“We thank our Chirinato brothers,” Grant said.
“Aguila will share our bivouac this night,” Eruditus said. “He wishes to express his sorrow for the loss of our brothers in the battle on the desert.”
“You told the Apaches about the fight?” Grant asked.
“Yes,” Eruditus answered. “I also passed on the information that you desire to speak to the whole tribe. That can be done tomorrow in the evening.”
“Excellent!” Grant said. “Now let’s try some of that venison and squash. It sounds a lot better than hardtack and salt pork.”
“Which we ain’t got anyhow,” Donegan was quick to point out.
Clooney exclaimed, “Donegan—“
“I know! I know!” the dragoon interrupted. “Shut my yap!”
“That’s right,” Clooney said. “Now let’s form up for mess call.”
The Apache food was gratefully accepted. The men built some small cook fires, roasting both the squash and the dried meat. With no coffee, they washed down the food with gulps of cold water from their canteens. By the time they finished the meal, the moon was up above the treetops, its yellow light coming through the leafy branches casting weak illumination through the forest’s darkness.
The long night was quiet. Occasionally a horse whinnied and stomped its hoof or one of the dragoons grumbled sleepily when awakened to go on guard duty. But mostly, the only sound was the deep, even breathing of exhausted men lost in deep slumber after going through a day of fiery, galloping hell.
Dawn’s pinkness found the dragoons damp with morning dew and shivering slightly. Most had been so deep in sleep they hadn’t realized how chilly they were until Sergeant William Clooney ungently nudged them awake with the toe of his boot.
“Turn out there, Schossmeyer! Reveille! Wake up, Lundari!” the sergeant said.
MacLaren, on guard duty, leaned against a handy tree and watched the camp come to life. Corporal Charlie Rush sat up and reached over to shake Donegan.
“Let’s go! Reveille!”
Donegan groaned and sat up, then folded his arms around himself. “God Almighty! Now it’s cold, ain’t it!” He stood up and walked around on stiff legs. “First we bake on the desert, now we freeze up here.”
“It’ll warm up directly when the sun’s higher,” Clooney said. “Now fall in.”
“Fall in?” Donegan asked. “For what?”
“Ye been in the army fer fifteen years,” Clooney snapped. “When didn’t ye have roll call at reveille?”
The men dutifully lined up. Even MacLaren came over to join the small formation.
“Corp’ral Rush!”
“Here, Sergeant!”
“Trumpeter Lundari!”
“Here, Sergeant!”
Clooney called off Donegan, Schossmeyer, and MacLaren. Then he executed an about-face movement and waited for the captain to walk up.
Grant, who had watched the proceedings, immediately responded. He marched to the front of the group and took Clooney’s salute.
The sergeant said, “Two noncommissioned officers, one trumpeter, and two privates present for duty, sir. Eighteen men dead or missing.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Grant said. “Have the detachment eat a quick breakfast, then break camp. We’ll be journeying to the Chirinato village first thing this morn-mg.
“Yes, sir!”
Grant took one more salute, then returned to where Eruditus and Aguila had lit a small fire. Eruditus grinned, saying, “Aguila wants to know if you all were making medicine with that ceremony.”
Grant nodded. “In a way, I suppose we were. Holding reveille reminds us that we’re still soldiers and belong to the United States Army. It’s a way of showing ourselves we’re still professionals, no matter what sort of circumstances we find ourselves in.”
Eruditus explained it to Aguila by saying that the ritual was a sign of respect to the Big Chief of the Americans. Aguila, understanding the spiritual side of certain gestures, stated that the dragoons would be all the stronger for it.
It took but little time to consume the remainder of the venison and squash. With no utensils to wash, the men were in their saddles in less than a half hour from their reveille formation. Feeling refreshed, the column moved out to climb higher into the mountains.
