The Comancheros

by Stephen Lodge

  “Can we shoot ’em if it looks like they’re gonna shoot us?” Feather wanted to know.

  “Only if you’re close enough,” answered Charley. “Like I said, I don’t want us shooting our own people. Now, move out like I asked you to. When you’ve gotten to where you think you should be . . . wait. You’ll hear my signal shot soon enough.”

  Everyone followed Charley’s orders, heading out in separate directions after handing their horses’ reins to either Kelly or the boy. When Charley handed Dice’s reins to him, Henry Ellis held out the right-hand glove Charley had given him earlier.

  “Here, Grampa,” he said. “You’ll be needing this now more than I will. It takes two hands to fight a man . . . only one to hold on to a few horses.”

  Charley hesitated.

  “I mean it, Grampa,” Henry Ellis said again. “Take the glove.”

  Charley did not speak. The tears rimming his eyes were the only expression he showed. He took the glove and slipped his hand into it.

  “Thank you, Henry Ellis” were his only words. Then he moved up beside Rod, and the two took a few more steps together until they were only outlines behind the sheet of blasting ice particles.

  Kelly moved up beside the boy. She motioned for him to follow her behind the protection of several large boulders. As the last horse cleared the edge of the rocks, the shot from Charley’s gun split the air.

  Kelly and Henry Ellis stayed behind the boulders with the horses. Their ears became their eyes as they listened to the yelling and war cries being made by Charley and the others.

  Henry Ellis wished that they were using their guns instead of fists and knives. At least the sound of gunshots would give him a better idea of how the battle was progressing.

  Then it was over, quicker than it had begun. The Rebel yells and war cries just stopped. And after that, only the ongoing rush of the wind could be heard.

  The silence went on. No sounds at all came from the bank robbers’ camp—or where Henry Ellis thought it should be. He exchanged glances more than once with Kelly. The horses were beginning to show their restlessness, pawing the ground—snorting.

  “Don’t be alarmed, it’s us.”

  The two whipped around, and there stood Charley and Rod. The others were drifting in from behind them.

  “What happened, Grampa?” yelled Henry Ellis as Rod moved past the boy to take Kelly in his arms.

  “What happened?” said the boy once again.

  His eyes were locked on to his grandfather’s eyes. Charley moved toward him, then stopped.

  In Charley’s hand was the glove. He held it out for Henry Ellis to take.

  “I reckon I won’t be needing this for a while, son,” he said. “Take it back. I know you’re colder than I am.”

  “Grampa,” Henry Ellis said one more time, only much more forceful, “Please . . . tell me?”

  Charley shook his head.

  “They weren’t there. They must have run off in the night because the camp wasn’t anywhere close by.”

  Feather tramped up through the wet grass.

  “No way ta keep trackin’ ’em, Boss,” he said. “The ground is too grassy over here . . . an’ it’s wet, too. There ain’t a sign of ’em anywhere. Nothin’ at all ta tell us which way they went.”

  “Then you may as well tell the others that we’ll be heading home,” said Charley. “If we’re lucky, we may run into ’em on our way back.”

  They weren’t lucky. Even though they followed the railroad tracks back to Del Rio, and again on to Juanita, they never saw a sign of the Cropper Brothers and their gang.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Charley had everyone stop at the Juanita/Spofford railroad depot, where he conferred with the station master for a few minutes concerning the possible whereabouts of the Croppers. Then he called the Texas Outfit to line up behind him for the remainder of the journey to Juanita.

  They rode into town, single file, looking like the defeated bunch of ex-posse members they were. On Charley’s order, they broke up and drifted toward Flora Mae’s place, while Charley and Henry Ellis spurred their mounts over to the sheriff’s office. Once there, they dismounted and tied off their horses.

  “I don’t see no Cropper Brothers wearin’ cuffs strollin’ in behind ya,” said Sheriff Willingham Dubbs as Charley and the boy entered the office.

