Lost Cause (17 page)

“Wait until they get right on top of the
bridge,” the captain said. He was sitting on a horse watching the
approaching column through his field glasses. The lead squad saw
the Confederates standing in the middle of the road and began
pointing and shouting, although Jack and the other men couldn’t
hear what they were saying because of the distance and the noise
from the rushing creek.

“Here they come, boys,” the captain said.
“Get ready to light that fuse on my command, Saylor.”

A few of the Union troops grabbed their
carbines and began firing across the bridge. They were not quite in
range yet and their projectiles hit harmlessly on the railroad ties
or ricocheted into the water below.

“Now!” the captain yelled. Jack struck a
match and lit the lead fuse line and the group of men moved down
the road away from the bridge as quickly as they could run. The
Union soldiers seemed to sense what was about to happen but they
didn’t have time to slow their horses before the dynamite blew and
the Confederate side of the bridge disappeared in a billowing
crashing smoking effluvium of rock and steel and steam. When some
of the dust and the smoke cleared, Jack saw a gaping steaming hole
where the north side of the bridge had once been. A yell went up
among the men and Jack shook his fist at the bewildered Union
troops across the river.

“Look at them bastards!” Campbell whooped.
“Don’t they look like somebody just took a shit in their hominy
grits?”

“That ought to hold them,” the captain said.
“Ain’t nobody getting across that bridge any time soon.”

They watched the Union soldiers dismount and
inspect the bridge laughing every time one of them fired a shot
their way. “Go ahead Billy Yank, waste all them rounds!” Campbell
yelled waving his arms over his head.

“That’s enough, Corporal,” the captain said.
“Let’s get underway. Those boys aren’t getting across that river
now, but no use taking a chance that they might get a shot across.
We’ll leave a rear guard and keeping moving on up this rail
track.”

“Where do think those Yankees come from?”
Campbell asked Jack after they’d walked down the rail bed a quarter
of a mile.

“Probably from Brownsville.”

“But we had a head start on them.”

“They were Calvary, Carl. We’re slow as
molasses with these wagons and ambulances. We were damn lucky to
have gotten across that bridge when we did.”

“Why didn’t Colonel Ford leave some troops
behind to stop them?”

“Probably because we’re on a retreat, Carl.
You don’t stop and fight a skirmish when you’re on a retreat. Only
if we’re attacked.”

“Well, pardon me, I ain’t never been on no
retreat before.”

“Nor have I. But, I figure that’s how it
goes.”

They walked along the railroad track for what
seemed like miles before turning back across the open fields. They
could see acres of brown grass growing on the low hills in the
distance. “Damn!” Jack said, pointing toward the hills. “there’s
more riders over there.”

They watched the riders move down the slope
of the hill and cut across the field toward the river.

“Those are Indians,” Campbell said a moment
later.”

“You’re right. Guess we’d better tell the
captain.”

The captain retrieved his field glasses and
took a long look at the Indians. There appeared to be nine of them
in all, six men and three females. “That’ll be your Kickapoos,” the
captain said. “Guess those girls found their people.”

The Indians saw the convoy crossing over the
plain but they made no attempt to acknowledge them. “Should we send
out some men, sir?” asked Jack.

“No, they don’t want us. They were after the
girls and it looks like they found what they wanted.”

The convoy moved west until they picked up
the farm road again and proceeded north in hopes of connecting with
the main road somewhere up ahead. It was late afternoon and already
getting dark when Jack saw the main road to the north where a small
copse of cottonwood trees grew on each side of the lane. The
captain thought it best to join back up with Colonel Ford’s group
on the main road and avoid the secondary roads as much as possible.
“Too many other people moving about,” he reasoned. “Besides, we
need to alert the colonel that there’s Yankees on our tail.”

As he finished speaking a shot was fired at
them from the cover of the mesquite bushes a hundred yards off the
road. The bullet went into the mud of the embankment behind Jack
and he instinctively ducked for cover. Another shot came from the
thick brush and Jack drew his pistol and the captain barked out
orders and four Calvary soldiers took off across the muddy plain
carbines at the ready. A brief fire fight ensued then one of the
soldiers came trotting back across the field. “One civilian, sir,”
he said to the captain. “He wouldn’t surrender his weapon so Baxter
had to shoot him.”

