of bacon. He reminded himself that the .38 cartridges were hidden in the flour keg.
After a few moments he heard the sound of about ten horses, and the jingling of bits and saddle gear. Their shod hooves clicked on the stones of the road. A company of U.S. Army mounted infantry rode into view a quarter of a mile down the road.
He jumped down and grabbed the girl by the upper arm. He made the sign for “good” in front of her face. They were on one of the few straight and level stretches between all the thick post oak and the soldiers came toward him and Johanna in a unit of blue and of flashing well-shined leather, appearing out of the trees like ghost soldiers. He turned her to him and made the sign for “friend.” She had turned the color of pastry. Her lips were trembling. He led her to the wagon wheel and lifted her so that she put one bare foot on a spoke and then sprang up into the wagon bed and sank down in a welter of skirts and loose hair. She pulled the thick wool jorongo over her head. He came up after her, sat down on the driver’s seat, unwrapped the reins from the driver’s post.
It’s all right, Johanna. Johanna?
He knew she thought he was going to hand her over to the Army. That this was probably an arranged meeting.
The man in front was a lieutenant; his shoulder insignia with the double bars winked in the dim light. Therefore it was a regular patrol trotting up and down the road on the south side of the Red looking for signs of raiders crossing over although with the flooding it was unlikely. They all carried the squareback Navy Colt five-shot revolvers that looked as big as pork hams in their holsters and the .56 caliber Colt carbines, also standard issue for the wild country.
The lieutenant called for the column to halt and then rode alongside and said, Good day. The ten men behind him kicked their feet out of the stirrups to relieve their knees and some took the opportunity to drink from canteens. At the rear their pack mules brayed at his horses in long demented shrieks like train whistles.
Good day, said the Captain.
The lieutenant looked over the wagon and saw the girl on the floor of the wagon bed just behind the Captain, her expression of stiffened fright, or even terror. She was as close to the Captain’s revolver as she could get. She slid out her hand and grasped the butt where it lay hidden under the flitch of bacon, her hand and arm covered in the red wool serape.
The young lady seems very disturbed, said the lieutenant. There was surprise in his voice, suspicion.
She was a captive, said the Captain. I’m returning her to her people in Castroville, Bexar County. He handed over the Agent’s papers.
I’d like to have a look at her, said the lieutenant. He read through the papers. The Agent’s handwriting was very good, very clear. He read it easily, the girl’s description, her approximate height and complexion. Then he raised his head. His shoulder bars winked with drops. The river made an endless thunder to their left. They could see it through the trees.
Yes, I’ll try, said the Captain. He settled his hat more firmly on his head and stepped over the back of the wagon seat and grasped the thick red wool and pulled it from her head.
Johanna, he said. Johanna. He patted her shoulder.
Well damn, said the lieutenant. He was taken aback by the flat, wild look on the girl’s face. You’d think she would be happy to be going home.