The Demise of Ramón Vargas and Raul Obregón

As he walked his horse carefully through the mesquite and salt cedar lining Wolf Creek just east of the panhandle of Texas, Ramón Vargas’ eyes were itching and watering. His nose was itching and running. His throat was itching too, and thick, as if unsure whether it would allow the next breath to pass.

The wind was coming out of the east, and he was riding directly into it. It was blowing just hard enough to shake the last grains of pollen from the trees and bushes. At times it looked as if it were snowing. Only the flakes were very small and they were pasty yellow to pale green.

This is a fool’s task anyway. I have no business riding unaccompanied into Indian Territory. Especially directly into the village of a Comanche war chief.

When Raul asked him whether he knew where Red Hawk’s village was, without thinking he had said yes.

He shook his head. If I had given it even a second’s thought, I would have said no. And it would not have been a lie.

Despite the confidence he had displayed before his boss, Raul Obregón, Vargas did not know exactly the location of Red Hawk’s village. But he seemed to remember it was on a tight bend on Wolf Creek. It was on a bend that formed a sharp, deep dip to the south. Wasn’t it?

It was also inside Indian Territory, so it might be a semi-permanent settlement of tipis and lodges. Then again, it might also be a quickly thrown together camp that the Comanches could strike and move quickly.

Of course, either of those camps might still be where it was when he saw it before. Or it might not.

Neither was he certain this was a good idea, either him riding deep into Indian Territory by himself or Obregón doing so. They had worked together before, Obregón and the Comanches, but Ramón had never noticed any signs of the brotherhood Obregón had spoken of back in camp.

Still, Obregón said to get here fast, and Ramón had gotten here fast. Just over three hours had elapsed since he’d ridden away from Obregón’s camp, and he was certain he was nearing the camp of Red Hawk. The very atmosphere felt different, more tense.

How will I announce myself? That will make all the difference.

If I am too quiet the Comanches might see me as a threat. Then I will be dead before I clear my horse. But if I am too loud, I will draw them to me, possibly with the same effect.

He frowned.

But that is what I want. I must draw them to me—but calmly, not in a frenzied attack—so I could deliver the message I have been sent to deliver.

So then it is settled.

I am sure I am in the vicinity of the camp.

Due to his nerves—Obregón having sent him and Red Hawk being the one who would receive him—he had ridden the appropriate distance in only three hours. The ride would take a normal man on a normal horse at least four hours.

He bent down and patted his faithful horse’s neck. “We need only to watch for the bend in the creek, my friend.” He peered ahead through the sparse brush. “Either that or we must hope I will recognize some other landmark.”

And they would have to hope Red Hawk had not moved the camp.

He and the horse plodded forward.

*

The next time the creek curved away sharply to his south, he stopped his horse and sat straight in the saddle. Loudly, but not too loudly, he said, “I am Ramón Vargas. I come to speak with the great Comanche war chief, Red Hawk. I come with a message from Raul Obregón.”

He listened, the horse shifting beneath him. But other than the creaking of the lathered leather saddle, he heard nothing.

With his heels, no spurs, he nudged his horse forward, and—

Before the horse had taken a second step, the brush behind him to either side rustled.

Vargas forced himself not to turn around.

Someone behind him said something in a voice he did not understand.

Someone else repeated it in Spanish and ended with “Comprendes?”

Before Vargas could respond, Takes Leaves said in English, “This path will take you into the home of Red Hawk. Do you understand?”

Vargas nodded, then said “Sí. Comprendo. I on’erstan’.” He touched the horse’s flanks with his heels again and continued along the same path.

About a quarter-mile later, Takes Leaves edged past him to lead him into the village.

As they walked their horses into the center of the camp, several braves gathered, blocking the way.

Takes Leaves stopped his mount. In Comanche he said, “This man is Ramón Vargas. He is an envoy from a man named Raul Obregón. He wishes to speak with Red Hawk.”

More braves joined them, and more. All were studying the stranger, wondering why he was here, in Indian Territory and in Red Hawk’s camp.

In his tipi, Red Hawk was holding council with Four Crows and Twin Deer.

After the quiet commotion began outside he tried to continue, but finally he stopped. He looked at his eldest son, One Bear. “What is the commotion? We are in council.” He gestured. “Go and find out. I will be available when the sun nears the center of the sky.”

*

As One Bear approached from behind them, the crowd of braves began to part. One Bear made his way along the cleared path and stopped. He regarded Takes Leaves first, then shifted his gaze to Vargas.

The Mexican was sitting straight in the saddle, comfortable, but not relaxed. He was obviously tired. The tension coming off him was almost palpable. He would not be here if he had not been ordered to be here.

One Bear gestured toward Vargas. In broken Spanish he said, “You have news for Red Hawk?”

“I am Ramón Vargas. I come on behalf of Raul Obregón to speak with the great Comanche war chief, Red Hawk. I am allowed to convey my message to no others.”

One Bear nodded and touched his chest. “I understand. We are messengers, you and I. When will señor Obregón be here, so I may inform Red Hawk?”

Vargas swallowed. “Raul Obregón—” He shook his head. “I am sorry. I am supposed to speak only to Red Hawk.”

“Yet you already have spoken to these others and now to me. You already have broken your promise, but we will not tell your master. When will he arrive, so I may inform Red Hawk?”

Vargas looked at him as he considered his options. He soon realized he had no options. “My friend, Raul Obregón, will arrive later this morning. Probably he is two hours behind me.”

One Bear nodded. “And of what will he speak to Red Hawk?”

“That is something I can discuss only with Red—”

One Bear quietly barked an order and two braves raised their bows, the arrows set to be released.

Vargas glanced at them, then then seemed to sag a bit. He looked at at One Bear again. “He will bring news about repeating rifles and deception.” He paused. “That is all he said. I believe he will propose an arrangement, but that is for him to say.”

One Bear gestured and the two braves lowered their bows. “Ah, and I wonder, deception on whose part?”

Vargas said, “I overheard some of it. A man at a fort, an army sergeant, was to deliver—”

*

From behind Vargas came a quiet laugh, then a voice.“Correction, Ramón!” Obregón walked his horse up behind Vargas and his small entourage. “A fat, slovenly peeg of an army sergeant was to deleever repeating rifles to me, Raul Obregón. I was to deliver them to my friend, the great Red Hawk.”

He nudged his horse and moved up alongside Vargas, then turned his attention to One Bear. “But you are not Red Hawk. My message ees for him.” He shrugged. “Or my talkative friend and I will be on our way.”

Again the crowd of braves began to part as Red Hawk himself made his way through. He stopped next to One Bear and looked at Obregón. “You have broken my council. You have news?”

“The rifles from the army— They are not coming, my friend.”

The old Comanche scowled. “And why is this so?”

“Some Rangers disrupted the deal.”

The expression on Red Hawk’s face and voice did not change. “The Rangers?”

Obregón nodded. “The Texas Rangers, my friend.”

“And was the Ranger Crowley among those who disrupted the deal?”

Obregón smiled. “That ees my understanding, great chief.”

“And you witnessed this disruption yourself?”

“Yes, my friend, I did.”

“And yet you are here to tell me.”

Red Hawk regarded him with steely eyes, then turned away. “Take them.”

***