Read Across the Rio Colorado Online
Authors: Ralph Compton
Across the Rio Colorado (10 page)
“Maybe,” said Ike during supper, “the Kiowa will leave us alone.”
“We can't count on that,” McQuade said. “We'll continue with a tripled watch. They're up to something, but it may not necessarily involve us.”
“The men have settled down,” said Hedgepith with satisfaction. “With McQuade's outfit ahead of us, I believe our troubles are over.”
“They'd better not settle down too much,” Hook replied. “Havin' McQuade's bunch just ahead of us don't mean they'll help us.”
“It sure as hell don't,” said Hedgepith. “We have you and your damned deadline talk to thank for that.”
“Hedgepith,” Hook said, “you'd better watch your mouth. One day you'll go too far.”
Sometime during the night, the Kiowa slipped into Hook's camp, stampeding every last horse and mule into the darkness. Some of the animals flattened Hook's tent, leaving him bruised, barefoot, and wearing only his drawers.
“Damn it,” Hook bawled in frustration, “damn it.”
“My goodness,” Hedgepith said mildly, “how are we going to move these wagons, with all our horses and mules gone?”
“Mr. Hook,” said Snakehead Presnall, “they turned over the saloon wagon and busted the roulette wheel.”
“After them,” Hook shouted. “Every man of you take your guns and go after them.”
“Beggin' your pardon, suh,” said Creeker with all the contempt he could muster, “but are you referrin' to the Indians or the horses and mules?”
“All of them, damn it,” Hook snarled. “What the hell am I paying you for?”
“Not to drift around in the dark afoot, huntin' horses, mules, and Indians,” said Dirk. “By God, I ain't movin' till daylight, and then just far enough to find my hoss.”
There was shouted agreement so near unanimous that Hook swallowed his curses and bore his frustration in silence. Whatever his other problems, the lack of vigilance wasn't one of them, for every man was awake the rest of the night, his gun ready. Strong on the minds of them all were the arrow-riddled bodies of Byron and Mook.
The uproar was heard in McQuade's camp. McQuade sat up, listening.
“What is it?” Mary asked.
“It sounds almighty like all of Hook's horses and mules have stampeded,” McQuade said. “I reckon I'd better get up for a while, and maybe join the men on watch. Where's my britches and shirt?”
She laughed. “Somewhere in the wagon, I think.”
“You're a hell of a lot of help,” he grumbled. “On the frontier, a man's a fool to take off anything more than his hat, when he sleeps.”
McQuade found the missing articles, got dressed, and tugged on his boots.
“When will you be back?” Mary asked.
“I don't know,” said McQuade. “Get some sleep. You still have to scrape those buffalo hides before breakfast.”
She laughed, enjoying his strange sense of humor, as he climbed over the wagon's tailgate. In the moonlight he could see many of the other men gathered near Ike Peyton's wagon. Obviously they were waiting for McQuade to arrive.
“Sounds like Hook's bunch is all goin' to be afoot, come morning,” Cal Tabor said.
“Yeah,” said Hardy Kilgore, “and I'm so sorry for 'em, I could just break down and bawl like a baby.”
“I feel the same way,” Eli Bibb said. “I reckon we ought to all ride over there, come daylight, and offer our help.”
“Don't worry, Eli,” said Ike. “After somebody gutshoots you, we'll put you up a nice headstone and look after Odessa.”
They all laughed uproariously.
“Don't get too excited,” McQuade said. “While they can't stampede our stock from the wagon circle, they can come after them while they're out to graze, or they can attack us while we're strung out for a mile.”
That brought them back to the reality of their own danger, and they became quiet.
“There's something else I should have told you,” said McQuade, “which I'm about to tell you now. There'll be no smoking while you're on watch. Nothing gives away your position in the dark more quickly than a lighted quirly or a pipe. Always stand your watch in pairs, never separated. A pair of Kiowa with knives can pick you off one man at a time, without the rest of us being aware of it, until we find your dead bodies.”
“I reckon we shouldn't talk, neither,” Hardy Kilgore said.
