The Dark Land

by Jory Sherman

  After that brilliant forced march through the constant hellish downpour that nearly drowned the Union forces, Ford gathered his scattered cavalry together and used some to guard his flank, others to screen his front; he rode unopposed right into Mexico to secure his remaining flank.

  Ford then began confiscating all the cotton ready to ship and he sold the goods for hard cash, silver coin. With the silver, Ford bought rations for his men and then he struck up friendships with all the Mexican commandants, forming an alliance with those around Camargo. To Davis’s dismay, Ford’s Mexican friends closed the border to Vidal’s Raiders, who had been using the Rio Grande as a buffer and a protective shield.

  Then Ford put a liaison officer with Juan Cortinas. He bought guns from Union deserters in Mexico, and from Cortinas in Matamoros he was able to obtain a cannon.

  “That son-of-a-bitch isn’t getting any help from the Confederates,” Davis told them. “He’s doing all this on his own. He’s smart as a snakewhip. He’s got his own personal army, by God, and the Mexicans are helping him like he was a long-lost brother.”

  “Sir, Wilkins is here,” Benson said.

  Coy shook off his thoughts and refocused his eyes. For a long moment, he had been transported back to those days when Ford and Chambers had made them all look like fools.

  “I hate Texas, Benson, you know that?” Coy said.

  “Sir?”

  “I hate this whole goddamned godless place. It’s only fit for rattlesnakes and vultures.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s some kind of lonesome place. And this here farm gives me the williwaws, for sure.”

  Wilkins stood by the mule, holding the reins to his horse in the same hand that held the lead rope. He looked at Coy with a quizzical look on his face.

  “It’s not just this place, it’s all of Texas. It’s the wind and the vastness of it, the desolate country that stretches forever; it’s the damned rains and the twisters, the snakes and the mosquitoes, the flies and the spiders. It’s not a fit place for a man to live. It’s a desert, most of it, and the ugliest place I’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t like it much, neither,” Benson said. “Not like Kentucky. It’s too flat and too ornery to suit me.”

  “I’m glad you agree with me, Benson. Now, let’s mount up and go find Chambers. Do you think we can catch him?”

  “Sir, I think he knows we’re on his trail and if he wants us to catch him, he’ll let us. But from what I’ve heard of him and what little I saw of him when he was riding with Colonel Ford, he can ride into a hole and pull the hole in after him where we’d never see him or find him.”

  “He’s just a man, Benson. Just like you and me.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir. I think sometimes he’s got eyes in the back of his head.”

  “Well, we’re going to catch up to him.”

  “And then what, Lieutenant?”

  Coy drew in a deep breath and held it. Then he climbed aboard his horse and looked off into the distance.

  “I don’t know, Benson. But one reason you’re here is that you’re a sharpshooter—the best there is.”

  “You want me to shoot Chambers?”

  “It might come to that,” Coy said.

  “Well, now. I had him in my sights once.”

  “You did?”

  “Down on the Rio. Vidal sent me to do some damage to that reb cavalry. I had Chambers dead in my sights.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Sir, I can’t explain it. I was in the brush and my face was smeared with dirt. There was no way he could see me. I was like one of them lizards what holds so still you can’t hardly tell it’s there.”

  “And?”

  “Chambers, he turned and looked straight at me. I mean his eyes looked right into my eyes and I got a shiver up my back.”

  “So did you take the shot?”

  “Well, sir, Chambers just kind of smiled at me, like he knew I had buck fever, and then he wheeled his horse, ducked low, and before I could swing the barrel on him, he plumb up and disappeared. It wasn’t hardly natural.”

  Coy mounted his horse and snorted.

  “He’s just a man, Benson. Just a goddamned man, like anybody else.”

  Then Coy kicked his horse’s flanks with his spurs and shot out ahead of his men and they had to ride hard to catch up to him.

  20

  * * *

  BRAD KNEW WHERE Thorne was headed after another day of tracking him south of the Worth farm. The irony was not lost on him. Hogg’s Wells. A place he knew well, for he and Colonel Ford had used it as a hideout when they were conducting guerrilla warfare against Union troops in the Rio Grande Valley.

  “Where are we goin’?” Gid asked, when Brad left the road and the tracks and started off in another direction.

  “Oh, you noticed, did you?”

  “Well, I mean, we been follerin’ these tracks for better’n a day and . . .”

  “Gid, remember I told you about some caches when we first started out?”

  “Yep. I remember you sayin’ something about it. Resupply.”

  “Right. Well, that’s where we’re going and it’s right on our way. We pick up this trail as the road bends back toward Hogg’s Wells.”

  “That was one of the hideouts we used when we were chasin’ Yankees,” Gid said.

  “Or when they were chasing us,” Brad said.

  “What makes you think Thorne will go to Hogg’s Wells?”

  “Some of the Confederate deserters knew about that place and, after the war was over, I scouted it out and saw men that had a camp there. Men like Abel Thorne.”

  “So, you’re guessin’.”

  “I’m guessing,” Brad said. Then he cocked his thumb and pointed it to the rear. “How’s she doing, Gid?”

