The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “As soon as I can get away,” Cade said.

  “Well, then could you help me, and the boys get loaded up? The supplies Jacob brought in from White Deer are over behind Rath’s place.”

  Chapter 22

  The Comanche, Kiowa, and Cheyenne War Party:

  The Indians had ridden hard across the Texas Panhandle, killing any lone hunter they came across. White Eagle had kept the warriors in a state of excitement as each night he would insist that the drums come out, and everyone danced and drank whiskey.

  By noon of the third day the best fighting men of all the southern plains reached the Canadian, and Quanah called a halt. There would be no drinking or dancing on this day as the warriors spread out among the trees. Each one spent the afternoon and evening preparing their medicine and grooming their horses.

  Each man removed his saddle or blanket and hid them in the trees, then they hobbled the extra ponies that had carried the paraphernalia that would be needed for the attack.

  White Eagle withdrew his ingredients needed to prepare his special paint. This paint was the magic that would stop the white man’s bullets from penetrating the skin of the warriors. Some was red with vermilion or yellow with ochre. White Eagle spread the yellow paint all over his naked body, and then began to walk among the warriors distributing the paint to them.

  When he came to one particular band of Cheyenne, a fire had been built and a small animal was roasting. When White Eagle saw the skin lying nearby, he shrieked.

  “A skunk! You have killed a skunk!”

  One of the Cheyenne warriors tore off a piece of the meat and offered it to White Eagle, a broad smile crossing his face.

  “Here, the first bite for our prophet.”

  White Eagle picked up a stick and without touching the skunk got it off the spit, and flung it into the river.

  “You have killed that which the spirits say is taboo! My magic will not work. I must visit the Great Spirit so that I may make atonement for what you have done!” He turned and began to run.

  “I must go. I must speak to the spirits,” White Eagle said when he found Quanah. “I must make atonement.”

  Quanah watched as White Eagle picked up a spear, and while still naked, walked away from the river going so far that Quanah could no longer see him.

  It was time for Quanah to make his own medicine.

  The first thing he did was to prepare his bay stallion. He used the red paint for his own symbol that he put on the hips. Then he used buckskin combined with red flannel streamers to braid a loop in the horse’s mane. This handle would be used to hang onto when he would duck to escape from the white man’s bullets. Next, he put on the riding bridle that had silver medallions attached. On the cheek strap he fastened a scalp from a fair-haired woman, making certain that the flowing locks were well tended. When he was satisfied that his horse was ready, he turned to his own preparations.

  The bow he used was made from two buffalo rib bones and he replaced the rawhide thongs that held them together. Then he decked his nine-foot lance with eagle feathers, making sure that the steel point was clean and sharp.

  But the most important thing was his shield. It was made from the hide of a buffalo bull’s neck and the pouch that was formed between the two thicknesses was stuffed with eagle feathers. Then he covered it with soft buckskin that had a fringe of feathers. In these feathers he placed his own special medicine—the claws of a bear and the bill of an eagle. He also attached one more scalp.

  And then he checked his war bonnet that each of his wives had worked on. He recognized the beadwork that Weakeah had made, and he knew that Chony had attached the feathers to the tail of buckskin. He put it on his head and saw that it reached exactly to the top of his moccasin. He smiled. It was good to have wives who could do such good work.

  He painted his own chest, and then put on his leggings that were made of well-tanned leather. Now he was ready to wait until the hours before sunrise, when in the light of the moon, he would lead the finest cavalcade of warriors that had ever been assembled on the southern plains.

  And tomorrow the people would be victorious. The white men who hunted the buffalo would be clubbed in their sleep.

  It was two o’clock in the morning, and James Hanrahan had not yet been to sleep. He stood just outside the saloon as he looked up at the moon, a full, bright, silver orb just beyond its highest point, and now descending slightly north of west.