The ride through the thick forest was a pleasant one. The density of the vegetation both above and around them deadened all sounds. Aguila led the way with the army horses—and faithful Plutarch—plodding along, playing an equine game of follow the leader. The dragoons dozed in the saddle, the slow motion of the ride lulling and soothing them. It was nice in the cool shadows out of the sun and blistering gusts of the desert.
After a ride of two hours, Aguila shouted loudly. The white men snapped wide awake as they went down a gently sloping hill and finally broke out of the trees to enter a long valley along whose length were scattered close to a hundred hogans.
Eruditus stood in his stirrups and shouted greetings in the Chirinato language to each side. The Indians who knew him, and they were numerous, returned the salutation with their own friendly yelling.
“Sure now and ye’ve come home, Mr. Fletcher,” Donegan said.
“In a way I have,” Eruditus answered.
They continued through the entire village until Aguila brought them up before a place where a large hogan was situated. Here the rest of the Chirinato council stood. Lobo Cano, Zorro, and Terron raised their hands in greeting.
Chief Lobo Cano stepped forward and said a few words. Eruditus turned to the dragoons. “The chief bids you welcome and invites you to visit here for as long as you want.”
Now Zorro spoke, gesturing excitedly, his voice high-pitched and intense.
“Zorro tells you that you are in your own village,” Eruditus said. “He says you will find other brave fighting men here.”
Terron only spoke a short sentence, then turned and went inside the hogan.
“Our friend Terron says he will eagerly await hearing Captain Drummond speak at the council tonight,” Eruditus interpreted.
Lobo Cano and Zorro gave one more wave of greeting, then went to join Terron. Eruditus motioned the dragoons to follow him. He led them over to a spot where a freshly constructed lodge had been erected.
“This is home, lads,” he announced climbing down from the saddle. “Settle in. You’ll find a small corral in the back and blankets inside.”
Clooney, being a natural-born sergeant, was the first to dismount. He went directly inside the hogan. A minute later he came out.
“It’s clean as a pin, lads, and filled with fresh pine needles to give it a nice smell.” Then the sergeant scowled, “Mind yez keep it that way!”
Corporal Charlie Rush saw to it that the other three dragoons turned to the corralling and unsaddling of the horses. He detailed Schossmeyer to take the captain’s horse. Eruditus preferred to see to Plutarch by himself. When they finished the chore, a trio of young Chirinato women shyly approached bearing day pots of cooked food.
“Now ain’t you lovely,” Donegan said to one with a wink.
The girl said something to the others who laughed. Eruditus said, “She told her friends the old crow must have something in his eye.”
The other dragoons burst out laughing and Donegan grinned. “Maybe that’s my Chirinato name, eh? Old Crow.”
The girls left and the men turned to the food. Rabbit stew, boiled corn, and more squash made up the meal. There was plenty for all, and by the time they finished stuffing their bellies, the dragoons were more than ready to enjoy the blankets laid across a thick carpeting of pine needles.
Captain Grant Drummond and Eruditus Fletcher, on the other hand, had some important matters to discuss. They withdrew behind the corral and sat down in the shade of a pine grove to have a long conversation consisting of the best way to address the assembled Chirinatos that evening.
Inside the hogan, the men slept the day away. The unaccustomed inactivity was something any good soldier had t
he sense to take advantage of. Now and then, when hunger stirred one of them, he would get up and take a few more bites from one of the pots, then return inside the hogan to nap a bit longer.
By the time evening rolled by, the entire village had gone to the front of the council’s hogan. The warrior Quintero was also there with his friends Chaparro, Bistozo, and Zalea. Like the others, the quartet settled down to wait whatever was going to happen. Presently, Aguila, Lobo Cano, Zorro, and Terron came out and took seats in the proper place.
A sudden shouting from Sergeant Clooney over at the soldier’s lodge caused the Indians to turn around. They looked with amazement at the sight of the dragoons marching up in step, looking dignified, with Grant and Eruditus leading the way. When they reached the council they came to a foot-stomping halt. Trumpeter Lundari stepped out and put his bugle to his lips. He sounded Assembly three times.
