Goodnight's Dream (A Floating Outfit Western Book 4) (3 page)

Everything was clear to the rancher. During
the night, the chief had sent men across the Pecos out of the
defenders’ range of vision and climb the rim. When ready for the
attack to begin, the men made their descent on ropes taken for that
purpose. It was a smart notion, worthy of a war chief of the
Antelope Comanches. Not even the rapid-fire qualities of the Henry
could save Loving, for more warriors appeared and the rope before
him seemed to be alive as other braves started to climb down.

Retreating, Loving prepared to sell his life
dearly. Flame lashed from the Navy Colt held by one of the
Comanches and the rancher felt lead burn into him. He reeled back a
pace, the left hand dropping numb and limp to his side. Even as he
let the rifle fall and grabbed at his holstered Colt, a second
brave sent an arrow flashing into the cave. Pain ripped into Loving
as the arrow sliced between his ribs. Staggering, he felt his legs
buckle and he went down.

Despite the importance of the herd of cattle
to the fulfillment of his plans, Charles Goodnight did not hesitate
when Spat rode up with news of Loving’s predicament. Nor did the
fact that he might have excellent means of effecting a rescue in
any way influence his decision. Even without the presence of the
United States Army contingent, he would have acted in the same way.
Having half a troop of Cavalry and a battery of Mountain Artillery
along—they had arrived an hour after Loving’s departure—gave
Goodnight a greater chance of saving his partner and friend. Always
assuming that the Yankee officers were willing to lend a hand, that
is.

In some ways Goodnight
resembled a Comanche, being thick-set for his five foot nine inches
of height and exhibiting a similar effortless grace when on the
back of a horse. However, from his low-crowned, wide-brimmed white
Stetson to his spur-heeled, star-decorated boots, his appearance
said Texas cattleman. Instead of the usual calfskin vest, he wore
one made from the rosette-dotted hide of a jaguar which, having
strayed north from Mexico, made the mistake of killing some of his
cattle. Around his waist hung a gunbelt supporting matched
rosewood-handled 1860 Army Colts in contoured holsters. From under
his left leg showed the butt of a Henry rifle. His tanned face,
with its grizzled brown beard, was set in grim lines as he rode
his
bayo-cebrunos
ⁱⁱ
gelding towards the
two Army officers.

When they heard Goodnight’s news and
intentions, the officers showed their willingness to help with the
rescue. Like many of their kind, they had small love for Texans but
Major Lane of the Artillery and 1st Lieutenant Leonard in charge of
the Cavalry escort saw the possibilities of being involved. With
promotion all but stagnant since the end of the War, they realized
that even a moderately successful operation against a band of
hostile Indians would bring them to the all-important notice of
their superiors.

That especially applied to Lane. A career
Artillery officer, he had been sent west with his battery to help
fight the Apaches in New Mexico. Texas had Indian problems too, but
the Territory of New Mexico supported the Union during the War
Between the States and so received priority over the rebel Lone
Star State. While the appointment had advantages, it also carried
problems. Command in New Mexico rested in the hands of Cavalry
officers, who naturally meant to see that their arm of the service
received every benefit. Mountain artillery had been used during the
War, but not in a major action or decisively enough for its
capabilities to become generally known. Aware how hide-bound senior
officers could be when presented with novel suggestions, especially
from a rival branch of the Army, Lane saw the advantages of
reaching Fort Sumner with a victory to his credit. He would find
the commanding officer at the Fort more amenable if he brought news
that his guns had already routed a band of marauding Indians.

‘
I’ll have my men ready to march—’ Lane
began.

‘
We’re going to have to travel real
fast, Major,’ Goodnight interrupted. ‘Was I you, I’d just take your
three best guncrews and fastest mules. John!’

‘
Yo!’ replied the
rancher’s tall, lean and leathery-tough
segundo,
galloping up from where he had
been talking with an exhausted Spat.

‘
Send all but—eight with me,’ Goodnight
ordered, pausing to decide how small a group he might safely leave
to handle the cattle. ‘Reckon you can keep the herd moving with
just eight?’