  If what Amos Chapman had said was true, the Indians would be attacking at sunrise. He could make out more than a dozen bedrolls, the occupants sleeping peacefully. He could hear their snores as they competed with the sound of an owl down in the trees by the creek. Something moved, and Hanrahan pulled his pistol that was strapped on his leg. But the movement was caused by Tom O’Keefe’s dog which was coming to greet him.

  “What have I done, Skeeter?”

  Hanrahan leaned down to pat the dog’s head, and in the moonlight, he could see his tail wag.

  “If these men die, it’s my fault.”

  As if he understood, the dog licked Hanrahan’s hand—the hand that held the pistol.

  In that instant, James Hanrahan knew what he had to do. He had to alert these men to the impending danger that was about to befall them.

  Hanrahan went back into his saloon, and going behind the bar, he pointed his pistol straight up and pulled the trigger.

  “Here! What the hell was that?” Shepherd, his bartender, shouted.

  “Was that a gunshot? Who’s shooting a gun at this time of night?” Bat Masterson asked.

  “You men!” Hanrahan shouted. “I need help! The ridgepole has just cracked, and if we don’t get some support under it, the roof is going to come crashing down on us.”

  “We need to get some weight off the roof,” Shepherd yelled. “Come on, Welch, come help me get rid of the sod.”

  “No,” Hanrahan said. “Take off some sod, but only enough to lighten the load a little. If we can find somethin’ to prop up the ridgepole, that’ll hold it ‘til morning.”

  By this time Cade and Billy who were bedded down near Billy’s loaded wagon were awake, as were several others who were sleeping nearby. Bat Masterson came out of the saloon and almost ran into them.

  “Come on,” Bat said. “Help me go down by the creek and cut a big enough pole to use as a prop before the whole damn roof caves in.”

  “Wait,” Hanrahan yelled. “Check the wood pile first.” He handed Bat a lantern that he had just lit.

  “All right, we’ll check the wood pile.”

  The three went around the blacksmith shop where they found Tom O’Keefe’s coal pile and several pieces of slab wood that he used to fire his forge.

  “Why did James send us out here?” Billy asked. “None of these pieces are long enough for us to use.”

  Just then, Bat tripped and fell. “Well, I’ll be damned. Here’s a log that’s just lying here. It looks to me like it might just work.”

  “That ridgepole is about two feet around, and this thing only looks to be about eight inches,” Cade said.

  “Well, let’s take it back and try it,” Bat said. “After all, like James said, it only has to last until morning.”

  Cade took a deep breath. “Yeah, we only have to last until morning.”

  For the next couple of hours, the men worked feverishly, repositioning the sod on the roof, then putting the new pole into position.

  “Damn,” Andy Johnson said. He yawned and stretched. “We’ve been up half the night. I think I’ll go back to bed.”

  “Me too,” Billy Ogg said.

  “You boys can go back to bed if you want to,” Hanrahan said. “But, I feel like I owe ya somethin’ for all the work you done. So, the bar’s open, and drinks are free from now, until dawn.”

  “All right!” Johnson said. “It doesn’t have to be dark for me to sleep. I can sleep anytime.”

  Johnson stepped up to the bar, and so did the others who had been helping with the repairs.

&nbs
p; Cade and Billy Dixon had taken their drinks and moved outside. “Did you notice that ridgepole?” Cade asked.

  “What about it?”

  “There was nothing wrong with it.”

  “There must’ve been something wrong with it. I heard it crack just like everyone else did. It was so loud it sounded like a pistol shot.”

  “Yes, it did, didn’t it?”

  “Wait a minute, are you suggesting Hanrahan fired a pistol on purpose? You know he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t want to wake everybody up at two o’clock in the morning.”

  “Maybe not, but I still say there was nothing wrong with that ridgepole.”

  Chapter 23

  Adobe Walls:

  Cade and Billy Dixon were throwing on a few extra supplies that James Hanrahan had suggested they might need.

  “Are you going back out to White Deer?” Cade asked.

  “I don’t think so—too many Indians that way,” Billy said. “I’m heading to the northwest.”

