The Last Comanche Moon: They feared the night because it brought the full moon. They feared the full moon because it brought the Comanche.

By Troy Everett Peterson

“Move over Larry McMurtry. I have a new favorite author. ‘The Last Comanche Moon’ read like an epic Western movie. Its characters and scenes came to life in authentic and vivid detail.”
Robert Williams

In his inspirational, fast-paced novel, The Last Comanche Moon, author Troy Everett Peterson gives a spine-tingling account of what it may have been like to live upon the plains in Comanche country in the year 1874---a year which was plagued by heartache and bloodshed between settlers and Comanches. When young Emma McCord becomes a victim of this struggle and is taken captive by the Comanche to live in Palo Duro Canyon, her father, Angus McCord gathers a search party and goes after her. With winter quickly approaching and still no sign of her Pa, Emma realizes things are sure to get much worse before they get better. This is a suspense-filled story of faith, family, and new beginnings the whole family will enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798385034413

Troy Everett Peterson

Troy Everett Peterson lived out West where he gained firsthand knowledge of cowboy culture by driving cattle with local cowboys while living the western lifestyle. With many years of careful research, he gives the reader a vivid and authentic window into the Old West in this inspirational, historical thriller.

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Copyright © 2024 Troy Everett Peterson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version, public domain.

ISBN: 979-8-3850-3440-6 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-3441-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024920178

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/15/2024

WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING

My husband and I greatly enjoyed this story. The location of the narrative moves across our country where we live. Its history is our history. Its declaration of faith in God, in the good times and bad are in our roots. The story captured our interest from the beginning to the very end, and it was believable and true to life. We deeply appreciate Troy’s research and attention to detail.

—Jess and Shalah Perkins-Campo, Colorado

Slash Bar Four Ranch

I received ‘The Last Comanche Moon’ yesterday afternoon and couldn’t put it down. I finished it this morning. It was wonderful.

—Glenna Keepper – Missouri

I loved this wonderful book. The descriptions of life during that era made me feel as though I was experiencing it firsthand.

—LeaAnne Meadows – Missouri

Move over Larry McMurtry. I have a new favorite author. ‘The Last Comanche Moon’ read like an epic Western movie. Its characters and scenes came to life in authentic and vivid detail.

—Robert Williams – Georgia

’The Last Comanche Moon’ is the most dramatic portrayal of life in the early West I have ever read, contrasting the naked brutality and lawlessness of the era with the strength and gentleness of Christian love. Thank you for such a wonderful work.

—Bernedette Jorgensen – Missouri

’Last Comanche Moon’ had a wonderful balance between suspense and tranquility, and the authenticity and empathy for the time period and the people was literary realism at its best.

—Marlene Westberg – Arkansas

CONTENTS

1 Shadows in the Moonlight

2 The Osage Boys

3 Fort Scott

4 Ambush at Limestone Crossing

5 A Father’s Promise

6 Comanche Country

7 The Dangerous High Plains

8 The Cimarron Dry Route

9 Wagon Wheel Springs

10 Life Lessons

11 Quanah and Spotted Horse

12 Buffalo Seep

13 Who’s Out There?

14 Devil Tracks

15 Rustlers and Hide Shuckers

16 Home on the Cottonwood

17 Comanche Scouts

18 Cougar Trouble

19 The Shadow at the Window

20 Emma’s Missing

21 Swallowed by the Prairie

22 Palo Duro Canyon

23 The Comancheros

24 Searching the Vast Llano

25 The Valley of Tears

26 Under the Late July Moon

27 Blanco Canyon

28 The Honey Eaters

29 Rescuing Willa Wagner

30 A Raid on Jenny’s Place

31 The Indian Campaign

32 October’s Breath

33 Rattlesnakes and Skeletons

34 Starvation

35 Christmas Miracle

36 The Last Comanche Moon

DEDICATION

To Mom and Dad. Thanks for your example.

Thanks for showing me Jesus.

PROLOGUE

The year was 1874, two years after Angus McCord had buried his wife back in Fort Scott, Kansas after she had been killed during a Comanche raid west of Dodge near the Black Mesa.

It was shaping up to be a very troubling summer upon the western high plains for both Comanches and Settlers alike; a time of terror and bloodshed for many along the borderlands of the Panhandles of Texas and Indian territory as well as Colorado and New Mexico.