‘
I’ll sure as hell try,’ John Poe
answered. ‘Spat’s just told me about Oliver and Sid. He allows to
ride back with you. I’ve got the wrangler fetching up a fresh horse
for him.’

No less aware than Lane of the opportunities,
Leonard put in, ‘My men’ll be ready to ride in fifteen minutes, Mr.
Goodnight.’

‘
I’ll take half of them while you
command the rest here and escort the remainder of my battery,’ Lane
corrected, not meaning to share any glory with a Cavalryman if he
could help it. ‘Sergeant Major! One, Three and Five guns, four
ammunition mules. I want two carrying solid shot, two with
spherical case. Move it.’

‘
Yo!’ answered the sergeant major and
galloped off to obey.

‘
Keep with the cattle until we rejoin
you, Mr. Leonard,’ Lane commanded. ‘In fifteen minutes, Mr.
Goodnight.’

‘
We’ll be ready,’ the rancher
promised.

Knowing the serious nature of
the situation, everybody concerned with the rescue attempt worked
fast. Fine cow-horse as it was, Goodnight would not be using
the
bayo-cebrunos
for the work ahead. Instead he selected a powerful
roan stallion, fast, with endurance to spare and steady in any kind
of emergency. All the cowhands also picked from their mount—no
Texan said ‘string’ for his team of workhorses—animals suited to
long, hard riding.

Within fifteen minutes all was ready. Lane’s
three howitzers were already carried by top-quality animals and it
only remained to pick the four best of the remaining twenty-seven
mules to carry the ammunition panniers. Having learned the need for
mobility by fighting against the superb Confederate States cavalry,
Lane’s men were all mounted, instead of working on foot as was
usual among Mountain artillery batteries. From the way they handled
their horses, Goodnight concluded Lane’s men had been well trained.
They and the cavalry escort were veterans with combat
experience.

Fifteen Texans, twenty-five cavalrymen and
the crews for the three howitzers carried on six mules followed
Goodnight and Lane away from the herd. The cavalrymen were armed
with Army Colts and Springfield carbines, while the gunners wore
revolvers only. Every Texan carried at least one revolver and a
rifle or carbine of some description, although very few owned
repeaters. For all that, they made a powerful addition to the
rescue party.

After watching Goodnight depart, John Poe
swung to the waiting cowhands. He saw that the herd had been
deserted and its members stood grazing. Which was not what his boss
wanted to happen.

‘
Get them cattle moving!’ Poe
bawled.

‘
Just us?’ yelped a cowhand, for only
eight of the actual trail crew remained. The cook and his louse
were needed to drive the chuck- and bed-wagons, while the two
wranglers left by Goodnight would be fully occupied with handling
the remuda of reserve horses.

‘
Naw!’ Poe spat back. ‘There’s half of
the blasted Texas Light Cavalry coming up to lend a hand. Move it.
Head ’em up and keep ’em going!’

Whirling their horses, the cowhands dashed to
the herd. Watching them, Poe wondered if such a small body of men
could deal with the fifteen hundred head of longhorn steers.

Much the same thoughts ran
through Goodnight’s head and he wondered if he had done the right
thing by telling his
segundo
to keep the herd moving. If anything happened to
the cattle, he and Loving would be in bad shape financially. That
did not worry Goodnight for himself, but Loving had a wife and
children dependent on the success of the trail drive. Of course,
the loss of the herd would mean that Goodnight would have to try
some other method to make his dream come true.

Riding through potentially hostile country to
a friend’s rescue was neither the time nor place to think of
schemes for the future, important as they might be. So Goodnight
put them from his mind and concentrated on the work in hand. At his
suggestion, a pair of men skilled in such matters rode ahead as
scouts. When they had found they could not hope to catch up with
Spat, the braves who took after him stopped trying. Probably they
had returned to their companions, looking for easier prey than the
fast-riding cowhand, but there was no point in taking unnecessary
chances.

