Stranglehold

by William W. Johnstone

  “Uniforms? You mean like them things that Schofield’s men are wearing?”

  “No, we need our own uniforms so’s that ever’one in town will know that we’re defendin’ ’em.”

  The idea gained popularity, and Morley took it to Duff.

  Duff spoke of it over the dinner table at Bear Tracks that evening.

  “Don’t be thinking lightly of such an idea,” General Culpepper replied. “During the war we learned that the men who wore uniforms had a sense of unity and pride that served them very well in battle. Of course, I don’t know where or how we can get uniforms for our men, but I wish we could.”

  “I’ll make them,” Meagan offered.

  “Oh, do you think you could do that?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m a seamstress. I own a dress shop back in Chugwater,” Meagan said.

  “That sounds wonderful! Will you allow me to help?”

  “Of course I will. And if we can get a few more of the ladies involved, we can turn out these uniforms in no time.”

  “What a great idea,” McGregor said. “Nothing gives a group of lads a sense of esprit de corps as much as a sharp uniform.”

  In addition to Meagan and Lucy, three other ladies—Ethel Marie Joyce, Lydia Morley, and Cynthia Hughes—from the town joined in the uniform project. Lydia was Sergeant Morley’s sister, and Cynthia was a friend of Lydia’s. The only cloth they could find in sufficient quantity to actually make thirty uniforms was the tan-colored canvas that Sikes Hardware had on hand to be used for wagon covers and tents.

  “This will do nicely,” Meagan insisted.

  * * *

  While Meagan and the others busied themselves sewing uniforms, Prime Director Schofield and General Peterson were not licking their wounds. The two men had traveled across the border into Mexico to meet with Pedro Bustamante.

  Bustamante had been a colonel in the Mexican army but he broke his command away from the federal army to form a revolutionary brigade, which he called Brigada de la liberdade or “Freedom Brigade.”

  At the moment the three men were meeting in the Sombra de Montaña Cantina.

  “We should be allies, you and I, Colonel Bustamante,” Schofield insisted. “You wish to carve your own nation from Northern Chihuahua, and I from Southern New Mexico. We can enter into an alliance that will serve us both.”

  Bustamante downed a jigger of tequila and sprinkled salt upon a lime and squeezed some of the juice into his mouth before he responded. “How can I benefit from such an alliance?”

  “My nation would separate your nation from the United States, and your nation would separate my own country from Mexico. Would it not be good to have a friendly nation as your neighbor?”

  “Sí.”

  “And as friendly neighbors, we can also do things for each other, can we not?

  “If I ask you to do something for me, you will do it?”

  “Yes, if I can. What do you wish me to do for you?” Schofield asked.

  “It would help very much if in the town of Puxico, the Rurales would all be killed,” Bustamante said.

  “You want them all killed?”

  “Sí.”

  “How many of the local police are there?” Schofield asked.

  “There are twelve, señor. And there are five federales. They, too, must be killed.”

  “That’s only seventeen men, and I know you have at least one hundred men. Why is it that you cannot kill them yourselves?”

  “I am known, señor,” Bustamante said, stabbing his thumb into his chest. “I am a famous man in my country. If I killed the Rurales and Federales, I would not be able to win the support of the people. But if some evil norteamericanos killed them, I could offer my services to defend the people against that happening again.”

  Schofield smiled. “All right. I will be the evil North American who will come and kill all the police for you.”

  “For that I will give you ten thousand dollars in American money.”

  “I don’t want money,” Schofield said.

  Bustamante looked confused. “Then, I do not understand, señor. If you do not want money, what do you want?”

  “I want artillery pieces,” Schofield replied. “I want three twelve-pounder Napoleons, and three ten-pounder Parrott guns.”

  Bustamante nodded. “Very good, señor. If you kill the Rurales and the Federales in Puxico for me, I will give you the guns you want.”