Word from Fort Bascum was that further attacks were sure to become more frequent and progressively more violent as the summer wore on. As a result, many folks had chosen to abandon their homesteads and flee to the east while others dared to stay behind and Fort Up.

For those who stayed to face head-on these troubling times it would come to be known as the summer of the Comanche Moon, and for many of them, it would be their last.

For the McCord family, the struggle once again becomes personal when young Emma McCord is taken captive by Comanches during a moonlight raid under a Comanche Moon and time is running out on finding her or losing her forever.

SHADOWS IN THE MOONLIGHT

"The Lord is thy keeper: The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.

The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night."

Psalm 121:5,6 (KJV)

The very sight of the Comanche moon struck fear into the hearts of those who lived on the plains, for it often brought with it the worst of horrors. Tonight, it surely promised trouble, for it was full and bright and more ominous than ever. At the moment, it shown down through the sweeping branches of a giant sycamore, causing bony, fingerlike shadows to creep across the lonely cemetery.

Angus McCord knew it was dangerous to return here to Fort Scott, Kansas, but he had made a promise to his wife, Susan, that she be buried here among kinfolk, and he was a man of his word.

Angus’ children, Cade and Emma, sat quietly on the edge of the meadow, hidden among the bushes, watching and listening as their father shoveled dirt upon their mother’s grave.

The night was alive with the sounds of tree frogs courting, crickets chirping and the repetitive chanting of whip-poor-wills. Farther downhill, the Marmaton River murmured as it ran over a rocky shoal and to the west, thunder rumbled in the distance.

Cade grabbed his little sister’s hand. Look, he whispered, Someone’s coming.

A dark figure slinked along the stacked stone wall that surrounded the cemetery and paused behind a tree.

Emma, who was eight, clutched at the rag doll her mother had sewn for her from pieces of one of her old dresses. Her heart pounded from fright. On a night much like this one, their mother had been brutally killed by a Comanche warrior name Spotted Horse during a moonlight raid.

As the figure crept closer, Emma took in a deep breath and started to scream, It’s Spotted Horse! but not before Cade reached over and covered her mouth with his hand, muffling the sound.

Shush, he whispered, There’s no Comanche around here this far east.

Their father, Angus McCord, tossed one last shovel full of dirt upon the grave, then carefully packed it down with the back of his shovel.

He straightened up and used his bandana to wipe the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck as he observed the changing sky. It would be daylight soon and he knew he needed to leave before the Osage Boys found out he was here.

Pa! Look out behind you! Cade hollered.

Angus dropped his shovel and went for his pistol. Before he could turn around, the unmistakable click of a drawn-back hammer caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

I heard you was here, McCord. Now drop that gun and turn around real slow. Angus did as the man said and raised his hands in the air.

Before him stood a tall, dark-haired man with a set jaw and broad shoulders holding a Spencer rifle on him. The man wore denim overalls with a charcoal-colored flannel shirt underneath. Over that he wore a worn denim jacket with more than a couple of tears in it.

It was Ben Pollick, a bushwhacker Angus had had dealings with during the war. Ben was a member of the Osage Boys, a group of local vigilantes that had vowed to fight forever for the Confederate cause.

Coming back here to Fort Scott was not such a good idea now, was it, Billy Yank? Pollick said, cussing Angus. There’s still a Confederate reward on you.

Angus looked calmly into the man’s eyes. The war’s over Ben. Been over for a long time. Burying my wife is a private matter. You have no business here.

The man continued to point his rifle at Angus’s chest, his finger resting nervously on the trigger. Without diverting his eyes, Ben Pollick hollered over his left shoulder, Boy over in the bushes, you get out here right now where I can see you. Come on now. I know you’re there. I heard you speak out.

No, don’t leave me, Emma whimpered softly tugging at her brother’s shirt. Cade whispered for his sister to be still, then walked from the bushes and stood to face the man.

The man’s eyeballs bugged outward with tension and anger above his fearsome dark beard.

Anyone with you, boy? he said.

No, sir. It’s just me.

You ain’t lyin’ to me is ya, boy? The man’s devilish eyes searched every inch of Cade’s worried face. Cause if you are a-lyin’, boy, you’re gonna be sorry.

No, sir.

You get over there next to your Pa so I can keep my eye on you.

Ben Pollick flashed a wicked smile that revealed his yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. I been itchin’ to hang me a Yankee. Now it looks like I get to hang two!

Pollick kept his gun trained on them as he bent over and picked up Angus’s pistol. He took it and flung it over into the bushes where Cade had been hiding.

