by J. T. Edson
‘Looks that way,’ Dusty agreed, also grinning. ‘You alone here?’
‘Sure. Likely Kiowa’s got his-self all lost. Them Kiowas never could find their way around.’
‘Have any trouble shaking your bunch?’ asked Dusty.
‘Nope. I took off a way and lost ‘em in some cedar brakes down thataways. I reckon they’re still lost. Been here sooner, but my roan threw a shoe.’
‘Isn’t there any sign of Ja—Kiowa yet?’ Jill put in.
‘Why not say “Jackson,” reb?’ Liz interjected. ‘It’ll be as easy and we all know who you mean.’
A red flush crept into Jill’s cheeks and she glared at Liz, but her concern for Marsden’s welfare prevented her from making any comment. Instead she turned and looked expectantly at the big sergeant with pleading in her eyes.
‘None I’ve seen,’ admitted Ysabel. ‘Let’s get the hosses out of sight. And don’t you worry none, gal, he’ll show up real soon.’
Turning, Ysabel walked off and the others followed him to a pleasant, well-concealed valley with a small stream meandering along its bottom. The roan and packhorse stood grazing on the stream’s bank and Dusty told his party to off-saddle and rest their mounts.
‘I’ll go back and keep watch, Cap’n,’ Ysabel suggested. ‘Haven’t seen any sign of Injuns, but they do say that’s the time to watch out for ‘em.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Only you’d best come back and lend us a hand with the shoeing. That damned roan’s got meanness in him.’
Ysabel gave out with a deep cough of laughter. ‘If you reckon the roan’s mean, you should see my boy Loncey’s white. The ole Nigger hoss of his makes my roan look as peaceable as a preacher at a ladies’ sewing-bee.’
Although Dusty thought that Ysabel exaggerated a mite, the day would come when he saw the truth of the big sergeant’s words.
Billy Jack finished tending to his horse and turned to go towards the pack-animal. However, Jill turned from her buckskin and called, ‘Just get the pack off, Liz and I’ll see to the horse while you handle the shoeing.’
While seeing that the suggestion would save time, Billy Jack wondered if he could trust Liz not to try further delaying tactics. Liz saw his hesitation and made a quick decision. Walking to Billy Jack, she looked him straight in the face.
‘I’ll give you my word that I won’t make any trouble,’ she said.
‘That’s good enough for me,’ he replied.
On opening the pack, Billy Jack struck a serious snag. He knew that Dusty planned to push on as soon as the shoeing was completed, leaving Kiowa to follow their tracks on his arrival at the rendezvous. So the discovery Billy Jack made did not please him and he doubted if it would make Dusty feel any delight.
‘I can’t start shoeing yet, Cap’n,’ the sergeant-major announced. ‘Got the buffer, drawing knife and rasp, but the shoeing-hammer and pincers are with Kiowa. Sam’s packhoss had the nails though and his shoes are in his saddle-pouch.’
‘We’ll just have to wait for Kiowa then,’ Dusty replied.
To do so meant a delay, but Dusty knew it was unavoidable. Every horse carried a set of ready-made shoes for just such an emergency, but replacing one called for the correct tools. When arranging the packs, Dusty had had to share out the loads equally between the three load-carrying horses. Shoeing equipment weighed far heavier for its bulk than did grain or human food, so he shared Billy Jack’s kit among the three animals. The system failed due to the unforeseen circumstances of a horse throwing a shoe after the party split up for a time to avoid any enemy attack.
Listening to the men talk, Liz knew that a delay to their march had come. She should have been delighted, but somehow could not raise any pleasure at having her work done for her. Since listening to Wilson’s comment when she mentioned the danger to innocent civilians, she wondered if Castle’s plan might be as ill-advised as the Texans claimed.
Dusty told the girls to grab some rest when they finished tending to the stock, then he left the valley and walked up to where Ysabel kept watch among the rocks. Looking across the range, Dusty could see no sign of Kiowa and Marsden.
‘You say you’ve seen no sign of Indians, Sam,’ he said.
‘Nary a sign, Cap’n.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘Bad as a riled-up diamondback cornered in a barrel. Saw a big bunch of buffalo back a piece. Found signs that Indians had jumped ‘em further on, couple of days back. Old men and squaws had done the killing.’
‘And?’ Dusty prompted, although he could guess.
