Across the Rio Colorado (29 page)

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Authors: Ralph Compton

BOOK: Across the Rio Colorado
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T
he camp came alive well before first light, since breakfast had to be prepared for the hundred extra men. McQuade, Creeker, and a dozen other men set about assembling the packs that would be taken to Houston's stronghold on the Rio Colorado. Some packs contained only food, others only powder and shot, and a few only bottled whiskey and the medical supplies Doctor Puckett had recommended. By the time Houston's riders had eaten, their packs were ready.
“We've had no time for introductions,” said McQuade. “Except for Creeker and me, you know none of us, and none of us know any of you. But that can come later. For now we know that we're all together in this fight for Texas independence, and that will have to be enough. You men ride careful, and we'll be along with the wagons as soon as we can.”
McQuade's outfit shouted good wishes, and one of Houston's men stepped forward, his hand up. When the uproar diminished, he spoke.
“I'm Anton Bickler, from Tennessee, an' for all of Houston's militia, I'm thankin' you. God only knows what we'd have done, if you hadn't come to our rescue. Keep an eye out for the Comanches and Monclova's bunch, an' we'll look forward to havin' you join us on the Rio Colorado.”
With that, they mounted and rode out. McQuade's outfit watched them as they rode across the Brazos and were lost among the sagebrush and thickets to the south.
“I just hope Monclova's bunch didn't attack Houston and his men again this morning,” said Creeker.
“So do I,” McQuade said. “Now we have to get to our breakfast and begin this last few days of our journey.”
But McQuade had something to say, and he said it before breakfast.
“Creeker's come up with an idea that could spare us attacks from Comanches as well as Monclova's bunch. We need as many men as possible to serve as outriders, to flank the wagons from one end of the train to the other. These men will be ready to recognize and repel any attack before the attackers can get close enough to hurt us. Trouble is, we don't have these men. Creeker believes—and I agree—that many of you women can take the reins, freeing the men to ride alongside the wagons. Creeker and me have ridden all the way to the Rio Colorado, and we know where the water is. There are no drop-offs, and the plain is mostly flat. How many of you ladies can and will take over your teams the rest of the way to the Rio Colorado?”
There were enthusiastic shouts, and after a show of hands, McQuade had sixty men to serve as a mounted escort the rest of the way. During breakfast, McQuade spoke to Cal Tabor about something he had been considering.
“Cal, Ike's has always been one of the three lead wagons, but now that Ike's gone, I'd like you to take his position. Maggie's capable, but the lead wagons call for a man with a quick gun.”
“I'll do it,” said Cal. “With the outriders prepared for an attack, that'll give us time to rein up, get off the box, and shoot back.”
McQuade went looking for Maggie to tell her of the new arrangement, but was unable to find her. Mary was having breakfast with Creeker and Lora.
“I don't know where she is,” Mary said, “unless she's in the wagon.”
“My God,” said Creeker, “she may have gone to Ike's grave. The Comanches …”
Creeker dropped his coffee cup and was one step behind McQuade. While the new-made grave could be seen from the wagon circle, it was far enough away that a watchful Comanche could have taken Maggie without difficulty. She was there, her head bowed, and McQuade and Creeker hurried to her.
“Maggie,” McQuade scolded, “the Comanches could have stolen you away without any of us knowing you were gone.”
“I didn't think of that,” said Maggie. “I just wanted a little time alone with Ike before we had to go. I'm ready now.”
McQuade positioned Maggie's wagon beside his own, with Mary at the reins. After the wagons crossed the Brazos and the train was strung out, three wagons abreast, McQuade assigned his sixty outriders. Front-to-back, thirty armed, mounted men flanked the train on either side. Groat, Slack, Rucker, and Ellis rode behind the last wagons, their eyes on the back-trail. McQuade and Creeker rode ahead of the lead wagons.
“This was a good move,” said McQuade. “I just regret we didn't come up with it a lot sooner. Ike would still be alive.”
“It works only to the extent that the women can handle the teams and wagons,” Creeker replied. “We passed through some rough country in Indian Territory. It was hard on some of the men, and with sixty women at the reins, you might have been in some real trouble. We have an advantage from here on to the Rio Colorado, because you and me had a chance to ride it ahead of the wagons.”
Their first day on the trail after leaving the Brazos was uneventful, and they circled the wagons near a spring where McQuade and Creeker had rested their horses.
“Easiest day we've ever had,” said Isaac McDaniel.
“Them hundred riders that's ahead of us is leavin' a trail we could foller in the dark.”
McQuade spoke to all the women who had taken the reins, allowing their men to ride alongside the wagons.
“If it means the difference between some of us living and dying,” Ellen Warnell said, “it's worth it, and the very least we can do.”
“That's what hurt us before,” said Lucy Tabor. “By the time the men knew an attack was coming, the Indians were already on us. Now, the men are ready to fight, without the lost time it takes to rein in the team and get off the wagon box.”
Every woman appreciated the opportunity to do her part, freeing the men to devote their time and attention to the protection of the wagon train. Many within the party, men and women alike, thanked Creeker for his plan which they believed would see them all to their destination alive.
Two days after their victory, Miguel Monclova announced their permanent camp was to be moved downriver, some twenty-five miles beyond Houston's fort. While his men were curious, none were in a position to question the move except Pedro Mendez and Hidalgo Cortez, and they remained silent. Monclova would reveal his purpose when he was ready. Half a dozen miles before they reached Houston's fort, they veered to the north, away from the river. While Monclova didn't fear Houston's forces, there was nothing to be gained by having them suspect Monclova's headquarters was being moved. Thus it was with some surprise that they came upon the trail left by Houston's men, as they had ridden north with Creeker and McQuade.