“What did he look like?” asked Jack.

“Older man.”

“White hair? White clothing?” The soldier
nodded and Campbell said,

“The Indian girl stealer.”

“Guess he was mad at us for taking his
property,” Jack suggested.

They walked across the field and joined the
other soldiers standing over the old man’s body. They rolled him on
his side then turned him over on his back. He lay in the mud
panting, bloody bubbles staining his white beard. Jack leaned
forward and inspected the hole in his white shirt now pink and
frothy from the driving rain mingling with the seeping blood. He’d
been hit in the neck and the bullet had traveled upward and come
out under his left ear. He died while Jack watched, his watery eyes
fluttering rapidly then rolling white as his breath left his body.
The captain picked up the old man’s hat and put it over his face.
“Guess we’d better bury him,” he said

They put the old man in the wet ground where
he lay along with the old Enfield rifle he used to shoot at them
then continued their retreat a little more solemn than before.
“We’ll find a place to camp as close to dark as we can,” the
captain said. “I’ll send a few men ahead to scout.”

They moved on and later saw another farmhouse
across a barren field. There were many cottonwood and fruit trees
around it and several out buildings and a barn stood on a small
hill overlooking the house. “We’d better keep a sharp look out this
time,” the captain said. “Saylor, you and Campbell go check it out.
Take Baxter with you. He appears to be a good shot. I’ll hold the
rest of the group here until you give the all clear.”

Jack and his crew started across the field
toward the farmhouse with weapons at the ready. There was a wagon
path bisecting the field leading from the main road toward the barn
and the three men cautiously moved toward it. Jack had no way of
knowing if someone was hiding in the nearby trees or possibly
inside the house itself. All the trees were dripping rain and the
gutter troughs on the sides of the house were full to overflowing.
The men approached a fence that separated the fields from the
remainder of the property and climbed over one at a time Then they
moved on to the front of the house and stopped in the shadow of a
huge trellis of ivy covering the entire south side of the house.
Jack could see that the front door was standing wide open and he
motioned for Campbell and Baxter to follow him and they hurried to
the door and went inside. It was very dark inside the house; all
the drapes were drawn and the shutters closed up tight. Jack went
back to the kitchen while Baxter went upstairs and Campbell headed
for the rooms in the rear of the house. Inside the kitchen there
was a large Dutch oven hanging over a fire pit in a big open
hearth. Jack looked inside hoping to find something palatable but
the ashes were long cold and whatever had been in the pot had
boiled dry.

“Anything to eat in here?” Campbell
asked.

“Don’t see anything. Nothing in the
bedrooms?”

“Empty. They even took the bed clothes.”

Baxter came into the kitchen and said,
“Nothing up there but some old clothes and newspapers.” Jack took a
slow look around the kitchen and frowned.

“You two check in here and see if you can
find anything to eat,” he said. “I’ll go out to the barn and take a
look. Maybe there’s a chicken or some eggs or something we can
use.”

The inside of the barn was dry and pleasant
compared to the damp air outside. There were no animals in the
barn, save a mouse or two, and the mangers were empty of straw and
the tack room bare. Not even an old worn bridle hung from the empty
wooden pegs. Jack heard the rain on the roof and smelled the hay
and the dried manure and the subtle undertone of saddle leather.
The large double back doors looked out on the fields toward the
northern skyline. It was a rather large barn and Jack figured it
was an excellent hiding place for anyone who might wish them ill
will, though so far he hadn’t perceived the slightest hint of a
threat.

The hay smelled good and a memory took Jack
away to a time when he was young and he’d lain in the hay in a barn
on the Nueces River and plugged starlings with a sling shot as they
perched in the loft louvers high up the wall of the barn. But now
wasn’t the time for sentimental reflections of the past. With one
last look around, he left the barn and walked back to the front of
the house.

Campbell and Baxter were waiting for him and
they headed back to the convoy. Jack told the captain that there
was nothing of interest at the farm and the order was give to move
on.