‘Hunting’s men’s work. Only time they leave it to the squaws’s when there’s war-medicine in the air,’ Ysabel explained.
‘That’s what I figured,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘We could’ve called our guess at the council place right.’
‘Could have,’ agreed Ysabel.
‘Wonder if Kiowa and Jack Marsden made it,’ Dusty remarked after a pause.
‘If the bunch after ‘em were no better mounted than them who took after me, ole Kiowa could outride ‘em,’ Ysabel guessed. ‘And young Marsden rides real good—for a Yankee.’
‘Real good,’ agreed Dusty. ‘I don’t like the delay though.’ Not until shortly before sundown did Kiowa and Marsden make their appearance. Jill tried to stand back, act cold and distant, but failed. Giving a relieved gasp, she flung herself into Marsden’s arms.
‘Let’s have the horses tended to,’ Dusty remarked.
‘I’ll see to Mr. Marsden’s,’ Liz promised, ‘or the packhorse, whichever you want, Captain.’
‘The choice’s your own, ma’am,’ Dusty told her with a grin. ‘How’s that for Southern hospitality?’
Leaving Liz to handle Marsden’s sorrel, Dusty helped Billy Jack to unload and unpack the packhorse’s load. While waiting for Kiowa’s arrival, Billy Jack had prepared the roan for being re-shod. Due to Dusty’s foresight in having each horse fresh-shod before leaving the regiment, much of Billy Jack’s work had been done and he only needed to ensure that the horn grown since the last shoeing be removed and the bearing surface for the reception of the new shoe made level by judicious use of the rasp. After that, he nailed a cold shoe into place and finished his work.
Knowing Billy Jack’s skill in such matters, Dusty left him to his work and joined Kiowa at the fire. With the horses cared for, Liz knelt at the fire preparing a meal for the men. She listened to the conversation out of simple curiosity, not because she sought some information useful in spoiling Dusty’s arrangements.
‘Saw some Indian sign down to the south,’ Kiowa remarked. ‘Couple of sizeable bunches headed north-west. Then we come across a bunch of young Kaddo bucks and hid out from ‘em. That’s why we came in so late.’
‘Those Kaddos headed right for the council grounds?’ asked Dusty.
‘Reckon so,’ admitted the lean sergeant. ‘We called it right, Cap’n.’
‘Looks that way. Say, where’s Jill and Jack Marsden?’
‘Need you ask,’ smiled Liz.
‘Reckon not,’ Dusty admitted with a grin. ‘Only I hope they don’t stop out there spooning too long. We’ve some fast moving to do to make up for the delay.’
Next day the party pushed on at a fast pace, riding and walking to such purpose that they made all of forty miles. Nor did they slow down the following day. The party crossed the Elm Fork of the Trinity just below its junction with the Denton and passed over the Trinity’s West Fork so as to make camp on the southern tip of Lake Bridgeport. That night first the girls, then the men, grabbed a chance to swim in the lake, wash off the travel dirt and try to soak away the ache of hard travel. Dawn found them moving across what today is Jack County. Having found Indian sign, fresh and headed west, Dusty now kept Ysabel out ahead as scout and Kiowa brought up the rear. The rest of the party kept together, still travelling fast but now using caution and even more alert for trouble. Dusty no longer feared trouble from the Yankees, but he knew the Indians would be a far more serious menace
than any Union soldiers.
‘What are those?’ Liz asked, pointing to several circling black dots in the noonday sky, as she walked at Dusty’s side and led her mare.
‘Turkey buzzards,’ he answered. ‘Hovering over an Indian kill, maybe.’ For all his light tone, Dusty gave the turkey vultures another glance before directing his gaze towards Ysabel. Seeing the sergeant halt, turn and wave, Dusty went on. ‘Mount up. Keep back a piece, you girls.’
Leaving the other two men to guard the girls, Dusty urged his horse to a faster pace and joined Ysabel on top of a rolling fold of land. A low hiss of anger left Dusty’s lips at what he saw below on the other side of the slope. Side by side, Dusty and Ysabel rode down the slope towards what had once been a peaceful, neat little cabin. When Dusty told Liz that the circling turkey vultures could be hovering over an Indian’s kill, he meant a buffalo, elk, or maybe a longhorn butchered for meat. What lay before him was not so innocent.