  Antelope Wells

  Lydia and Ethel Marie had temporarily closed the hairdressing salon so they could use the building as a place to do their sewing. Meagan designed the uniform, modeling the cut of the uniform after the US Army uniform. The shirt was worn tucked into the trousers, and the trouser legs were tucked into the top of the boots. Because the textile fabric they used was of a dull brownish-yellow hue, the uniforms were about the color of the desert sand.

  The collar tabs of the uniform were black, with the rank designated by small, vertical bars made from a gold fabric.

  “Do you think this uniform will fit your brother?” Meagan asked Morley’s sister.

  “Yes,” Lydia replied. “I think it would fit him nicely. Do you want me to ask him to come here so that he may try on the uniform?”

  “No, I will ask Duff to bring him here,” Meagan replied.

  * * *

  Half an hour later the four women were waiting anxiously for Duff and Chris Morley to come to the salon.

  “Is something wrong, sis?” Morley asked.

  Lydia, Ethel Marie, Cynthia and Meagan were all standing side by side, doing so in such a way that they were blocking Morley’s view of the table behind them.

  “No,” Lydia said, the smile on her face broadening. “Nothing is wrong. Why do you ask?”

  “Cap’n MacCallister said you wanted to see me.”

  The four women stepped aside so that Morley could see the uniform lying on the table.

  “Would you try it on, please?” Meagan asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I would be glad to,” Morley said, picking up the uniform. A few minutes later he returned from the back room wearing the uniform.

  “Well now, and if ye nae be a fine-looking soldier in khaki,” Duff said, having arrived while Morley was changing.

  “Khaki?” Morley asked.

  “Aye, for that is the color of your uniform,” Duff said. “’Tis often the color I wore when I was in Her Majesty’s army. ’Tis a fine color indeed.”

  Morley put his finger on the black tab on his collar. “And these little stripes here would be because I’m a sergeant.”

  “Ye are nae a sergeant, lad, for a sergeant’s stripes will go on the arm.”

  “Oh, I thought I was a . . . uh, well, never mind,” Morley said in a somewhat dispirited voice.

  “Those are captain’s bars,” Duff said. “For ’tis a captain ye be.”

  “What?” Morley literally shouted the word. “Are you telling me I’m an officer?”

  “Aye lad, that’s what I’m telling you. Now, I’ll be for needing ye to find me a couple of lieutenants and a couple of sergeants. When the uniforms are all done, we’ll have a fine army indeed.”

  * * *

  By mutual agreement, Morley did not wear his uniform until one week later, by which time every uniform was completed. Darby and Drexler were the new lieutenants, Truax and Collins the new sergeants. When the Home Guard turned out in their new uniforms for the very first time, they did so before the entire town. The townspeople cheered when Captain Morley marched them to the south end of Cactus Street, then to the north end, and then back to “Fort MacCallister” as the men were calling the fortified area between Chip’s Shoe Alley and Sikes Hardware.

  Morley dismissed all his men except for a token force, cautioning them to be ready to respond should they hear the bugle call “To Arms.”

  “It has been two weeks since the last time Schofield made an appearance,” Meagan said over dinner that evening. “I’ve heard some of the men talking, and they are convinced that we tu
rned him back from his last attempt so decisively he won’t try it again.”

  “He has to try it again,” General Culpepper said.

  “Why do you think that, Papa?” Lucy asked.

  “Consider the situation, Daughter. Schofield has made it plain by the declaration he issued that it is his intention to rule all of the Bootheel. He has already taken every other town in the Bootheel, and just when victory seemed in his grasp, he happened upon Antelope Wells.” General Culpepper smiled. “But he was totally unprepared for what he encountered here. He didn’t expect Captain MacCallister to come to town and wield our citizens, clerks, liverymen, mechanics, and merchants to come together as an army that, thus far, has been invincible.

  “Which means,” Culpepper held up a finger, “he can’t just give it all up and walk away now. Captain MacCallister’s military acumen and our young men’s bravery stands between this tyrant and his evil ambition. He will come again.”

