Lost in Laredo

by Vivi Holt

  Antonio scanned the campsite, noting how empty and dark it seemed. Then he shut his eyes and waited for sleep to take over.

  Lotte splashed creek water over her face and blinked. She didn’t feel refreshed after the night’s sleep. She’d met a group of settlers heading north toward the Chisholm Trail and had joined up with them, hoping to find a suitable town to stop in until she figured out what to do next. She couldn’t stay in Mason – it was the last place she could settle after everything that’d happened there.

  It had seemed like a good idea at first – traveling with a group offered her the safety of numbers, whereas walking alone had made her feel more vulnerable than ever. But after they’d turned in the previous night, a few of the men on their way to claim homesteads up north had played faro and drunk moonshine until the wee hours of the morning. They’d even thrown punches at each other a few times, yelping and shouting and keeping the rest of the campsite awake.

  She sighed and wiped her face dry with her apron. Now she was second-guessing everything. She shouldn’t have run, shouldn’t have left town without Antonio. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away. She missed him, though she was sure he didn’t feel the same way. He’d been planning to leave her behind in Mason all the way from Laredo. Just thinking of it made her throat smart all over again.

  Lotte trudged back up the creek bank and returned to the camp, packed her bedroll and other things into the provisions bag and put it over her shoulder again. She winced – the strap had worn a bruise into her shoulder the previous day. She shifted it to the other shoulder and took a slow breath. She had no idea what the future held or where she’d end up, only that she had to keep moving, keep on living and breathing no matter how much a chore it seemed.

  The rest of the group had packed up and begun to move out onto the road. Birds chirped and dew glistened on the heads of grasses that stood tall and straight in the still morning air. The prairie stretched out ahead of them and she raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun.

  A man in a brown slouch hat came up beside her and smiled, leading a horse behind him. “Red River comin’ up soon.”

  “Oh, is it?” She shivered and rubbed her arms.

  He nodded. “Yup. And then we’re into Indian Territ’ry. We’d best stick close from here on out. Where ya from?”

  She smiled. “Holland.”

  “Oh. I’m from Kansas myself. Name’s Jack Diller. Just headin’ home to see the folks. Reckon I’ll marry and settle down, start a family. Ma and Pa wrote askin’ me to come on home – they’re gonna give me a section of the homestead, said I can do what I want with it. I’m thinkin’ wheat – what do ya think?”

  She shrugged. “That sounds fine.”

  He licked his cracked lips. It made her feel uncomfortable. “So where are ya headed?”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Ah …well …”

  Jack regarded her from beneath the low brim of his hat. “’Cause ya know, I bet Ma and Pa wouldn’t say no to company.”

  She offered him a half-smile. “That is very kind …”

  He scooted closer and his arm bumped hers. “Ya on yer own, then?”

  She swallowed hard. “No, I’m …” The thunder of approaching hooves interrupted her. She scanned the road ahead with wide eyes as the rest of the group hurried to either side, leaving the center clear.

  “What in blazes?” exclaimed Jack with a frown as a dozen men in faded Confederate uniforms and dirty gray caps came storming down the road and stopped in the middle of the group. The travelers shrunk away from them.

  One of the newcomers, a tall man in a red cap, chuckled and tipped his fingers to the brim of his cap. “Hey there, y’all. I’m Lieutenant Cowderoy. Wouldja be so kind as to hand over yer valuables? Thankee!” His eyes flashed and he set his hand on top of a pistol that gleamed in the holster on his hip. The rest of his gang raised the muzzles of shotguns, pistols and revolvers to point them at the group.

  A woman near Lotte screamed, and her husband shouted at them with a raised fist. The lieutenant’s smile vanished. He pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the chest. His wife cried out and caught her husband in her arms as he fell. Jack charged at the lieutenant, his own shotgun in hand, with a roar of anger – and fell a second later, blood forming a circle around his head in the dirt. In a moment, everything was chaos.