All too well Goodnight knew the
Comanche Nation. While a loyal Texan, he had declined to fight for
the South during the War. Instead he had given his services for the
benefit of the State by being a member of Captain Jack Cureton’s
company of Texas Rangers. Acting as Cureton’s chief scout—the title
‘Colonel’ being honorary, granted in respect for his fighting
ability and integrity—Goodnight had learned much about the
Nemenuh
ⁱⁱⁱ
So he realized the danger and knew
that, unless Loving and Sid had been killed before reaching the
shelter of the cave, other
Kweharehnuh
warriors would gather fast to share in the sport
and spoils. By the time the rescue party arrived, there might be a
large number of the hard-fighting Comanche braves present. If so,
Goodnight did not want them to be warned of his coming.

To give them their due, the soldiers could
handle their horses and mules real well. Veterans of the War, they
knew how to travel fast for long periods and did not delay the
Texans as the latter feared they might with the howitzers along.
Ordinary horse-artillery, drawing their guns and limbers along on
wheels, could not have kept pace with the mounted men across the
range country. The mules, specially selected for their work,
carried their disassembled lightweight howitzers at a speed equal
to that of the horses.

On they rode, not even night’s
arrival causing them to slow their pace. The scouts saw no sign of
the braves who had pursued Spat, so Goodnight concluded they
had
returned to the
main attack force. Nor did the
Kweharehnuh
appear to have taken the trouble to send
out scouts. Probably they had assumed that the three white men did
not belong to a larger body and that Spat had fled to save his life
at the expense of his companions.

Reaching the rim above the Pecos, the
rescuers stayed on top until the first hints of dawn began to
appear in the eastern sky. Then Spat announced that they were
within two miles of where he had left Loving and Sid.

‘
I can’t hear any shooting,’ Lane said
as the cowhand finished speaking. ‘Surely we should by
now.’

‘
It’s not likely,’ Goodnight replied.
‘Unless there’s no way of avoiding it, Comanches don’t fight at
night.’

‘
Maybe they’re not around anymore,’
Lane suggested, just a hint of disappointment in his
voice.

‘
If they’re not, Major,’
Goodnight answered coldly, ‘I’ve lost a real good friend.
This’s
Kweharehnuh
country and they’re like bulldogs in a fight. Once they
take hold, they stick until they’re killed or it’s
over.’

‘
What do you suggest?’ Lane asked in a
low tone. While willing to accept advice from a man he had heard
Army officers in Texas mention as an authority on Indian-fighting,
he did not want his men to know that he requested it.

‘
Was it me, I’d have the trail hands
and at least half the horse-soldiers down there on the other side
of the river and you up here with your guns where you can see what
you’re shooting at. Soon’s we see the Comanches, we’ll let you toss
a couple of cannon balls at ’em, then go in like the devil after a
yearling.’

‘
We’ll toss more than just a couple,
and there’ll be case shot among them, seventy-eight musket balls
a-piece.’

‘
That’s your side of it, Major,’
Goodnight said. ‘Let’s get moving and find a place for my bunch to
go down.’

Nodding agreement, Lane hid his surprise at
discovering the rancher’s appreciation of how to handle the affair.
Of course, many Texans had served in the Confederate Army and he
recalled having heard the cowhands address Goodnight as ‘Colonel’.
That could account for the other’s knowledge of tactics.

After riding on a short way, they found a
place down which Goodnight’s part of the force could reach the
river. Although the cavalry sergeant frowned when told by Lane to
act as Goodnight ordered, he made no comment. Many anxious glances
were directed by the Texans towards the eastern horizon, for they
knew what dawn would mean if Loving and Sid should still be alive.
Descending, they crossed the river and followed Goodnight along the
west bank of the Pecos.

It was Lane’s party who saw the Comanche
first. They were approaching a point where the valley made a bend
that hid the Indians from the men at the lower level. Bringing his
horse to a halt, Lane stared to where the braves had gathered at
the head of the opposite slope. Trained eyes studied the scene and
made various rapid calculations.