“I reckon you shouldn't, if you want to go on living,” said McQuade. “Don't do anything to draw attention to yourselves. An Indian can find you by the creak of the leather in your boots, the shifting of your gunbelt, or while you're fanning yourself with your hat.”
“God Almighty,” somebody said, “maybe I'll hold my breath too.”
“Good idea,” said McQuade. “I overlooked that. Just remember that sound carries for a great distance at night, and that can work for you, as well as against you. Listen for any sound that seems out of place or unnatural.”
McQuade's watch was still more than four hours away, so he went back to the wagon and climbed in.
“Are you still awake?” he asked softly.
“No,” she said. “You told me to get some sleep.”
“That's a disappointment. I don't have to stand watch for another four hours.”
“I wouldn't want you lying here disappointed,” she replied. “Why don't you gently wake me?”
“No use, I reckon. I'm wearin' everything except my hat.”
It was all completely foolish. They laughed until there were tears in their eyes, and the men on watch got a totally false impression as to what was going on â¦
After the stampede, nobody in Hook's camp slept. They all sat there with their guns ready, any occasional conversation being answered by a grunt or total silence. In the dark, in his trampled tent, Hook had been unable to find his clothing and boots. As a result, he spent the rest of the night in his drawers, his teeth chattering in a chill wind. Even he had enough Indian savvy not to suggest a fire. The moment it was light enough to see, the men prepared to go looking for the scattered stock.
“First priority is the mules,” said Hook.
“First priority is my damn horse,” Creeker replied.
“And mine,” said half a dozen of his companions.
Hook swallowed his fury and began looking for his clothing and boots. His position was precarious, because without the mules, he was stranded. The remaining ten men upon whom he depended for protection, however, could find their horses and simply ride away, if they chose. Despite all the cursing and commotion, Ampersand started his fire and got breakfast underway. Whatever their troubles, men had to eat. The old Negro looked at Rufus Hook and said exactly the wrong thing.
“How we move this wagon, without no mules?”
“I don't intend to move it,” Hook said savagely. “I'm going to leave it set right here, with you in it, until Judgment
Day, or until the Indians get you, whichever comes first.”
Day, or until the Indians get you, whichever comes first.”
Ampersand had been with Hook for years, and thought he had endured all the man's ugly moods, but this was Hook at his worst. The old man silently vowed that if he was able to return to St. Louis alive, he would build himself a shack alongside the Mississippi, and for his remaining years, watch the steamboats go by.
“Damn it,” said Slack, as he and his companions followed the trail of the stampeded horses and mules, “we could beat the bushes for a week, without findin' one horse or mule.”
“Let them that's dependin' on mules look for 'em,” Rucker replied.
All seventeen of the teamsters were following the same trail, and while none of them had anything to say, they were rankled by the crude remarks of Hook's hired gunmen. Odd as it seemed, the first animals to be recovered were mules, and the men who had lost horses were beginning to panic.
“I never cared for ridin' a mule,” Porto growled, “but if that's what it takes to git me out of this godforsaken country, I'm willin' to learn.”
“As I recall,” said one of the teamsters, “wasn't nobody ridin' mules. All of them was drawin' wagons.”
“That could all change,” Ellis snarled, “if we don't soon find some hosses.”
“I got a gun that says it ain't likely,” one of the teamsters replied.
They stumbled on, the search growing longer and tempers growing shorter. The wind being from the southwest, they could hear the creak and the rattle of wagons, as McQuade and his outfit again took the trail. For a while they all were silent, as the implications of their predicament sank in. With McQuade and his much larger party gone, they would again be on their own. On their own, afoot.
McQuade rode out ahead of the wagons, wary, not knowing what to expect. He had an idea, however, that the Kiowa would be busy rounding up the stock they had run off from Hook's camp the night before. He wondered if Hook had sense enough to find just enough horses and mules to mount his men and send them after the Kiowa and the rest of the stampeded stock. He suspected the Kiowa would be concerned with the mules only as food. They would be interested in the horses. Including the animals taken from the Sutton gang, there were now more than a hundred horses in McQuade's own outfit, reason enough for a heavy guard. Finding a suitable camp for the night, he rode back to meet the wagons.