  Lotte ran, away from the soldiers, away from the gunshots and the screams. Her feet flew over the uneven ground until she stepped in a gopher hole and fell, sprawling in the dirt. With grazed knees and hands, she launched herself back onto her feet and kept stumbling forward, her chest tightening and her breath coming in gasps. She sobbed, the provisions bag slapping against her back as she went.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw the wide chest of a bay horse bearing down on her. It barreled into her, sending her flying into the prairie grasses. She cried out as the impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

  Lieutenant Cowderoy slid from the horse’s back with a mocking grin and landed with feet splayed apart. “Well, well, well. What have we here?” he chuckled, standing tall over her as she scrambled backward in the grass. “Yer mighty pretty to be walkin’ through Texas on yer own thataways.”

  She whimpered, lurched to her feet again and hitched up her skirts, willing herself to run.

  “Where ya think yer goin’?” She heard the pounding of Cowderoy’s feet on the hard ground behind her, then his hand clenching around her upper arm and jerking her back to the ground. She yelped as pain flashed through her shoulder and back with the impact, tried to scuttle sideways, but he tugged her to her feet, pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Ya and I are gonna get better acquainted,” he hissed.

  Tears welled in Lotte’s eyes and her throat felt like it was closing up. She could hear the cries and screams of the other settlers as another shot rang out, followed by a few moments of silence. She gasped in horror, covering her face with both hands.

  The lieutenant chuckled and tugged at her bodice, ripping off several buttons. “Ain’t no point in tryin’ to get away. There ain’t no one ‘round here to help y–” The lieutenant grunted, his eyes widening, then fell to the ground, yanking Lotte with him. She landed on top of him, confusion and panic warring in her eyes.

  When she looked up, she saw Antonio standing over them, holding his Colt revolver by the barrel. He reached down his free hand, she took it, and he pulled her to her feet. She fell into his arms with a sob and clutched his shirt tight. “You came for me! You came for me!”

  He held her tight to his chest and wrapped an arm around her, still watching the man lying prone at their feet. “It’s all right, Lotte,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re safe now. Don’t fret. I’m here.”

  Just then the lieutenant came to, grabbed Lotte’s ankle with one hand and reached for his pistol with the other. Lotte kicked his arm just as the shot rang out. She screamed and struggled, craning her neck to find Antonio. He was still there, still standing, and she exhaled with relief, only to have the lieutenant try and pull himself up by her skirts. He grinned at her, a smug, knowing smile that revealed two blackened teeth in front, and raised the six-shooter once again.

  The sound of Antonio’s revolver deafened her. Cowderoy slumped to the ground, a red hole in the middle of his chest.

  Lotte collapsed into Antonio’s arms, and he held her close until she pulled away and wiped her sleeve across her face. “We should leave,” he said, loud enough to hear over the ringing in her ears.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He squatted beside the lieutenant and rifled the man’s pockets, finding a roll of greenbacks, some coins, a jackknife, a pouch of tobacco and a pipe. He removed them along with the man’s gun belt and pistols. Lotte wrung her hands and scanned their surroundings, expecting the other scoundrels to attack at any moment.

  “Grab that horse,” shouted Antonio.

  Lotte took hold of the bay’s reins. The saddle on his back was a
dorned with intricate stitching around the horn and edges, and the bags behind the saddle bulged. Her eyes widened as her gaze traveled up the horse’s immense sides. This was one of the tallest horses she’d ever seen – he towered over her.

  “He is yours now,” said Antonio. “We need to hurry.” He ran to Hans and Lars a few yards away. Hans was grazing happily on the swaying prairie grasses, but Lars lay on his side. He froze, then fell to his knees beside the prone donkey.

  “What’s wrong?” Lotte ran to Antonio’s side, then gasped when she saw blood leeching across the animal’s gray coat. “Oh no, Lars!” Her heart fell as she realized he’d been shot. She laid a hand on the donkey’s side and knew he was gone. Tears fell from her eyes into the grass.

  Antonio frowned and took a slow breath. “I am sorry, Lotte. He was a good burro.”