The dragoons, including Grant, sat down. Now Eruditus was the center of attention. He turned to the Chirinatos and spoke in a loud, strong voice:
“My friends, we have fought another battle. This time even more of the enemy attacked us, forcing us to leave our camp. We fought our way into the desert, then got into a running battle on horseback. Many soldiers died until we reached the mountains and rode up into them. We are sad because we lost friends and we are sad because the scalphunters along with their brothers the Mexican soldiers now roam El Vano. They are more numerous than ever because of the treachery and lying to the soldier chief Drummond by the Mexican soldier chief. Right now the Big Chief of the Americans does not know what is going on. We cannot get a message to him. But when he finds out, he will send help. Until then, more Chirinatos will die because the scalphunters and the Mexican soldiers are very numerous and well-armed.”
Lobo Cano’s face bore a grim expression. “We are safe in the mountains, but several bands of our people are on the desert. They are few and include more women and children than warriors. All will die.”
Eruditus spoke again. “That does not have to happen. Soldier Chief Drummond wants to speak to you.” He motioned Grant to join him.
Grant left his place with the dragoons and stood beside his older friend. He began to speak, stopping periodically to allow Eruditus to translate his words:
“It is true the enemy is strong and numbers more than my soldiers and the Chirinato warriors put together. But there is a way to fight them that might give us victory. I learned this method of fighting when I did battle against the Indians in Florida. We outnumbered them, but they fought us hard and caused us many deaths. Only after a long time did the Big Chief of the Americans win that war.”
Quintero was anxious to do battle with the scalphunters, but wanted to win. “How is it those faraway Indians fought?”
“They used the forest and darkness as their allies,” Grant said. “They struck when all was in their favor and withdrew when the odds went against them. They floated through the countryside like invisible birds, then fell on us as striking eagles.”
“If that tribe lost their war, why would we win ours fighting the way they did?” Quintero asked in professional curiosity.
“They eventually lost because they could get no outside help,” Grant said. “We will have other soldiers of the Big Chief of the Americans here sometime. But we cannot wait here for them or the Chirinatos on the desert will be killed.”
Quintero was impressed. “Then rather than stay safe in this village, you and your soldiers are willing to go seek battle with the scalphunters to save lives in our tribe?”
“Yes,” Grant answered. “My big chief would have it no other way.”
Quintero’s emotions gushed out, and he emitted a war cry. “I will follow you, Soldier Chief! I care not what the council says. If you will risk your life for us, then I am your warrior brother! I will follow you on the warpath and fight as you tell me to fight!”
“And I!” shouted Chaparro.
“And I!” others yelled out.
Within moments the entire village was hollering their support for Grant. The women began singing war songs to encourage their men.
Once again Lobo Cano stood up. “It is thus! The Chirinatos will go to war with the Soldier Chief leading us in the style of fighting he knows will give us the best chance for victory.”
Eruditus translated for Grant, adding, “You now have a small army to lead, Captain my friend.”
“I only hope I will not lead them to death,” Grant said. “It would mean the extermination of this tribe,” Eruditus said.
“Not to mention ourselves,” Grant added.
Twenty
Sounds of laughter and shouting filled the dragoon bivouac as Mexican soldiers and scalphunters alike went through the tents, pulling out the former inhabitants’ personal belongings to see what was worth taking.
It was a scene of wild plunder, with bits of uniforms, slashed remnants of tents, broken boxes, and other debris flung about the area to be trampled on by the raiders. Newspapers and letters were ripped apart and the pieces thrown to float about in the breeze. Anything deemed without value was destroyed in the orgy of searching for booty.
A short time previously, the same men now ripping apart the bivouac, had put single bullets in the heads of fallen dragoons found in the desert. This included a half dozen wounded. Roberto Weismann, following the explicit instructions of General De La Nobleza, personally made sure this crime was carried out. This was to ensure there would be no potential informers.