“Many riders,” Pedro Mendez observed, “Where do they go?”
“
Madre de dios
,” said Hidalgo Cortez, “per'ap we frighten them all away.”
“Ortiz, Juan,” Monclova said, summoning two men, “ride near enough to the
Tejano
fort to see if it is still
inhabited, and report back to me. We will continue on.”
Within the hour, Ortiz and Juan caught up to the rest of the band, and riding alongside Monclova, reported what they had seen.
“We see but a few
Tejanos,”
said Ortiz, “and many
caballos
be gone.”
“They do not run,” Monclova said.
“But where do they go, and why?” Mendez asked.
“We do not concern ourselves with that,” said Monclova. “When we have established our new camp, we ride back to the fort. Tomorrow at dawn, we attack. While so many of the
Tejanos
are away, we will kill those that remain, and burn their fort.”
The sun had already slipped below the western horizon, and the first stars twinkled their silver majesty in a darkening sky, when Houston's men who had ridden north reined up on a ridge overlooking Sam Houston's fort. Kicking their tired horses into a trot, they rode on, unaware that they returned barely in time …
McQuade continued to take precautions against the Comanches, with half the men on watch until midnight, and the rest until dawn. They were unmolested, and with McQuade and Creeker knowing the distances to the next water, they had an edge. The Texas sun bore down on them unmercifully, and if they had an enemy, it was the heat. The third day after leaving the Brazos, McQuade had a decision to make.
“We're going to have to slow the gait and rest the teams more often, or the heat's going to be our undoing,” he said.
While there was heat lightning far to the west, there was no sign of rain, and even at night, the heat became oppressive. Less than an hour until midnight, McQuade sat on the tailgate of the wagon, wearing only his drawers.
“Why don't you join me? It's a mite cooler,” he said.
“No use,” said Mary. “In here, I can wear nothing at all, and if I came out there, I'd have to get dressed.”
“No, you wouldn't,” McQuade said. “There's no moon.”
“There's mosquitoes as big as turkey buzzards, and my hide's not as tough as yours. Besides, you'll be going on watch soon, and I'd be alone.”
At midnight, McQuade took over for Creeker, and when he reached the Peyton wagon he found Doctor Puckett and Maggie on the wagon box, talking. He grinned in the dark, for it reminded him of those nights which now seemed so long ago, when he and Mary had spent their evenings in similar fashion. It worked out well, he thought, for that allowed Creeker and Lora the use of Puckett's wagon. He went on, speaking to the men. He had purposely separated the Burkes, and when he found Andrew slumped against a wagon wheel, he thought the old man was asleep.
“Burke,” he said.
There was no response, and when McQuade felt for a pulse, there was none. He ran to the Peyton wagon.
“Doc,” he said urgently, “you're needed. Andrew Burke's either dead or close to it.”
The doctor came off the wagon box, Maggie following. He ran to his wagon for his bag, and McQuade led him to the inert Andrew. Puckett didn't bother seeking a pulse, but drew his stethoscope from his bag. He knelt, listening, repositioned the scope, and listened again. When he spoke, it was to Maggie.
“He's alive, but not by much. Maggie, bring me some blankets.”
Maggie ran for the blankets, and Puckett got astraddle of Andrew Burke, his hands flat on Burke's chest. Once, twice, three times, he pressed down hard. He continued the process until Maggie returned. He then tried the pulse, had trouble finding it, and getting astraddle of Burke again, began pressing down on his chest. Breathing hard, sweating, he again listened through the stethoscope.
“Spread one of the blankets on the ground, Maggie. I'll need you to help lift him onto it, McQuade.”
Maggie spread one of the blankets, and McQuade helped Puckett lift Burke onto it. Without being told, Maggie spread the other two blankets over Andrew.
“You'd better tell the other Burkes,” Puckett told McQuade. “It's his heart. It had all but stopped. It's a bit more steady, but still weak. He may not last the night.”
McQuade quickly found the three Burkes and led them back to Andrew. The doctor then told them what he had told McQuade.
“There's not much I can do,” said Puckett. “Each time he has one of these attacks, his heart will become progressively weaker. He has no business harnessing, unharnessing, or driving the teams. Stress or strain of any kind could be the finish of him.”
“But he wasn't doin' nothin' but leanin' agin a wagon wheel,” Matthew said.
“That's the best advice I can give you,” said Puckett. “He hasn't been taking care of himself, and it's caught up with him. Go on back to your posts. I'll keep an eye on him the rest of the night.”
“I'll stay too,” Maggie said. “I want to know what you did to save him.”
McQuade continued his rounds, saying nothing about Andrew Burke's condition. There was nothing to be done that Doctor Puckett and Maggie couldn't do, and McQuade wanted nothing to delay an early start the next morning.
There was rejoicing at Houston's fort, on the Rio Colorado. There were hams, sides of bacon, beans, sugar, and best of all, coffee. There was whiskey to treat the wounded men who were feverish and suffering infection, and most of all, powder and shot for their weapons.
“It's a miracle from the Almighty God,” Houston shouted.
“Sir,” said one of the men, “you should know that a trail crossed ours up yonder to the north. Fifty or more horses, headin' downriver. They was far enough north
so's not to be seen from here, and they looked to have passed through early this mornin'.”
“That brings to mind what our friends McQuade and Creeker suggested,” Houston said, “and that's the possibility Monclova has or will establish a headquarters closer to the Gulf in anticipation of a sailing ship from Mexico City.”
“They also suggested you send men to watch Matagorda Bay,” said Joshua Hamilton, “to report to you if and when a ship is sighted.”
“That is precisely what I intend to do in the morning,” Houston replied, “and now that we have adequate ammunition, I want no less than a hundred of you surrounding this encampment. If Monclova attempts another surprise attack, I want the surprise to be his.”

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