  “Miss Hollie? She’s packin’ a heap of grief, but she’s a trooper. Doesn’t mind eatin’ dust.”

  “She doesn’t belong here,” Brad said.

  “None of us belongs here, Major.”

  Brad turned and looked back toward the rear. Hollie was riding a small horse, a four-year-old bay mare with a blaze face and one white stocking. A rifle jutted from a saddle scabbard and she was packing a .36 caliber Navy Colt percussion pistol. She had a powder horn slung over her shoulder and carried a possibles pouch with lead balls, grease, and percussion caps. Her saddlebags were full of beef jerky, coffee, sugar, hardtack biscuits, dried beans, and other foodstuffs she’d packed. He had tried his best to talk her out of coming with them, but she was as stubborn as a mule. They had all spent the night at her house and at dawn, she was ready to go.

  He turned away just as Hollie caught his glance and lifted a hand in a tentative wave as if to reassure him that she was all right.

  “She may be, but I’m sure as hell not.”

  “What?” Gid asked.

  “Nothing,” Brad said, glowering as he put spurs to his horse and picked up the pace. Gid dropped back behind him, and Brad rode alone, on the point, pondering ways he might get rid of Hollie Worth.

  There was a man waiting for Brad and his friends at Little Thicket, the remnant of a little settlement that had been abandoned shortly after Texas seceded from the Union and war was declared.

  “Colonel Chambers,” the man said, saluting. “I brought fresh horses, the rifles, and some pistols and ammunition, as you ordered.”

  “Who are you?” Brad asked.

  “Second Lieutenant Benjamin Ferris, sir.”

  “Where are your men, Lieutenant?”

  “Concealed, sir. One in the livery with your mounts, another in that little shack over there, and two more behind that old lean-to down the street.”

  “Well done. Call them out, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes sir,” Ferris said, and put two fingers to his lips. He gave three sharp whistles and Union soldiers appeared in the tumbleweed-strewn street. They streamed toward them, rifles in their hands.

  “What are your orders, Ferris?” Brad asked.

  “Sir
, I’m to deliver what we brought and then wait here for an undetermined length of time.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”

  Brad looked over the young lieutenant. He was barely dry behind the ears, his blond hair trimmed regulation short, the beginning fuzz of a mustache above his upper lip, short sideburns, a peach complexion, and bright blue eyes. His men arrived and stood at attention until Brad ordered them to stand at ease.

  “Never mind, Ferris. I know you’re to wait here for whoever’s been on my tail for the past week.”

  “I can’t say, Colonel,” Ferris said.

  Brad dismounted and waved to the others to do the same. “If your men will help with the remounts we’ll get this over quickly.”

  “Yes, sir. Horner, you and your men take these people to the stable. Lassiter, take the Colonel to the arms cache.”

  “You’re a colonel, Brad?” Randy asked, as he led his horse and began to follow Private Horner to the stables.

  “It’s a long story,” Brad said.

  “Sir, is that a woman with you?” Ferris asked.

  “That’s another long story, Ferris.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ferris said.

  Hollie stopped in front of Brad and Ferris. “I don’t want another horse,” she said. “I’ll ride Bessie here.”

  “Suit yourself, ma’am,” Brad said. “Your horse looks sound enough. But we’re going through some rough country.”

  “Where are you going from here, sir?” Ferris asked.

  “I think I’d better keep that to myself, Lieutenant.”

  Ferris stiffened, but said nothing. Hollie grained her horse in a shady part of the street, using her hat for a feed bag. Brad led his horse to the stables to change mounts. Ferris walked over to where Hollie was standing.

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Ben Ferris. Who might you be, ma’am?”

  She told him her first name.

  “Do you know the colonel well?” he asked.

  “I hardly know him at all. I thought he was a major. That’s what the others call him.”

  “Do you know the others riding with the colonel?”

  “I know a couple of them. Why?”

  “I was just wondering what you were doing with such men.”

  “Such men?”

  “Well, they’re pretty rough and you appear to have some refinement.”

  “Why thank you, Mr. Ferris, but those men are after the men who murdered my parents and when we catch up to them, I’ll be just as rough as they are.”

  “Yes’m. But this is a military expedition and . . .”

  “And you don’t think I should be a part of it. Right?”

  “Yes’m. It could be dangerous.”

  “Mr. Ferris, let me tell you something my daddy told me—a long time ago. Livin’ in Texas is dangerous. If you don’t know that yet, you will. I trust these men I’m with and I don’t trust Yankees who speak ill of them.”

  “Miss Hollie, I wasn’t . . . I mean, I didn’t . . .”

  “I know what you meant, Mr. Ferris. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone, please. I’m sure you have duties to perform.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely do,” Ferris said. He turned and walked away. Hollie stared at his back until he was nearly out of sight. Then she turned away and led her horse behind a ramshackle building that had somehow survived the ravages of wind and rain, but was gradually rotting away, its lumber long since faded to gray, its bricks crumbling to dust.

  She let out a sigh and slowly began to weep. That young soldier had reminded her of Cal. Not that they looked anything alike, but Cal could have become like Ferris, a soldier, perhaps, a man with promise, with a future.