By the corral lay the naked, mutilated shape of what had been a burly white man, the mangled flesh giving no hint as to which of the many holes and gashes killed him. Not far away the gutted body of a large dog sprawled in death.
‘Why the hell do they have to carve a man up like that?’ Dusty growled. ‘I wonder who he was.’
‘Dutchy Ritter, Cap’n,’ Ysabel replied. ‘I know his dawg. He was a horse-trader with a wife and two kids.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Towards evening yesterday, I’d say. Don’t get it though, Dutchy allus got on with the Comanches and this’s Comanche country.’
Dusty did not reply. Riding to the house, he swung from his saddle and walked to the shattered door. Only by an effort could he force himself to enter the building, for he guessed what he would find inside. Through necessity Dusty had become accustomed to seeing death, but he was pale under his tan as he returned to the open again. He expected the sight in the room to be bad, but not quite that bad.
By the time Dusty emerged, the remainder of the party had come up. Liz, face set and pale, eyes fighting to avoid looking again at the grisly things by the corral, dismounted and walked towards the house.
‘Is this Indian work?’ she asked, her voice hoarse and strained.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Dusty replied.
‘Was he alone?’
‘No.’
Listening to Dusty’s flat, cold, one-word reply, Liz knew something far worse than the horror at the corral lay in the building. Much as she wanted to turn and run, Liz knew she must see the inside of the cabin. Setting her teeth grimly, she walked by Dusty and before he realised what she meant to do had passed through the door. A low cry left her lips at what she saw. The two children, a boy and a girl, were bad enough, their small bodies battered and mutilated—but the worse horror hung half in, half out of the bed. In life it had been a pretty woman and carrying an unborn child. The face was unmarked. A hideous gash laid the throat open to the bone. Yet there was even more. The woman’s belly had been ripped open and the unborn child’s body trailed on to the floor by her side.
‘This’s what they’ll turn loose all through Texas,’ Dusty said quietly.
For a moment Liz stood staring around her. Then she gave a low moan, turned and collapsed sobbing into Dusty’s arms. The cabin seemed to be whirling around, heaving up and down before Liz’s eyes and everything went black.
Blue sky greeted her when she recovered. Jill knelt at her side and the rebel girl’s face showed concern. To one side Dusty stood talking with Ysabel, and Liz caught the words.
‘So it was Kaddo work,’ he said.
‘Sure. Young bucks headed for the council and took a chance to gather some loot,’ Ysabel agreed. ‘I didn’t figure Comanches’d jump Dutchy, he got on with ‘em.’
‘I should have stopped Liz going in there,’ Dusty stated.
‘Should have,’ agreed Ysabel. ‘Only now she knows what Castle’s scheme’ll mean.’
‘Yes,’ Dusty said flatly. ‘Now she knows. Let’s go help the others with the burying.’
oooOooo
* Underground Railroad: Organisation for smuggling freed slaves to Northern States.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WE OWE YOU THAT MUCH, MR. MARSDEN
‘We’re too late, Cap’n,’ Sam Ysabel told Dusty quietly. ‘They’ve beaten us to it. Arrived this morning.’
Sitting to one side of the small Texan, Liz listened to the words with a cold chill of apprehension. She had talked little since the finding of the ravaged ranch and her face showed haggard lines not entirely due to fatigue. Watching Dusty, she wondered what he would—or could—do in view of Ysabel’s news. They had reached the upper tip of Lake Sheppard and made a hidden camp in the pine woods just below where the Brazos flowed into the lake. On arrival, Dusty sent Ysabel out on a scout of the area, from which the sergeant had just returned and brought the worst possible news.
Liz wondered how Dusty must feel, having ridden so far, planned so well, and to find that he came on the scene just a few hours too late. It must be a bitter blow. Yet she could see no chance of preventing Castle’s scheme. Four men and two girls—yes, two, for she intended to give all her help to stopping the uprising—could do nothing against a large camp of Indians who had the backing of an Ager Coffee Mill gun.
‘How much do you know?’ Dusty asked.
‘Caught me a Kaddo buck as he was out hunting,’ Ysabel answered. ‘He got around to talking after a spell. The big council’s fixed for tonight. Then the Yankees’ll be showing off their Devil Gun, which’s what they’re calling the Ager.’