  “The general is right. He will come again.” Duff had a serious expression on his face as he studied the others around the table. Then he smiled broadly. “But when he comes, we’ll be ready for him.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Puxico, Chihuahua, Mexico

  Schofield made the decision that his incursion into northern Mexico, specifically the state of Chihuahua, would be less conspicuous if they did so without wearing uniforms. And so it was that he undertook his end of the bargain that he had made with Pedro Bustamante.

  Seeing twenty men arriving at one time was a very rare experience for the citizens of Puxico. And to see that all twenty men were norteamericanos made the arrival even more peculiar.

  “Mira. Cabalgan como soldados,” said one of the citizens of the town.

  “Sí, they do ride as soldiers, but they do not wear uniforms.”

  “What do they want?”

  Captain Bond was leading the men, and when they reached the Oficina de la Rurales, he stopped and had his men form into a semicircle facing the police office.

  The local chief of police came out to stand in front of the office. Ten of his policemen came with him.

  “Señor, why have you come to Puxico with so many men?” the chief asked. “And why do you threaten my office in such a challenging way?”

  “A thousand pardons, Señor Capitán de la policía,” Bond said, mixing English with Spanish. “But we are looking for the Rancho de Juan Mendoza. I want to buy horses and I have brought many men with me so that I may drive the horses back to my ranch in Los Estados Unidos.”

  “Ah, sí, sí,” the chief of police responded, relieved that there didn’t appear to be any immediate threat from the large number of Americans. The chief and several of the other police began to point in the direction of the horse ranch.

  Bond gave the signal. “Now!” he shouted, and he, and all the men with him, began to fire.

  The street echoed with gunfire as twenty guns blazed away. Other Rurales and Federales in town hurried down to protect their friends but they were too few and too late. Within moments every policeman in the town of Puxico, whether federal or local, lay dead or dying. A few of the citizens of the town were killed as well.

  Bond regrouped his men and they rode out of town exactly as they had ridden in.

  Not one citizen of the town made any effort to stop them.

  * * *

  Two days later Schofield met Bustamante at the border. Schofield had brought his entire legion with him and, unlike when they had raided Puxico, his men were all in uniform. He wanted to make an impression on Bustamante, knowing that seeing mounted and uniformed men would go a long way toward establishing the validity of his claim to have founded a new nation.

  “You did well, señor,” Bustamante said. “I have put many of my soldiers in Puxico and the citizens of the town are muy agradecida that we will protect them from bandidos norteamericanos. Here are the piezas de artillería that we bargained for.”

  Schofield smiled as he sat in the saddle and looked over his newly acquired artillery pieces, three Napoleons and three Parrott rifles. The guns, which were caisson mounted, had come complete with an ample supply of ball and powder in the case of the smooth-bore Napoleons, and conical shell and powder in the case of the rifled-barrel Parrott.

  “Look at them, Julian,” Schofield said to General Peterson. “How is it that instruments of death such as these can, at the same time, be so beautiful?”

  “They are beautiful,” General Peterson replied.

  “You know what artillerymen say, don’t you, Julian?”

  “No, sir. What is it they say?”

  “They say that artillery lends dignity to what would otherwise be but a common brawl.”

  General Peterson had heard that before, and he knew that was the quote Schofield was going to use, but he laughed as if hearing it for the first time.

  “The guns are yours, señor,” Bustamante said. “But each caisson requires a team of two horses, and that you must furnish yourself.”

  “Yes, I understand. I brought sufficient animals to move the guns back to my headquarters.”

  Schofield watched as the teams were switched out, then felt a sense of self-pride as his army started north, stretching for some length along the road, the column of riders interspersed with caissons of gleaming pieces of artillery, as well as the ammunition limbers which were attached to, and trailed behind each of the heavy guns.

  “Now,” Schofield said, “with artillery I can plan the infiltration and ultimate capture of Antelope Wells. And Mr. MacCallister and his Home Guard, or whatever MacCallister wants to call those men he has assembled to defend the city, will feel the brunt of a full-scale military operation. Antelope Wells will become known in history as the crowning event in my war to liberate the New Mexico Bootheel and found a new nation.”