  She nodded, sobbed and patted Lars’ neck.

  “We have to take the saddlebags with us.” Antonio tugged at them, maneuvering them free from Lars’ back, then repacked everything in them in the saddlebags on Lotte’s new horse. “Come, Lotte – we have to go now. Later we can mourn him.”

  With a nod, Lotte stood and looked at her friend one last time. “Goodbye, Lars. We’ll miss you.” She put a foot into the stirrups of the big bay’s saddle and just managed to mount up. She kicked him in the sides and held tight to his reins with both hands as the horse broke into a canter and followed Antonio and Hans across the prairie, and away from the carnage.

  9

  The afternoon light gleamed golden on Lotte’s face, and Antonio couldn’t help the happiness that filled his soul at the sight. He’d found her.

  They crouched by the bank of the huge Red River as he wondered where they could cross it. He filled all three of his canteens with clear, fresh water, and she did the same with the canteens she’d found in the lieutenant’s saddlebags. “I can’t help thinking about all those people,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the water at her feet. “Couldn’t we go back? Just to see if anyone needs help.”

  He frowned and thought. It didn’t make sense to backtrack now, not with those scoundrels likely to still be close by. But if someone had survived the attack and was all alone … “Si, we can go back.”

  She smiled, and his heart lit up. He stood and pushed the cork stoppers into the tops of each canteen, then slid them into his saddlebags.

  Lotte did the same, then climbed back onto the bay after shortening the stirrup leathers to better fit her shorter legs. “I think I will call him Elmo,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Elmo?”

  “Yes. It means ‘protector’.”

  Antonio arched an eyebrow. “Then it is a perfect name.”

  She grinned and patted Elmo’s smooth neck. “Let us go back.”

  As they turned south again, he mulled over the contents of Elmo’s saddlebags. The cad who’d owned the horse before had obviously robbed plenty of people – he had a purse full of coins, a Colt revolver and a Remington six-shooter in his holsters, and a Henry rifle in the scabbard on his saddle. The saddlebags also contained a Bowie knife with a fourteen-inch blade and sheath and a whetstone for sharpening, soda crackers, salt pork, cans of beans, a bag of chicory coffee, another bag of snuff, and the makings for at least a dozen cigarettes.

  And then there was the money. He hadn’t counted it yet, but it looked to be about twenty dollars’ worth in coin and another fifty in greenbacks, more than enough to get them through the Indian Territory. It felt as though a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  They rode slowly back to where the travelers had been ambushed. It was quiet and the sun was low, sending shadows like black cloaks behind every bush or shrub. Bodies lay scattered around the road, some shot, some with slashed necks, all lifeless. Lotte covered her eyes with her hands and he heard her sob. He just stared grimly at the scene. He never could understand what drove a man to act that way. He’d been desperate enough times in his life to know how it felt, but he could never do this to a person.

  He dismounted and moved between the victims, checking them and closing eyes as needed.

  “Any alive?” came Lotte’s voice, high and thin.

  He shook his head. “No. And everything of value has been taken. The horses are gone, the purses, wallets, jewelry.” He sniffed, his hands on his hips. “¡Cerdos sucios!”

  Lotte climbed down from Elmo’s back and joined him. “Should we bury them?”

  “This ground is too hard. We could never dig deep enough, especially with no shovel.”

  “It does not seem right to leave them this way.”

  “Si. We can notify the sheriff in the nearest town, but that is the best we can do.”

  “But … the buzzards …” Her voice broke.

  “We can do nothing about them, Lotte.” His words were firm but his tone gentle, and he brushed his hand against her cheek. “They feel no pain now. And we must keep moving in case those men return.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

  After letting the sheriff in Eagle Springs know of the massacre, they returned to the Red River. Antonio removed his hat to scratch his head. He remembered crossing it once before – with plenty of help and three thousand head of cattle, bawling and clashing horns as they plunged into the cold waters and swam through the shallows.

  “We cross here?” asked Lotte, eyes wide.