  The sheriff sat behind his rolltop desk in his brown-leather swivel chair, located between the rifle closet on the wall and the first jail cell. There were three cells in all, and all of them were unoccupied.

  “I hope to have those cells filled for ya by the week’s end,” said the sheriff. “I got word that the Croppers didn’t stay in Mexico too long before they decided ta make their way back here.”

  “I know,” said Charley. “We spent overnight in the gang’s old camp in the cave, then crossed the river the following morning with hopes of capturing them by surprise. But they weren’t there, Willingham. I didn’t peg ’em right. They musta come back across the Rio while we were sleeping, then bypassed us without us knowing it. That’s the only way I can figure it all out.”

  “Thank you, Charley,” said the sheriff, “for at least bein’ honest with me. Now that you’re back, will you let me deputize you like before? I can really use you and your outfit’s help in this matter.”

  “How about we hang our hats over in Flora Mae’s place for a while? That all right with you?”

  “Sure, Charley,” he answered. “And, if anything comes up, I’ll send one of my deputies over ta get y’all.”

  Charley and his outfit had spent most of the afternoon playing billiards and lounging around Flora Mae’s establishment.

  Now suppertime was rolling around and Charley asked Flora Mae if he could buy meals for everyone in the house, just like he did with drinks when the glasses had gone dry.

  “You’re always pickin’ up everyone’s tab,” said Flora Mae. “It’s about time you let us buy you a meal fer once.”

  “C’mon, you tired excuses fer best friends,” she called out to the others. “Everyone chip in. We’re gonna all buy Charley and Henry Ellis’s supper tonight.”

  There was agreement from the group as they gathered around the proprietor, handing her coins and bills until they were stacked high on the table in front of her.

  Flora Mae scooped up all the money and put it in her purse before heading to the hotel’s kitchen in the other building up front.

  “Looks like I shook enough money outta you skinflints ta pay fer everyone’s supper . . . including mine.”

  She headed off down a hall, leaving them all to wonder what had just happened.

  They were all finishing up their dessert of apple pie when the door burst open and one of the sheriff’s deputies came running into the room.

  “Charley . . . and all the rest of you folks,” he yelled. “Sheriff Dubbs wants you over at his office. He’s got something he wants ta tell y’all.”

  Everyone scrambled, grabbing their coats, then pushing their way past the deputy on their way out.

  The sheriff was waiting on the sheriff’s office porch, as Charley, Henry Ellis, and the rest of them came running down the street. Once there, they gathered around him.

  He raised both hands to calm them down.

  “Whoa . . . Whoa down now, you crazy people. I didn’t want ta start a stampede.”

  The members of the Texas Outfit began to settle down as Charley moved to the front with his grandson. The others gave the sheriff their attention.

  “It’s nice ta see that ye’re all willin’ ta come a runnin’ if it looks like I might need yer help. But what I wanted ta tell ya has nothin’ ta do with the Cropper Brothers.”

  “Then why did ya call us, Sheriff?” asked Holliday. “I thought that was the main reason we was hangin’ ’round Flora Mae’s ’stead of goin’ home.”

  “It was, Holliday,” said the sheriff. “But, ye’re gonna like what I hafta say just as much.”

  “Well,” said Fea
ther. “Get on with it.”

  “The railroad wants ta throw all of us a little gratitude party,” he began. “Fer what we all done, possein’ up like we done, and damn near capturin’ that band of nogoods.”

  Charley stepped in closer.

  “I’d feel a lot better about attending a party if we had captured that gang of nogoods.”

  “Yeah, it feels like someone’s gettin’ cheated when ye’re praised fer somethin’ like this before it’s even happened,” said Roscoe.

  “Tell you what, Sheriff,” said Charley. “Why don’t you tell the railroad to hold off on that party until we really do capture the Croppers?”

  A clatter of hoofbeats drew their attention to the other end of the main street, where a rider could be seen racing toward them at a full gallop.

  The man reined up, sliding his horse to a stop in front of Charley and the sheriff.