There was jubilation among Hook's teamsters as they began finding grazing mules, and gloom among Creeker and his companions, as they found no horses.
“It's lookin' like there'll be some
hombres
beggin' to ride on our wagon boxes,” one of the teamsters observed.
hombres
beggin' to ride on our wagon boxes,” one of the teamsters observed.
“I'd have to think on it some,” said another. “I ain't sure I can stand the stink.”
By the end of the day, only five mules were missing, while not a single horse had been found, forcing Hook to make a decision.
“If we must, we can leave one wagon, spreading its goods among the others. But I'm not without sympathy for those of you whose horses haven't been found. I'm willing to lay over for another day, allowing you the use of mules to seek and recover your mounts. If you are interested in doing so, of course.”
“What the hell choice do we have?” Creeker growled. “I ain't too proud to straddle a mule, if my only other choice is walking.”
There was reluctant agreement from Creeker's companions.
“Just tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night,” said Hook. “Obviously your horses have been taken by the
Indians. We shall see if you're man enough to recover them.”
Indians. We shall see if you're man enough to recover them.”
Tracking hostile Indians, even to recover their mounts, was a task none of them relished, but they had little choice. The rest of them looked at Creeker, and he remained silent.
“Still no sign of Hook's wagons,” Ike said, as they gathered around the supper fire. “How does a man go about findin' his horse after it's been stole by Indians?”
“If he's smart,” said McQuade, “he'll find a trail and track the Indians, rather than tromp around lookin' for horses he ain't likely to find. I reckon Hook's bunch has all been horse and mule huntin' all day, and I'd bet they haven't found a single horse. The Kiowa split up, each man chasing a horse. They'll all come together some distance away, instead of close by, where Hook's bunch will be looking for tracks.”
“You've had considerable experience with Indians, I reckon,” said Gunter Warnell.
“Enough not to take them for granted,” McQuade said. “Most Indians have cause for their hostility toward whites, but that has nothing to do with them stealing our horses. One tribe steals from another, so why would they hesitate to steal from us?”
“I think we should add to our watch,” said Will Haymes. “We have the men.”
“Any increase should be from midnight till dawn,” McQuade said. “If a man's going to nod off, it's usually during the small hours of the morning. I'm going to be with you each night during those hours, at least until we're through Indian Territory.”
“Hell, after that, it's the Comanches,” said Eli Bibb.
“One thing at a time,” McQuade said.
The first stars were out as McQuade and Mary made their way to the wagon.
“You'd better get some sleep, if you're going on watch at midnight,” said Mary.
“I aim to keep you awake until I go on watch,” McQuade said.
“You're going to take off more than just your hat, then.”
“Considerably more,” said McQuade.
A
t first light, Creeker and his nine companions rode out, unsure as to where to start searching for their lost mounts.
t first light, Creeker and his nine companions rode out, unsure as to where to start searching for their lost mounts.
“We'll ride a five-mile circle,” said Creeker, “lookin' for shod tracks. Any one of you findin' tracks, foller 'em. Somewhere these damn Indians had to come together. From there we ought to have some kind of trail leadin' us to their camp.”
The stock had stampeded toward the east, and it soon became apparent that the Kiowa had been driving the horses. While the mules had slowed and fanned out, the horses had continued considerably farther than spooked animals would have run on their own. Finally the horses had been allowed to scatter, with the intention of discouraging pursuit.
“Each of us will track one horse,” said Creeker, “but we don't know that bunch didn't take a roundabout way, so one of us could reach that camp ahead of the others. Watch what you're doin', and don't stumble into the midst of em.”
They separated, and within a mile, Creeker realized they had done the right thing, for he found a set of unshod tracks pursuing the shod ones. Both horses had slowed from a gallop, to a trot, to a walk. Creeker followed the tracks eastward for half a dozen miles, reining up on a
rise, aware that he might be approaching the camp. Suddenly there was the bray of a mule, and Creeker's animal answered. Creeker dismounted, and taking his rifle, crept to the top of the rise. Below him were Groat, Porto, Dirk, and Nall. Besides the mules they rode, there were the five missing animals needed to draw the wagons. Leading his mule, Creeker descended the rise.
rise, aware that he might be approaching the camp. Suddenly there was the bray of a mule, and Creeker's animal answered. Creeker dismounted, and taking his rifle, crept to the top of the rise. Below him were Groat, Porto, Dirk, and Nall. Besides the mules they rode, there were the five missing animals needed to draw the wagons. Leading his mule, Creeker descended the rise.