They headed out traveling until well after
dark and finally Colonel Ford gave the order to stop for the night.
Jack found a spot in a grove of mulberry bushes and sat on the damp
grass wondering why he was still alive. Thoughts of the old
kidnapper of girls came to mind and he shook his head in
disillusionment. The man’s killing had come so suddenly and, in
Jack’s view, so unnecessarily. He found himself wondering why
someone would go up against such impossible odds. Was the man so
agitated over the loss of the girls that he would forfeit his very
life trying to get even, or did he have other motives, such as a
fierce loyalty to the Union? There was no clear answer to the
rhetorical question and just thinking about it gave Jack a raging
headache.

Quite unexpectedly, Marie Hayes came to mind
and he found himself on the verge of tears wondering how she was
doing. Had she survived the induced miscarriage without much
discomfort? Was she well? Did she ever think of him?

The night was terribly dark and the rain beat
a steady cadence on the wagon tops and a cold mist clung to the
base of the barren trees. Jack could clearly see the troops
standing guard duty behind the wagons with their rifles held aloft
and their faces wet with rain and their shoulders hunched against
the evening chill.

He dozed on occasion and dreamed and sometime
before dawn he woke feeling achy and empty, almost as if he had
been suspended in a dark arid place with no concept of time or
space. Images of Marie Hayes had shaped his dreams, her ethereal
voice soft and enticing like the song of a siren intent on
consuming his soul. The old man who would buy children was there in
his dreams as well, bloody and bloated and dead with eyes shaped
like twenty dollar gold pieces and teeth full of chunks of fine
brown flesh.

“You alright, Saylor?” Campbell asked. He was
squatting on his heels holding a tin cup of coffee in his hand like
a delicate flower. Jack shook his head and sat up.

“What time is it?” he asked?”

“Time to get moving.”

They moved out an hour after daylight and
promptly ran into a spot in the road where another flooded creek
had abandoned its banks and pooled in the middle of the road.
Crossing slowly in the rain a few feet at a time they managed to
get across without bogging down in the mud. Jack felt a certain
type of exhilaration in getting across the swirling flood of brown
water. Even the civilians after loading their children and animals
into their carts made it across without incident suffering no more
discomfort than water logged boots.

An hour later the road divided and Colonel
Ford halted the convoy. “We’re going to split up,” he said. “I want
the wounded and the civilians to continue moving northwest. My
scouts tell me that we’re within twenty-five miles of Laredo. But
they also tell me that there’s a sizable Indian presence a few
miles up this other road west of here. Apparently they’re camped
very close to the road. So I’m sending a squad over there to
investigate, and if, necessary, neutralize the threat. With any
luck we’ll all meet up in Laredo and plan from there. I want
Captain Ross and his men to investigate the Indians. I need my
Calvary to guard the ambulances and wagons so we’ll be continuing
on the north bound road. My lieutenant will see to it everyone gets
a horse. Captain Ross, pick twenty of your best men and some sturdy
horses and be on your way. Any questions?”

There were none, so the captain singled out
twenty men including Jack and Campbell and Baxter and the men took
horses from the remuda and saddled up.

They rode out in single file the captain
leading the way. The rain had stopped and the sun was struggling to
shine between thick layers of soft white clouds bunched up on the
eastern horizon like folds of cotton. The road was narrow, no more
than a wide path, and scattered with stones and jagged rocks that
had been deposited by the flooded creek. The men rode along slowly,
careful to avoid the rocks, their carbines held loosely across
their saddle pommels. Jack had just finished taking a drink from
his canteen when an arrow flew past his head and struck the man in
front of him. The man fell to the ground and more arrows zipped
through the air, some falling harmlessly to the ground others
striking men in the chest and back and, in Baxter’s case, the side
of his neck. He fell backwards against Jack’s horse and the
frightened animal shied and took off running across the field in a
westerly direction with Jack holding on for dear life. He was just
beginning to get the animal under control when something hard and
sharp struck him in the back of the head. He had a sense of falling
and spinning and then nothing but deep numbing darkness.