  “Si. It is not as bad as it looks.” He hoped he was right about that. Rivers could be tricky.

  “You have done it before?”

  Antonio nodded. “Si, with Thomas and the rest of the cowpokes on our way to Montana Territory the first time. We had to drive the entire herd across, so it took most of the day. This time it is just us – we should be on the other side quickly.”

  “And the Chisholm Trail continues on the other side?”

  He nodded again. “Are you ready?”

  She frowned. “Yes.”

  Antonio urged Hans forward into the water. When it deepened, he let his body float over Hans and held onto the horse’s mane with both hands. Hans snorted as he swam, breathing hard as he battled the current, all four legs kicking hard. He peered back over his shoulder and saw Lotte behind him, doing the same. Elmo was a good horse – he’d entered the river without hesitation and swam strongly.

  Several minutes later, Hans’ hooves hit river rocks and the horse scrambled up the opposite bank, panting hard. Lotte was right behind him on Elmo. Antonio laughed and patted Hans’ neck. “Good work, mijo.”

  Lotte frowned and lifted the hem of her sodden gown, then let it drop against her leg with a wet slap, making Antonio laugh again. “What?” she asked, her frown deepening.

  “You look like a drowned rat.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

  He took a quick breath. “No, no, I joke. You look very nice. Pretty.”

  One eyebrow arched. “A pretty rat?”

  “No, just … pretty.” He coughed and bit his lip. “Elmo did well.”

  They stopped for a cold lunch on the side of the trail. All around them the prairie stretched to the horizon – swaying yellow grasses, tall and dry. It was silent, broken only by the occasional call of a hawk overhead, or the pattering of paws as prairie dogs dove into holes in the ground.

  Antonio noticed cattle tracks, horse tracks and wagon-wheel grooves on the trail, all of them fresh. The piles of manure suggested a cattle drive, though not a large one, perhaps five hundred head at most. He made a cigarette from the lieutenant’s supplies and inhaled a deep lungful of smoke with a sigh. It had been awhile since he’d enjoyed a smoke. It wasn’t chewing tobacco, but it would do.

  Lotte shook her head at him with a grimace. “I never understood that habit. Breathe smoke into your lungs? I have seen what smoke does to people – it is not good.”

  He frowned. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “I am sorry, Antonio. I am not upset with you. I am just … feeling sorry for myself today.” She pushed a stray strand of hair be
hind her ear and tucked it up into her hat. “I know I should not – I have much to be thankful for. You – I am very thankful for you. You have saved me more times than I can count. But … I miss my family. I miss my old life, and having a bed to sleep in and taking a bath and sitting in a chair before a fire, rather than on a log or a bedroll.”

  He chuckled. “I understand.”

  “I sound ungrateful, but I am not – I am very grateful. Oh, pay no mind to me. I am talking so much rot about nothing.”

  He shook his head. “No, I feel that way too sometimes.”

  “You do?”

  “Si. I miss my family as well.”

  “Oh yes, I know you do. I did not mean … but … you keep going. You are so strong no matter what happens. You let nothing bother you. I … I am …” She sighed in frustration and stared up at the sky.

  Antonio pointed to his chest. “Sometimes I miss them so much it hurts here. But I know I must keep going. If I stop, I may not start again – that is how it feels. And you are strong too. You are the strongest woman I have ever known.” He smiled at her.

  Her eyes widened. “You really think so?”

  “Si, of course. And I am grateful for you as well.”

  “But I hold you back.”

  “No, no, no. You give me a reason to wake up each morning.” He said it simply, then walked over to Hans and mounted up. His throat was tight, and he wanted to get away, be by himself for a while. “I will go hunting. Meet me at that row of black walnut trees up ahead.”

  She nodded and stayed behind, seeming to understand his need for time alone.

  Hans broke into a canter and the prairie opened out before them. Soon the horse was thundering across it, Antonio bent low over the animal’s neck. He always felt a thrill whenever he rode a horse this fast – it worked its way up his spine, sent goose pimples across his skin and a smile to his face.