“Reckon what these varmints are worth to Rufus Hook?” Nall asked. “By God, way he talked to us, we oughta hold 'em for ransom.”
“Never mind them,” said Creeker. “Did the trails you were followin' lead here?”
“Yeah,” Nall replied. “We reckoned the others would, too, so we waited. Looks like them Indians all left here together.”
They waited less than an hour for their five companions. There being a spring, they watered their mules and took the trail of the Indians and their stolen horses.
“They ain't but one thing botherin' me,” said Dirk. “When we find that Indian camp, how do we go about gettin' our horses without bein' shot full of arrows?”
“It depends on how many Indians are in that camp,” Creeker replied. “If there's just a few, maybe we can ambush the varmints. If there's a hundred, we'll have to come up with somethin' else.”
“Let's do them like they done us,” said Rucker, “and stampede all the horses. Then all we got to do is round 'em up.”
“Damn, Rucker, why don't we just ride in and ask for 'em back?” Groat suggested.
Slack laughed. “Groat's right. Them Indians ain't gonna be settin' there shaking in their teepees, while we gather up our horses.”
“Shut up, the lot of you,” said Creeker. “They'll hear us comin', five miles off.”
The trail they were following had begun to veer toward the northwest. Half a mile to the north, an Indian observed them, while his companion had taken a similar position
less than a mile to the south. As though by prearranged signal, each Kiowa mounted his horse and galloped away to the northwest. The Kiowa camp boasted more than fifty warriors, and they came alive as their sentries rode in. Within minutes, they were mounted and riding toward the southeast. Eventually they divided, half of them continuing toward the southeast, while the rest rode toward the northeast.
less than a mile to the south. As though by prearranged signal, each Kiowa mounted his horse and galloped away to the northwest. The Kiowa camp boasted more than fifty warriors, and they came alive as their sentries rode in. Within minutes, they were mounted and riding toward the southeast. Eventually they divided, half of them continuing toward the southeast, while the rest rode toward the northeast.
“I got the feelin' we're almighty close to them Indians,” said Ellis. “Maybe one of us ought to ride ahead ⦔
His voice trailed off, as a ridge to their right suddenly blossomed with hard-riding, screeching Indians.
“Take cover!” Creeker shouted.
Wheeling their mules toward the south, preparing to ride for their lives, they reined up, for coming at them was an equal force of whooping Indians. The mules spooked, and in the mass confusion that followed, not a shot was fired. Men were clubbed from their saddles, and when they came to their senses, they were mounted, with their feet bound and their hands tied behind them with rawhide thongs. They were alive, but nothing more. Each had a bloodied head and had been relieved of his weapons. Each mule was secured by a lead rope, an Indian riding behind, and the captives looked at one another in hopeless despair. They were riding toward the northwest, toward the Kiowa camp, and not a man of them had any doubt as to what would become of them there â¦
Chance McQuade had ridden out ahead of the wagons, and as was his custom, he took cover in a thicket, when he stopped to rest his horse. It was from there that he saw the Kiowa and their captives crossing his trail, half a mile ahead.
“Well, by God, horse,” said McQuade, “some of Hook's bunch has got their tails caught in an almighty deep crack.”
McQuade waited until the procession was out of sight.