  “You’re gonna love this, Sheriff Dubbs,” said the man. “The Croppers just hit the San Antonio Special, about six an’ a half miles out from the station.”

  “Did they get away with much?” asked the sheriff.

  “That’s just it,” said the man. “The mail car clerk and the conductor are refusin’ ta open up his slidin’ door, so they’re all hangin’ around, dickerin’ about it.”

  Within minutes, the sheriff and Charley were galloping back toward the train station, followed by the outfit and some others. The cowboy who’d brought the message was leading the bunch as they kicked up a swirl of twigs and mud chunks behind them.

  A bright flash of lightning flickered all around, followed by a loud crash of thunder. It wasn’t that long before the gray clouds overhead opened up with another pounding rain.

  When they got to the depot, the messenger pointed east.

  “About six an’ a half miles down thataway,” he shouted. Then he dismounted, tied off, and ran toward the station.

  “Ain’t ya comin’ along with us?” shouted the sheriff over the noise of the thunder and the rain on the depot’s tin roof.

  “Nope,” yelled the man from the front door. “I done my job by comin’ in ta town ta get y’all. It’ll be up ta you boys ta handle it from now on.”

  The sheriff shook his head. He turned to Charley.

  “Ain’t that just like some people these days?” he said. “Willin’ ta do half a job but can never finish the whole thing. C’mon,” he shouted. “Let’s put some leather into it.”

  He spurred away, following the railroad tracks, with Charley and the others right behind.

  Steam was leaking from a few of the valves around the wheels of the large locomotive. The silver and black behemoth was stopped, along with the several cars it pulled, dead center on the tracks that led away from Juanita.

  Activity was centered around the mail car, hitched directly behind the locomotive’s wood box. The remainder of the cars, both freight and passenger, were strung out behind, with the passengers leaning just as far as they could out the windows to get a better look at what was going on up by the mail car.

  Sam Cropper and his brother, Dale, sat horseback, facing the sliding door on the left side of the railroad car. Sam was busy talking to whoever was inside.

  A rifle exploded through the crack between the door and its frame, with the bullet creasing Sam Cropper’s hat right down the middle, sending the floppy, wool headpiece flying in the wind.

  “Now, cut that out in there,” yelled Sam. “Now I gotta send one of my men off ta fetch that damn thing before I catch cold out here in the rain with nothin’ ta cover my thinnin’ hair.”

  “Next one’ll be even closer, if ya don’t back off a little more like I been askin’ ya to.”

  Sam raised one hand, the other pulled back on his horse’s reins, signaling the animal to ease off and back away slowly. Dale did the same with his horse, until the two brothers had joined the rest of the gang who were situated farther away from the mail car than the brothers had been.

  The sheriff and his posse, now made up of Charley, Roscoe, Rod, Kelly, Feather, Henry Ellis, and Holliday—with one deputy and several more townsmen who had been there when the sheriff swore them all in—slowed to a stop. They dismounted and, in minutes, were on their knees behind some pecan trees, watching the scene play out across a field.

  “I wish there’d been a way to get closer,” whispered the sheriff. “I’m havin’ one hell of a time hearin’ what they’re sayin’.”

  “That’s all right, Willingham,” Charley whispered back. “I got real good hearin’. I can understand every word that’s coming out of their mouths.”

  Henry Ellis crawled over to where his grandfather was exchanging whispers with the sheriff. Charley put his arm around the boy and pulled him to his side, as close as he could get to him.

  “Did you have something you wanted to ask me, son?” said the old man.

  “I just wanted to know where you want me to go when you start moving in for the capture?” he asked.

  “Well,” he began. “That’s something better left up to the sheriff, don’t you think? He’s in charge of this posse.”

  “Ah, hell . . . I mean, heck, Charley,” said the sheriff. “You know as well as I do that I depend on you, more than I do myself, to come up with a plan in situations like this one.”

  Charley turned to Henry Ellis.