  “With the supplies you’ve got, you won’t have to come in for the rest of the summer.”

  “Speaking of which, I forgot the case of shells I bought for my .44. I left them with Fred Leonard. Would you mind getting them for me, while I see what’s holding up those two I sent down to the creek to get the horses?”

  “Sure,” Cade said as he turned to go to the store.

  “Damn, look there,” Billy said, pointing toward the tree line down by the creek. “It’s too bad we don’t have our guns ready. Looks like the buffalo are comin’ to us.”

  Cade looked in the direction Billy was pointing. The moving objects, no more than black shadows in the early morning light, weren’t moving like buffalo. They were spread out, and unlike buffalo, they stopped.

  “That’s strange, I’ve never seen buffalo do that before,” Dixon said.

  “Billy,” Cade said in a strained, but controlled voice. “That’s not buffalo, that’s Indians.”

  Cade’s words were no sooner spoken, then a single blood-curdling yell came from Billy Ogg, one of the boys who had been sent to get the horses. That yell was answered by a war whoop that was one unified sound from the oncoming warriors. The initial yell of the Indians was followed by the thunderous hoof beats of hundreds of horses, as the Indians put their quirts to their ponies and charged the hunters’ camp.

  “Indians! Indians!” Cade shouted at the top of his voice.

  Billy joined in giving the warning. “Indians! Ever’ body up! We’re being attacked!”

  The Indians charged, hundreds of them, more than Cade had ever seen at one time. They were well mounted on painted ponies, and armed with pistols, rifles, bows and arrows, and lances, their weapons as festooned with feathers and other embellishments as were the horses and the riders themselves.

  Billy’s new Sharps .44 was in the back of the wagon and he reached for it while Cade grabbed his big .50 that was lying between the blankets of his bedroll. Cade heard Billy fire, and immediately one of the riders tumbled from his horse, making that Indian the first casualty in the battle to come.

  Cade’s big .50 took down the second.

  “We’re exposed here!” Billy shouted. “We’ve got to get inside!”

  The two men hurried back to the saloon, but the door was closed.

  “James!” Cade shouted, and he pounded on the door with the butt of his rifle. “James! It’s Cade and Dixon! Let us in!”

  By now the Indians were shooting and bullets were hitting the ground all around Cade and Billy, as well as plunging into the adobe walls of the saloon.

  “Damnit! Let us in!” Billy shouted.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the door was opened, and just as it was, they saw Billy Ogg and Andy Johnson running toward them, returning from the errand they had undertaken in gathering the horses.

  Ogg was so exhausted from his run that he collapsed on the floor and had to be pulled farther inside so the door could be closed. A bullet, fired by one of the Indians, buzzed through the door, so close that it made a popping sound. When it plunged into the adobe wall on the opposite side of the room, the bullet sent out a little puff of dust.

  Cade looked around to see who else was in the saloon. Hanrahan was here, and of course, Billy Dixon. Shepherd and Mike Welch who had been on the roof together were scrambling to get into the bar. Bat Masterson, James McKinley, Bermuda Carlisle and the two boys who had been out rounding up the horses made up the entirety of the defense at the saloon.

  Cade reckoned that there weren’t more than seven guns in the place.

  “Where did all these bastards come from?” Bat asked as he moved toward a window. “It looks like every Indian in Texas is out there.” He fired at one of the oncoming Indians.

  “Wait,” Hanrahan said taking command. “Don’t fire until they’re 30 yards away. Then all the guns fire at once right down the middle of the sons-of-bitches.”

  The shooters found places around the front of the building, making holes in the chinking to be used for gun ports. They did hold their fire, as Hanrahan had said, and when the Indians were 30 yards away, they fired as a single volley. That volley split the line as effectively as if a butcher’s cleaver had been used to separate the onslaught of Indians.

  One group moved to the left going toward Langton’s while the other half headed toward Leonard’s.