  * * *

  “A military ball?” Duff asked, replying to a comment made by Meagan during lunch.

  “Yes, it was Lucy’s idea actually. And Duff, you have to admit that the entire town has been under a lot of stress lately. The men have had to man the barricades and fight the battles, and the women have had to stay at home with their children, worrying about their men. A dance would go a long way toward alleviating all the stress.” Meagan smiled. “And it would give you, Elmer, Wang, and all the others the opportunity to wear your uniforms for a reason other than to make war in them.”

  Duff laughed. “Are ye forgetting, lass, that neither Elmer, Wang, nor I have a uniform.”

  “Oh, but that’s where you are wrong,” Meagan said. “For the three of you have the grandest uniforms of all. You are a general, and Elmer and Wang are colonels.”

  “What? And would ye be for telling me, lass, how came we by such ranks?”

  “General Culpepper suggested it to Mayor McGregor, and he made the appointments himself.”

  “And ’tis your idea that the men of the Home Guard will like such a thing as a military ball?”

  “Duff, the ladies will like it,” Meagan insisted. “Enough said?”

  “Enough said,” Duff agreed with a capitulating smile.

  * * *

  Three nights later, the ballroom of the Dunn Hotel was brightly lit and filled with music provided by a band made up of local performers. Out on the floor, men in their new uniforms weaved through the squares with their ladies dressed in butterfly-bright gowns.

  Like the men in his command, Duff was also in uniform, but his uniform, as Meagan had indicated, was much grander than the khaki uniforms of the troops. Duff’s uniform was similar in cut to that worn by General Culpepper, complete with tunic and shoulder epaulets. Duff’s rank was indicated by a large wreathed star. The uniform was completed by a golden sash that angled down from one shoulder and circled his waist. The biggest difference was in the color of the uniform, for while General Culpepper’s uniform was light gray, Duff’s uniform was a much darker, charcoal gray.

  The uniforms worn by Elmer and Wang differed only in the rank insignia they wore. In the
case of each of them, three unwreathed stars denoted the rank of colonel.

  “Choose your partners for the Virginny Reel!” the caller shouted.

  “Duff?” Meagan said, holding out her arm with a smile.

  Morley was with Ethel Marie, and McGregor was with Lucy.

  * * *

  Five hundred yards north of town Schofield had brought his guns up under cover of darkness. With the barrels gleaming dimly in the moonlight, all six of the artillery pieces were brought on line with their muzzles pointing toward the town.

  “Load your weapons!” General Peterson called.

  Bags of powder, then the rounds were loaded through the muzzles, cannonballs for the Napoleons, and conical shells to take advantage of the rifled barrels for the Parrotts. All six guns would be firing explosive shells designed to inflict the maximum casualties.

  “Stand by,” Peterson ordered.

  All six gunners took their positions.

  “Fire!” Peterson shouted.

  There was a loud roll of thunder as the six guns roared. The Parrotts fired shells with point-detonating, impact fuses, but the Napoleons fired cannonball bombs, and the path of those missiles could be followed by the trail of sparks spewing from the fuses that had been lit by the propellant charge.

  Shortly after the initial barrage, the men of Schofield’s Legion were rewarded by the sight and sound of the deadly missiles exploding in the town.

  * * *

  To the revelers enjoying the dance in the Dunn Hotel, the explosions of the incoming rounds sounded like thunder from a very close lightning strike.

  “What was that?” someone shouted, putting into words the question on the lips of nearly everyone present.

  “Thunder?” another asked.

  “It was nae thunder,” Duff said. “’Tis nae telling how the blaggard came by them, but that was the sound o’ cannons we heard. We are under an artillery attack.”

  The sentence was no sooner from Duff’s mouth than Lester McGill, owner of McGill Feed and Seed company, came running in. “We’re being bombarded by cannon fire!”