  “Whatever happens, Henry Ellis, I want you and Miss Kelly to stay back here in these trees . . . and don’t you move. No matter what happens over at the train. Promise?”

  Henry Ellis lowered his eyes.

  “I promise, Grampa,” he said. “But, I was—”

  “You was what?” said Charley.

  “I was just wondering when I’ll ever be allowed to—”

  “You’re still too young, son. And even though you’ve had to shoot someone before in self-defense, or while protecting a good friend . . . that was because you had to, not because you were facing him one-on-one like it’s done on a battlefield, or in a gunfight.”

  Charley tousled the boy’s hair. He smiled.

  “When the time comes that I feel you’re grown up enough to ride with us into a squabble like the one that’s about to happen, I’ll let you know, boy. You can bet money on it . . . I’ll let you know.”

  With that, Charley got to his feet. He turned to find Dice, then he mounted up.

  “Just where in heaven’s name do you think you’re going, Charley Sunday?” asked the sheriff.

  “Oh, I thought I’d ride on over to that train . . . see if I can stir anything up.”

  He nudged Dice out into the open, walking the horse directly toward the train.

  The Cropper Brothers and their gang had all eyes on the door to the mail car, so they had no idea someone was coming up from their rear.

  Charley got closer and closer, and still no one had noticed his presence.

  When he reached the point where he still had all of them in his peripheral sight, he reined Dice to a stop, pulling his Walker Colt from his boot in one slick movement.

  From his position, Charley continued to watch the standoff play out. First Sam Cropper would demand something from those inside the mail car. Then someone inside the car would shout back an answer to Cropper’s stipulation.

  Then Sam would signal for one of his men to fire on the car with a pistol. And just as routinely, a rifle barrel sticking through a crack in the sliding door would roar back with a couple of shots of its own.

  By the number of bullet holes in and around the mail car’s sliding door, Charley figured this tit-for-tat game had been going on for some time.

  Charley knew that if he stayed where he was, someone would notice him in due time. So he nudged Dice over toward the rear end of the train, and because the gang’s attention was riveted on the mail car, no one was watching as he slipped around to the other side of the conveyance.

  Charley walked Dice along the sides of the railroad cars until he came to the mail car’s opposite sliding door. None of the robbers had thought to surround th
eir quarry, so he was alone on the back side.

  He nudged Dice over closer to the sliding door, then he reached over and knocked on the small window, with its glass still intact.

  It wasn’t more than a few moments until the conductor’s perspiring face appeared at the window. Charley held up his deputy’s badge for the man to see.

  The conductor turned to discuss the matter with the mail clerk, then both of them unlocked, then slid the door open just wide enough so Charley could get through to the inside of the car.

  The interior of the mail car was hot and stuffy. The two railroad employees had everything closed up tight, except for the crack in the door they were using for communication, and the occasional return of gunfire.

  Charley helped the conductor slide the large door he’d come through closed. The clerk locked it, then returned to his position on the other side of the car, where he could see the Croppers through the crack by the door.

  As quiet as he could be, Charley introduced himself.

  “I’m Charley Sunday,” he said. “One of the deputies in the posse that’s after that gang out there.”

  “Where is the rest of the posse?” asked the clerk.

  “Up there behind the gang, on that tree-lined hill,” Charley told them. “Keepin’ outta sight, like me, until we can get more information on these dirty buzzards.”

  “They weren’t that lucky this time, mister,” said the conductor. “They didn’t expect me to be in here with Alex when they hit us.”

  “They’re used to it bein’ one man in the mail car,” said the clerk. “And this time they got two.”

  “Two brave ones, at that,” said Charley. “What made you decide to stand your ground?”

  The conductor turned and faced Charley.

  “Well, first we’re carryin’ a load of raw silver from one of the mines north of Langtry. S’posed to deliver it to the smelter in Sabinal.”

  “But most of all,” said the clerk, “I reckon we just got tired of givin’ in to the Croppers every time they stop the train.”