  “Did everybody make it inside?” Hanrahan asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” Cade said. “Not everybody was awake, but some made it. Listen to the big .50’s.”

  The guns on either side were indeed booming. The Indians were charging at full speed, dashing their horses against the doors to break them down. Then they would dismount and whirl the horses around and back them against the door, all in an effort to force their way inside the building.

  “Thank you, Tom O’Keefe, for reinforcin’ the door frames, or them bastards would be in here already,” Hanrahan said.

  “The Shadler brothers? Did anybody see them?” Billy Dixon asked.

  “Their wagon’s around back,” Mike Welsh said. “We saw it when we were on the roof, but if they heard us, they didn’t come out.”

  “Wait! Listen!” Shepherd said. “Hear that bugle?”

  “The army!” Hanrahan said. “The army’s coming!”

  “What’s that call?” Billy Dixon asked.

  “That’s To Arms,” the old soldier Hanrahan said. He was smiling. “Boy’s, the United States army is preparing to attack!”

  “How did they know we needed help?” Cade asked.

  “Could be they had scouts out followin’ the Indians,” James McKinley said.

  The bugle sounded again.

  “Here that? That there is Charge! Let’s take a look if we want to see the army settin’ them Injuns to skedaddlin’,” Hanrahan said.

  Cade and the others looked out the windows.

  “Lookit that!” Welch said. “That ain’t the army. That’s a Injun blowin’ on that bugle.”

  “Injun hell! That’s one o’ them Buffalo Soldiers!” Shepherd said. “What’s he . . .”

  Before he could finish his question, the attacking Indians opened fire and bullets crashed through the windows and into the door.

  The Indians continued their charge all the way up to the saloon, and some began pounding on the door. Others poked pistols through the windows and fired, forcing the men to hug the walls to get out of the way of the onslaught of bullets.

  The buffalo hunters fired back, and the Indians were driven away from the building. The bodies of more than a half dozen Indians were lying on the ground now, representing not just those who were killed by the Hanrahan saloon defenders, but also those who were in the other two stores.

  Billy Dixon, who had faced the first charge with his new .44, saw that the bartender was using a big .50.

  “Shepherd, how about trading guns with me?” Dixon called.

  “Hell yes,” Shepherd said, handing the big .50 over to Billy. “I figure you can do a lot more with thi
s than I can.”

  Billy took the gun, then looked outside. The Indians had all withdrawn and were now bunched together, some 500 yards away.

  “I’m going to kill that one with all the shiny metal on his chest,” Billy said.

  “I’ve got a quarter that says you’ll miss,” Hanrahan said.

  Billy pulled the trigger, and the impact of the heavy bullet knocked the Indian off the back of his horse.

  Billy didn’t say a word; he just held his hand out, palm up.

  In the Shadler wagon Ike and Shorty had not been awakened until the shooting started. Ike stuck his head out through the back of the wagon.

  “What the hell is going on?” Shorty asked.

  “Son of a bitch! I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this before,” Ike said. “They must be near on to a thousand Injuns out there!”

  “How many?”

  “Look for yourself,” Ike said, and Shorty stuck his head through the back flap of the wagon.

  “Damn! Where did they all come from?”

  “I don’t have no idea, but we sure as hell got ourselves into a spot,” Ike said. “Brother, we ain’t goin’ to get out of here alive.”

  “There’s shootin’ comin’ from all three stores,” Shorty said. “Iffen we could just make it into one of those places, I think we’d be all right.”

  Ike shook his head. “There ain’t no way we’re gonna get there,” Ike said.

  “Wonder how come it is there didn’t nobody come tell us,” Shorty asked.

  “How were they goin’ to do that, Shorty? Like as not they was all asleep just like us when the Injuns hit. ‘N what are they goin’ to do? Tell us the Injuns is here? Hell, we heard ‘em our ownselves.”

  “Maybe the Injuns won’t see us back here,” Shorty suggested

  Chapter 24

  The attack was not going as Quanah had planned.