He then rode on until he found suitable water a little more than five miles ahead. After resting and watering his horse, he returned the way he had come. Reaching the point where the Kiowa had crossed with their hapless captives, McQuade reined up. Common sense told him it was none of his business what became of Hook's men, but compassion won out. He rode cautiously the way the Kiowa had gone. Obviously, the Indians had satisfied themselves their captives had been alone, and they had no fear of pursuit. Fortunately, McQuade was downwind from the camp, and long before reaching it, he smelled wood smoke. A dog barked nearby, and he reined up. It was time to leave his horse, lest it nicker and betray his presence. Carefully, quietly, he crept forward until he reached a slight rise. From the crest of it, he could see at least part of the camp below. He counted a dozen teepees, and he wasn't able to see them all, because of trees and obscuring brush. But he could see enough to cause his blood to run cold, for the Kiowa were placing a line of wooden stakes in the ground. McQuade counted ten, equaling the number of captives. After the evening meal, after some satisfying torture, the ten captives would be burned at the stake. McQuade had seen enough. Quickly he returned to his horse, mounted, and rode away. When he met the wagons, he judged they would reach water well before dark. He waited until the teams were being rested, to tell his companions of the capture of Hook's men and their probable fate.
He then rode on until he found suitable water a little more than five miles ahead. After resting and watering his horse, he returned the way he had come. Reaching the point where the Kiowa had crossed with their hapless captives, McQuade reined up. Common sense told him it was none of his business what became of Hook's men, but compassion won out. He rode cautiously the way the Kiowa had gone. Obviously, the Indians had satisfied themselves their captives had been alone, and they had no fear of pursuit. Fortunately, McQuade was downwind from the camp, and long before reaching it, he smelled wood smoke. A dog barked nearby, and he reined up. It was time to leave his horse, lest it nicker and betray his presence. Carefully, quietly, he crept forward until he reached a slight rise. From the crest of it, he could see at least part of the camp below. He counted a dozen teepees, and he wasn't able to see them all, because of trees and obscuring brush. But he could see enough to cause his blood to run cold, for the Kiowa were placing a line of wooden stakes in the ground. McQuade counted ten, equaling the number of captives. After the evening meal, after some satisfying torture, the ten captives would be burned at the stake. McQuade had seen enough. Quickly he returned to his horse, mounted, and rode away. When he met the wagons, he judged they would reach water well before dark. He waited until the teams were being rested, to tell his companions of the capture of Hook's men and their probable fate.
“If it was anybody else,” Will Haymes said, “I'd be all for going to their rescue, but I ain't forgot the nasty way Hook treated us, while you was laid up, near dead.”
“That was Hook's doing,” said McQuade. “These men haven't done anything to us, and for our sake as much as theirs, we can't allow them to be murdered. If the Kiowa manage to get by with this, they'll believe their medicine is almighty strong, and they'll give us hell from now on.”
“I reckon I understand your thinkin',” Ike said, “but
I don't favor gettin' some of us shot full of arrows, savin' Hook's bunch. With that many Kiowa, how do you aim to get us into that camp and get them captives out?”
I don't favor gettin' some of us shot full of arrows, savin' Hook's bunch. With that many Kiowa, how do you aim to get us into that camp and get them captives out?”
“We'll create a diversion, takin' their minds off the captives,” said McQuade. “Nothin' is more important to an Indian than his horse. We can ride in just after dark. Some of us will stampede their horses, and that should rid the camp of most of them. We'll assign men to shoot any who try to prevent us from completing the rescue. Ten men, each leading an extra horse, will free the captives.”
“There ought to be at least sixty of us,” said Cal Tabor. “With ten men going after the captives, that would allow twenty-five to stampede the horses, and an equal number to shoot any Indians that decide to stand and fight.”
“That's a hell of a lot of men, just to stampede the horses,” Hardy Kilgore said.
“I don't want them just stampeded out of the camp,” said McQuade. “I want them run far enough to keep those Indians afoot for two or three days. The longer they're without horses, the less likely they are to come after us with revenge on their minds. We'll kill as many Kiowa as we must, and no more. I want only to free those men, and to convince the Kiowa that we're bad medicine. That's how I feel. Do any of you object?”
“I do,” said Andrew Burke. “Us Burkes wouldn't carry a drop of water to Hook to save his soul from hell. And that goes for anybody that's cozied up to him.”
“You Burkes are out of it, then,” McQuade said. “Anybody else?”
“Yeah,” said Trent Putnam. “Leave me out of it.”
Quickly, a dozen othersâsingle menârefused to participate. They were looked upon with contempt by other men, but McQuade said nothing to them. Instead, he spoke to the majority.