The pistol lay not far from where Emma was hiding, and she stared at it for a moment not sure of what to do.

Pollick kept his gun trained on them still.

The rest of the boys should be along shortly, he said. When they get here, we’re gonna hang you both from that tree up yonder. He pointed to the big elm up on the hillside then leaned and spat a glob of tobacco juice.

You’ve been drinkin’ Ben. I can smell it on you. Go on home and leave me and my boy alone.

You killed my younger brother, McCord. Now I’m getting even.

It was your brother that burned down my house and killed my children and my mother along with it, Angus said.

It was me and Glen and the rest of the Osage Boys along with Colonel Price that burned your house down, and we’d gladly do it again. Pollick’s body shook with hatred.

Angus began to pray silently until a peace came over him. If it was his time to die, then so be it. He would soon join his wife in heaven. If it was not his time to go, then God would provide a way out. Normally he kept a second pistol tucked away in his belt, but he had left it in the wagon when he took up the shovel earlier.

Just then Emma stepped from the bushes, holding her father’s pistol. Drop your gun, Mister, she said.

Ben Pollick turned to see the young girl holding a pistol, and a grin crept across his face.

You wouldn’t shoot me, would you, girl?

Emma pointed the heavy gun and with her thumbs, managed to cock it as her Pa had showed her.

Ben Pollick took a step toward Emma. You’re gonna have to kill me, child, or I will kill you, he said. He took another step toward her.

Emma’s arms were getting heavy, and her aim was noticeably wavering. I said drop your gun, Mister and don’t come no closer.

Suddenly there was a metallic thud, and Ben Pollick collapsed to the ground in a heap. Angus had picked up the shovel and struck him over the head from behind.

He quickly picked up Pollick’s rifle. Cade, fetch some rope and the other pistol from the wagon. Hurry before he comes to.

Emma, are you okay?

Emma stood where she was, trembling with fear. I thought he was going to kill you, Pa, she began to cry.

It’s okay Itty-Bitty, he assured her. You saved our lives. We’re safe now cause of you.

Cade brought over a six-foot swath of extra lead rope and handed it to Angus. He gave him the pistol as well.

Thank you, son.

Angus tied Pollick hand and foot. As soon as he had finished there was the sound of hoof-falls of a rider coming, and a horse nickered from near the creek below the tall, white-barked Sycamores.

Someone’s coming. You two get behind me quick, Angus said.

Just then a tall, gray-haired man on a big roan horse came riding up in a hurry from the river bottom.

Angus aimed his pistol at the man as he rode up. Hold it right there, Mister! he hollered.

Don’t shoot. I’m a U.S. Marshal out of Kansas City, the man said, touching his silver badge.

The Hotel Keep in town told me I might find you here. I came to warn you trouble’s coming, but it looks like you already found it, he said, looking at Ben Pollick who lay tied hand and foot.

The marshal stepped from his horse and approached Angus. I’m Marshal Bob Eden. How do you do? I assume you are Angus McCord.

I am, Angus nodded.

Angus, I was a friend of your father. I served with him here at the Fort with the First Dragoons, Company C, from forty-two to forty-seven under Moore and Kearney. We fought together at the battle of San Pasqual. Truth is, he died there, saving my life. I owe him mine. He’s gone now so I figure I owe you.

Angus nodded, I was a young boy at the time.

As long as you are here, the Osage Boys are gonna hound you. I suggest for your safety you head out soon as you can, the marshal said.

Angus nodded and looked around. The sky had paled, and the morning was now upon them. The breeze had picked up just a little, and the smell of rain lingered upon it.

"It was my wife Susan’s wish to be brought back here to Fort Scott to be buried beside our babies here in our family cemetery. I promised her I would, and I knew the danger of it.

Sue and I were both baptized down there in the Marmaton River, below the shoals, Angus pointed sentimentally. It was after a church picnic one Sunday afternoon in late October. The oaks had fully turned ablaze with color."

The marshal’s eyes rested upon the fresh mound of dirt that marked Susan’s grave. I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am, he said, removing his hat out of respect.

We were fixin’ to have a proper funeral. You’re welcome to join us, Marshal.

Marshal Eden nodded.

Angus wore the same black suit coat and vest he had worn to their wedding twelve years before. This time, under it, he carried his .45 caliber army Colt.