  But Cal’s future had been taken away from him with a single bullet. And how far away was Lieutenant Ferris from the same fate? How far were any of them, for that matter? She had known boys who had gone away to fight in the war, and many had not come back. Cal was spared that, as was her father, but the war had left its poison and men were still dying. It was all so sad, and so hard.

  But her daddy had warned her, long ago, that she might have to face life without him, without her brother.

  “Texas is hard,” he’d told her. “Life is hard, and the only thing you can expect is the unexpected. Your mother died before her time and you’ve had to take care of me and your brother. You’ve got to prepare yourself for more hardship before your life is done, Hollie.”

  She had not wanted to listen to his words, but they came back to her now, and they brought fresh tears to her eyes.

  “You were right, Daddy,” she said aloud.

  Then a shadow fell over her, and she looked up and saw Brad standing there. She began to wipe her face free of tears and dab at her leaking eyes.

  “About what?” Brad asked, handing her the kerchief he kept in his pocket.

  “It doesn’t matter. Are you ready to leave?”

  “In a minute. I just wanted one more chance to try to persuade you to go back home. I’m going to order a forced march and it’s going to be pretty rough on horses and men.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t, young lady. These men we’re after would as soon kill you as look at you. If you’d been at home when they rode up, we’d have buried you, too.”

  “I know that, Colonel.”

  “And don’t call me colonel.”

  “Then don’t you call me young lady.”

  “That’s what you are.”

  “And you’re a colonel in the Yankee army, Mr. Chambers.”

  “Just for this military campaign.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’m a Texas Ranger. I’ll go back to doing that. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Maybe it is my business,” she said, then compressed her lips as if to seal them.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just leave me alone. When you’re ready to go, just holler. I need some privacy right now.”

  Brad’s face reddened, as she began to unbuckle her belt as if to remove her pants, or to drop them to relieve herself. She turned her back on him as if to conceal what she was doing.

  “Oh, I’m real sorry,” he said. “I—I’ll holler when . . . when . . .”

  “Just go, Colonel Chambers.”

  “Yes’m,” he said quickly and walked away, leaving her alone.

  Once Brad had gone, Hollie pulled her belt tight and smoothed her trousers in front. She sighed to herself and leaned against the wall for support, closing her eyes. The trembling started, then, the trembling that had begun, and that she had quelled, when she first caught sight of Lt. Ferris in his Union uniform and became harder to control when the other soldiers came out of hiding.

  They came in the night, and when she first heard the hoofbeats and the whickers of the horses, she thought it was her daddy and her brother returning from Galveston, but knew in her heart that it was too soon. She did not expect them for another three days.

  She lighted the lamp in the living room, turned up the wick, then ran to the window and looked out. That’s when she felt her heart sinking like a stone in her chest. Three men, dressed in Federal blue uniforms, rode up to the front door. She froze by the window when the men looked at her, and even though she could not see their eyes, she could feel the intensity of their stares.

  The uniforms were not new and they were not clean. She noticed that, for some reason. The men were not clean-shaven but bearded, and they appeared filthy. Their uniforms appeared frayed and she noticed holes in them and stains that she could not identify.

  “Well, looky there,” one of the men said.

  “You boys just stay put,” the leader said as he dismounted.

  She stepped away from the window, but she could not make her legs work beyond that one step and she heard the front door open and then the man was in the room. He had a pistol in his hand and he glanced everywhere.


  “Hello there, girlie. You’re all alone, aintcha?”

  “G—go away,” her voice squeaked, trapped in a paralyzed throat.

  The man laughed and came for her. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. He bent her head back as he kissed her and she tasted the foul flavor of his mouth and smelled the stench of his rank breath. She felt the blood drain from her brain and grew giddy from his smothering embrace.

  He began to rip off her nightgown and she heard the whisper of his pistol as he sheathed it in his holster. Then, with both hands, he touched her breasts and between her legs and she saw his hideous face in the lamp-glow, smelled the odor of his body as he forced her to the floor, onto her back.

  “No, no.”

  “Shut up, gal. This ain’t gonna take long.”

  There was the creak of his boots as he slipped them from his feet, the thunk of them striking the floor, and the rustle of his trousers as he removed them. He pried her legs apart with his hands and she felt the stab of him before she swooned.

  Shadows of the men, as the other two came and took her as she lay in a stupor, the pain a distant piercing, their laughter harsh and muffled to her ears and she heard them call each other by name, but she couldn’t decipher them just then, and then she heard them stalking through the house and eating at the table and then the leader was on her again, like an animal, and she saw his face through slitted eyes. The weakness in her legs made her feel as if they were no longer hers and she could not fight, could not rise up from the depths of her befuddled mind, could not regain her senses until he was finished with her and she heard one of the men call out from somewhere she could not fathom.

  “Come on, Abe, time’s a-wastin’. We got to get movin’ again.”

  Then, the clatter of their boots and the silence afterward and the numbness in her so deep she could not move for a long time, and she drifted in and out of swoon states until daylight streamed through the open door and the window and she broomed the thick cobwebs from her brain and wondered if she had dreamed it all. Wondered that until the pain shook her body and made her crumple up and weep with the shame of it.