Upon arrival at the camp, the same thing was done to the fallen defenders found in and around the rifle pits. Captain Ricardo Perez had objected bitterly to the killings but could do nothing to stop the outrage.
Now the killers and mutilators of the dead rifled the personal effects of their soldier victims.
Roberto Weismann, Penrod Donaldson, and Captain Perez stood around a campfire sipping fresh coffee as they watched the combination celebration and looting.
Donaldson spat. “Christ! You’d think they’d found an unattended gold mine from the way they’re acting.”
“One couldn’t expect much loot from a military camp,” Weismann said.
“That is true,” Perez noted. “Soldiers are always poor. What could one possibly possess besides some tobacco, a little liquor, or some valueless remembrance of former days?”
“I think they are enjoying this unique opportunity of unhindered plundering, no matter how small the loot,” Weismann observed. He continued to watch the activity without emotion. “They seem to be fond of the American caps and uniforms. I suppose such things are novelties to them.”
A good number of the looters found the martial clothing the dragoons wore only for formal occasions something to amuse themselves with. Several of the Mexican soldiers and scalphunters danced around and hollered while sporting the caps and yellow-piped jackets that had been left neatly folded in locker boxes in the tents.
Wild River Garvey left the fun and walked up to the fire, tossing away the U.S. Army cap he had found. “Hell! I couldn’t get my meat-hooks on nothing more’n a few pair o’ worned out socks and some handkerchiefs and that damn cap.” He laughed. “I coulda used a good pair o’ boots but there wasn’t none. As far as that fancy uniform stuff, well I ain’t got much use for none of it.”
“Now you see why them soljer boys wear buckskin and wide-brimmed hats instead o’ them military suits,” Donaldson said. “That’s the way I dressed during my short spells in the army on account them kind o’ duds served better out here in the west.”
“The Americans were smart enough to take the real valuables with them,” Weismann said. “There was hardly any powder or ball left. All the horses have been run off.”
“I was aware of that when riderless horses ran with the dragoons during their gallop out of here,” Perez said. “The loose animals hindered our pursuit to no small degree.”
“Well, I got to admit your boys didn’t do too bad anyhow,” Donaldson said. “Only about a half a dozen of them soljer boys got
away. The rest was spread across the desert.”
“Mostly dead, I would point out,” Perez said.
“Well, now, Cap’n Perez, we sure as hell took care of them that wasn’t,” Garvey said. “One bullet in the head and they was headed for them pearly gates.”
Perez did not like the way the American spoke of dispatching the wounded dragoons. “That was not the way I was trained to deal with the enemy.”
Weismann quickly reminded him, “Those were General De La Nobleza’s orders, Captain Perez.”
“I am aware of that, Don Roberto,” Perez said. “I would also like to point out that there are still a few surviving Americanos who will speak of this in the future.”
“By then most or all of them Chirinatos is gonna be dead anyhow,” Donaldson said. “Us scalphunters is gonna be back in Mexico with silver pesos jingling in our pockets.”
“True,” Perez agreed. “That is because right now there is not a sufficient number of Gringo soldiers to offer you scalphunters any threat. And, since we also intercepted and killed the dispatch rider going to Santa Fe for help, you may continue your activities without hindrance.”
“I appreciate that, Captain Perez,” Weismann said.
“It could be a month before more American troops come out here to find out why they’ve not heard from this camp,” Perez said. “I suppose that by then so much time will have passed that no one will be able to give proper testimony about what happened here. It will be impossible to get any of us on this side of the border.”
“Not unless they come down and hunt for us,” Donaldson said.
“The Americans will have to rely on Mexican authorities for that,” Perez said. “Such a thing will not happen.”
“I’ll not take any credit from you or your men,” Weismann said. “Thanks to you, we shall have time to get most if not all the scalps of the Chirinato Apaches.”
The Dragoons 3 Page 20
