Dust to Dust
“How far you figure they’re away?…Do you think it’s them…the Comanches, I mean…is it true what they do to white women, Mr Hook?” Aliceanne Gibbs cried, tears running muddy streams from her blue eyes and down her dirty cheeks as she stared at the cloud of dust on the southern horizon.
“I’d say no more’n eight mile, maybe an hour to find us,” said the man called Eb Hook, who fancied himself a scout here on the high plains of Texas, though the true scouts like Billy Dixon knew him to be a boastful fool.
“I reckon if we hunker down under the brush in this buffalo wallow, they’ll ride around looking us, maybe follow our horses east,” Hook said, unsure if his ruse of running off their spent horses might work, but hopeful the colored boys from the Ninth Cavalry might scare the Comanche off before the the heathens found the girl and him.
But as the dust cloud to the south got closer, Hook remembered the last time he saw what pure butchering hell the Comanch’ did to men they captured, let alone the women, and decided he wouldn’t let them have their fun that June day in 1874.
When the squad of Ninth Cavalry troopers trailing a cloud of the Llano Estacado behind them rode in from the from the south, its leader, Sergeant Purvis Lee, looked at the scene in the wallow and said, “Why this fool Hook shoot the white lady and then hisself when no Comanch’ in hunnert mile o’ here?”
©Joseph Hesch 2012
This week’s little story is written in response to Lillie McFerrin’s Five-Sentence Fiction prompt “Distance.”