‘Is it much of a camp?’ asked Billy Jack, mirroring Liz’s thoughts.
‘I’d put it at around fifty each of Comanches, Kaddos and Kiowas. Few Wacos, smidgin of Attacapas from the coast, and I’d swear to there being some White Mountain Apaches out of New Mexico.’
‘But how did they all get to hear of the council?’ Liz put in.
‘Now that’s a right smart question, ma’am,’ Ysabel answered. ‘I’ve lived among the Comanches, am a member of the Dog Soldier Lodge, but I don’t start to pretend I can explain half the things I’ve seen Injun medicine-men do.’
‘The meeting’s set for tonight, you say, Sam,’ Dusty said.
‘Yep. The chiefs have seen the rifles and only want showing how the Devil Gun works.’
‘The arms wagon is in the camp?’
‘Nope. The Deacon’s not that loco, Cap’n. He’s got it stashed down in the woods on top of the big bend the river makes afore it forks apart. Meeting’s right down at the bottom of the bend’s loop.’
‘Many men with the wagon, Sam?’ Marsden inquired as he sat at Jill’s side.
‘The two Yankees, Deacon, his right bower, Cracker and three more. Reckon the Deacon’ll take Cracker along when he goes with the Yankees to the Council, seeing’s how he don’t speak Spanish, and Spanish’s the only language that they all understand.’
‘Leaves three with the wagon then,’ Billy Jack stated. ‘At least we’ll stop ‘em getting the rifles, Cap’n Dusty.’
‘And the Injuns’d still ride. More so to get them back. Especially when they see what that Ager’ll do,’ Kiowa informed him.
‘If we could only get into that council—’ Dusty began.
‘We can,’ Ysabel replied. ‘Least I can. I’m a member of the Dog Soldier lodge and can go to any council called for the tribe.’
‘Even in your army uniform?’ asked Dusty.
‘Got my medicine boot for the Sharps, with that it don’t matter how I dress. Long Walker’s there and he’s my friend. If I know him, he don’t want this war. He’s an old-time Comanche and won’t hold with riding alongside Kaddos, much less with Wacos or them coast Attacapas. With him there, I can walk into that council.’
‘Can you take me in with you?’
For a long moment Ysabel did not reply. Then he nodded his head. ‘There’s one way. If you and I were blood brothers, I could take you along.’
‘Then you�
�d best make me your blood brother,’ Dusty said.
‘Have you a plan, sir?’ Marsden asked, watching Dusty intently.
‘Call it a fool notion, mister,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’ve learned a few things about Indians during this journey. Enough to take a chance on spoiling the Devil Gun’s medicine.’
Although a painful death awaited him if anything went wrong with Dusty’s plan, Billy Jack did not hesitate to ask, ‘How many of us’re going, sir?’
‘Only Sam and I,’ Dusty answered, and stifled the low rumble of objection with a gesture. ‘Mr. Marsden, you’ll take Billy Jack and Kiowa tonight and either bring away that arms wagon, or destroy it. Either way, it must not fall into the Indian’s hands.’
‘And the girls, sir?’ Marsden said.
‘They will remain here, hidden,’ Dusty ordered, and looked at Liz as she made a start at protesting. ‘No arguments, Miss Chamberlain. Neither of you are trained or suited for the work ahead. I want you to remain here with the pack animals. If we haven’t returned at dawn, or if you hear anything to suggest that we won’t be coming back, strike out to the south along the river. Ride as you’ve learned during the journey and when you find white folks start to spread the word of what’s happened up here.’
‘Very good, Captain,’ Liz replied.
‘We’ll get through, if we can,’ Jill promised, trying to hold concern out of her voice as she clung to Marsden’s hand.
‘Best show us how the land lies around the wagon, Sam,’ Kiowa suggested.
Squatting on his heels by the fire, Ysabel used his bowie knife’s point to clear a patch of earth on which he drew a rough, but fairly accurate map of the arms wagon’s location. Using his knowledge of such matters as a guide, he pointed out the easiest route by which to make an advance towards the clearing in which the wagon stood and mentioned the snags one might expect.
‘Only thing I can see’s going to be whether Mr. Marsden and Billy Jack can move quiet enough through the woods in the dark,’ he concluded. ‘Them boys guarding the wagon know Injuns and won’t be sleeping on the job.’