It had begun to rain lightly. Angus held Emma and stared somberly at the earthen mound before him, now pocked and streaked by the falling rain. His ten-year-old son, Cade, stood at his side, holding a handful of freshly picked lilacs from the nearby bush.

The marshal stood reverently beside, his eyes contemplative, as if recalling his own losses.

Cade knelt down and placed the flowers on his Ma’s grave. The sweet-smelling lavender-colored blossoms had been her favorite.

Angus continued to hold Emma as he took a moment to say some words from his heart. Susan, you were the love of my life. I knew you since we were babes. I shared many joys with you and many hardships as well. Angus nodded, confirming his own words.

Our love was very special. You were truly a gift from God. I know one day we will see you again in heaven, and I take comfort in the fact that you are now rejoicing in the arms of our Savior, Jesus.

Angus paused a moment to collect his emotions and swallow a lump that had formed in his throat. He took a quivered breath and continued. I will do my best to raise our children uprightly. I will love you forever and miss you always.

When he finished saying his piece, he led the singing of the hymn, Amazing Grace. It had been Susan’s favorite. The marshal’s deep voice joined along and seemed to lend a somber finality to the situation.

When they had finished singing, Angus took a headstone from the wagon and placed it at the head of Susan’s grave. It carried an inscription that read, Susana LeAnn McCord. Devoted mother and wife. Dearly loved. 1844-1872. Death by Comanche raid.

Angus shook his head in disbelief. Susan, he said out loud.

Nearby were the graves of their departed children. A boy and a girl. Eva and Jacob. A few feet beyond that were the graves of his departed father and mother.

Angus and the marshal suddenly turned their heads in the direction of the hill where a covey of bobwhite quail had flushed from the hillside.

At that moment, three men on horseback entered the clearing and stopped under a large elm tree that had seen several hangings over the years. An old, rotted rope, partially swallowed by the tree’s yearly growth, still hung from one of the branches as a reminder of the past.

The tallest of the three men sat atop a big gray. Angus believed him to be Glen Pollick, one of Ben Pollick’s brothers. The other two men he believed to be Tobias Brown and Craig Bitter from Vernon County, Missouri: Pollick’s right hand men.

These were the Osage Boys, and their presence at best was meant to send a message that he was not welcome here. At worst, they had come to kill him and settle old scores.

THE OSAGE BOYS

Under the elm tree, the men waited as they surveyed the situation.

Angus knew he would have to face them. It was obvious there was still some bad blood left over from the past that needed to be dealt with.

Years earlier, as a soldier, he had played a part in the arrest of several bushwhackers who had holed up in an old two-story brick farmhouse east of town, after robbing the bank in Fort Scott.

Two days later, his barn and house were burned to the ground in retaliation while he and his wife had gone to the Fort to gather supplies. His twin babies, Eva and Jacob, and his own mother had been home inside. Their tragic deaths had been too much for him to bear.

In a rage, he had sought revenge, and several men paid for it with their lives. Among them were Jesse Pollick and Kyle Bitter, brothers of two of the men who now waited on the hill.

Angus had soon been commissioned out West, to the territories beyond Dodge City, Kansas, to assist with efforts there. It meant leaving their 160-acre farm behind. At the time, Susan was nearly eight months along with Cade.

Until now, Angus had not been back as he had a family and a large herd of longhorn cattle to look after, far to the west near Black Mesa.

Angus kept a watchful eye to the hillside as it continued to rain lightly. He turned to his son, placing his hand on his shoulder.

Pistol, I need you to take your sister and ride back into those cedars and wait for me. If anything should happen to me or the marshal, ride for the Fort and ask for Shadrack Baker. He’ll know what to do. Go on now.

Yes, sir.

The three men continued riding toward them until they stopped just a stone’s toss away.

Glen Pollick, Angus said in a loud, steady voice. That’s close enough. With me here is U.S. Marshal Bob Eden. It’s time this ends. The war is over.

Leaving no room for trouble, the marshal immediately hollered out, He’s right. I’ve got several warrants for your arrest for murder, and I’m going to see that you stand trial, every last one of you.

Glen Pollick’s eyes flashed with hatred as he looked upon his brother lying tied up on the ground.

His voice was loud, We have no quarrel with you, Marshal. It’s McCord we’re here for. He killed our brothers and a whole passel of our men at Honey Springs and Willow Grove during the succession. There’s a confederate bounty on his head, and we aim to collect. We aim to hang him from the elm up yonder.

"I won’t