Yet, I couldn't ride to Silvertown. Nobody I used to love lives there anymore. So, I decided to turn back where I came from. Silvertown was one time the town of my illusions. I grew up as a child there with my large family and our beautiful ranch. The population wasn't much but we knew each other very well. Even the Apache Indians who hunted in Sholoa's Creek, came to our town to buy hardware and horses. Those were the Apache who split from Geronimo and wished to live in peace with the white man. My
father became a friend of Usashe, one of the chiefs. He invited him to our ranch to see our horses and our breaking-in. One of Usashe's daughter was a beautiful girl called Red Flower. She and I played together in the fields near the Pedernales Creek. She used to sing those sad songs the Indians chant when they feel one with the prairies and the woods and the creeks. Red Flower was sheer innocence and when I took her to see the place where I kept my rabbits she laughed and played with them until she felt tired. Yes, she felt tired very easily, and I knew something went wrong with her. When time came and her father took her to their encampment, she kept looking at me for a long time until our silhouettes faded in the distance. I was a happy boy who went to school with Dorothy May, the Reverend's wife. My two older brothers were already full grown man even in spite of being still teenagers. Ralph was fifteen, and Thermon was seventeen.
We went to church and got along with the rest of the town's boys and girls. Mary Dupont was another favorite friend. Her brothers and I went hunting with my uncle Charles. We even went further than the Sparrow Lake, not far from the Kelmor's Hills. We shot at partridges and wild ducks. Sometimes we even dare with badgers and coyotes. My mother set the dining room table ready with the most delicious food I ever tasted. Those dishes cooked with love for her children and family as a whole. Because people at that time and place used to love their families and read the Bible with much respect. We worked and traded with a strong belief in honesty and hard work. It didn't take very long to start falling into confusion and degradation. But, when it did take place the Indian raids had already become an ominous threat. The half-breed comancheros and traders of all sorts settle down in our town, and established their trading posts and livery. In a few months two saloons opened up and ladies of bad reputation enliven the places with their cajoling and charms. Cattle thieves and misfits from all corners of Oklahoma and Arkansas, joined the comancheros and the private posses organized to fight the Apaches and Comanches.
Silvertown became a shithole in the middle of the Texas plains, ready to turn into a thriving town with a few banks, five saloons, including a few cotton plantations and its slaves. Silvertown got immersed into civilization with full force and energy. It became just another booming town in the West.
Our peaceful Usashes's Apaches's neighbors turned into an unsettling mood. The Comanche nation saw all Apache Indians as their enemies, much worst if they made peace with any white people. The Comanche were ready for war, perhaps their last desperate war against the pale faces. They let themselves be seen not far from the nearby ranches on the Pedernales Creek's shores. The town got mobilized to make a stance. A few comancheros sided with the Comanches, the private posses were reinforced by two Texas Rangers’ detachments under the orders of captain Bully "Cat" Morton.
Before things started Usashe came to pay the last visit to my father. Red Flower was on his side, but she was already very sick. I felt a unendurable pain, because I knew the end of our time of innocence and illusion was definitely over. Silvertown wasn't anymore the frontier town of hope our people dreamed about. Red Flower said good-bye and began singing an Apache chant of sorrow and farewell. Our playing and forays into the prairies was also over.
Silvertown wasn't far, but yet, I couldn’t ride there. The memories of horror pinned me down on my horse. I was one of the few ones who survived the slaughter. The Comanche fought to the last men, and they carried with them as many white people as they could. My family was entirely massacred, and I was the exception due to my being able to hide in the cave near the creek when the Comanche appeared riding as devils ready for the kill. They were hundreds of them led by Quanah Parker. I just remained in the cave scared as hell and expecting being discovered at any time. I felt the end of everything was near and went into a kind of wild frenzy beyond any possible control.
No, I couldn't ride there anymore, so I have to go back where
I came from.