“We have more than enough men. I'll be leading the party, and I'll start by asking for volunteers. Fifty-nine of
you. Stand over here beside me, if you're willing to ride with me tonight.”
you. Stand over here beside me, if you're willing to ride with me tonight.”
Quickly they stepped forward, many disappointed because they hadn't moved quickly enough. McQuade spoke to them.
“We can't all go, but I'm thanking each of you who offered. I won't forget. Those of you who are left behind, I'll feel better with you here to defend the camp.”
Though McQuade's voice was calm, it was a deliberate slap at those who had rebuked him, and they all eyed him in sullen disfavor. Several hours of daylight remained, and the women started supper so the men would have time to eat before riding out. When the men had eaten, McQuade walked back to the wagon with Mary.
“You will be careful, won't you?” she asked.
“Not me,” said McQuade, a twinkle in his eye. “It's always been my ambition to be shot full of Kiowa arrows.”
“That's one habit of yours I don't like,” she said. “You're always laughing at death.”
“Sooner or later, he comes for us all,” said McQuade. “Crying won't keep him away.”
She said nothing, looking away from him, biting her lip. Immediately he was sorry, and sought to make her smile, but she refused.
“You don't have to put on an act for me,” she said. “If you want to risk getting yourself killed, I can't stop you, but don't expect me to laugh about it.”
Instead of spending some time with her as he had intended, he left her at the wagon and returned to join the men who had congregated around the supper fire.
“In what order to you aim for us to ride?” Ike asked.
“I want you and Gunter with me in the freeing of the captives,” said McQuade. “Pick seven men to ride with us. Eli, I want you and Cal to choose twenty-three men to side you in stampeding the horses and mules. Will, you and Hardy will choose another twenty-three men to defend us against any Indians choosing to stand and fight.
When you have all your men assigned to one of the three groups, we'll go over our plan of attack.”
When you have all your men assigned to one of the three groups, we'll go over our plan of attack.”
McQuade had total confidence in them, and while they went about organizing for the attack, he poured himself another cup of coffee and kept out of the way. He was counting on Ike to choose the more accurate marksmen for those who would be charged with the defense of the attackers. In less than half an hour, Ike was ready.
“Our first move will be to stampede the horses and mules,” said McQuade. “Eli, you and Cal will decide how best to begin, but I'd suggest a west-to-east run. The camp is at the foot of a ridge, and from what I could see, the stock is to the west. Get them on the run and keep them running, right through the camp. Don't let up. We want that bunch left afoot for as long as possible, so that we can put them behind us. Will, you, Hardy, and your men hold your fire until the stampede clears the Indian camp, so there's no chance of you hitting our riders. Any Indians failing to follow the stampede will be your responsibility.”
“Where do you aim for us to find these captives?” Warnell asked.
“They'll be tied to stakes,” said McQuade. “Every man of us will need a sharp knife. We'll ride in right on the heels of the stampede. When you've cut your man loose, he'll be stiff from bein' tied up. Get him up on the extra horse and ride like hell wouldn't have it, back the way you come. We'll group to the northwest. Those of you who have stampeded the horses and mules, keep them running. When you've run them at least ten miles, ride back to our camp. The defendersâthose of you riding with Will and Hardyâcease firing just as soon as we've freed the captives. Swing wide, toward the northwest, and return to camp. Are there any questions?”
There were none. They rode out at dark, McQuade in the lead. Later there would be a moon, but by then, the attack would be over.
Mary watched them go, regretting her harsh words to
McQuade. Suppose he died in the attack? Assailed by loneliness, she made her way to what remained of the supper fire and poured herself some coffee. The Peyton wagon was nearby, and Maggie spoke from the darkness.
McQuade. Suppose he died in the attack? Assailed by loneliness, she made her way to what remained of the supper fire and poured herself some coffee. The Peyton wagon was nearby, and Maggie spoke from the darkness.
“Why don't you come set with the rest of us?”
“Thank you,” said Mary, “I will.”
“It's a woman's lot to worry,” Odessa Bibb said. “They get themselves cut or shot, and we doctor them as best we can, so they can ride out and do it all over again.”
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