by R. W. Stone
McCallum smiled and nodded. “Since I cleaned your ass once or twice when you were in diapers, I guess your pa thought I would be the logical one to pull it out of the fire now.”
Patton was a keen student of history and his sergeant was old enough to have heard many stories about the Iron Sergeant when he was growing up. They both recognized McCallum’s name.
“I thought you was dead,” the sergeant said.
“Not hardly,” McCallum growled. “Leastwise, not yet.”
“The Iron Sergeant. Well, I’ll be damned,” Patton observed. “We can fit you folks in our cars and take you back to our base before we get reinforcements and go after Villa.”
“More rust than iron, if you ask me,” McCallum replied. His shoulder was getting stiff and beginning to throb. “Look, Lieutenant, if it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to return the way I got here.”
Patton’s eyebrows arched. “It’s not a problem. We can make room in the cars,” Patton assured McCallum.
“Thanks, but that’s not it, Lieutenant. You see, I know the army and its red tape. I’ve been around Black Jack Pershing long enough to know what will happen if I show up there with these folks in tow.”
Patton instinctively flinched a little at the mention of General Pershing’s nickname. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said.
“First, I’ll have to explain what the hell we are doing here, and then he’ll have to fill out reports and we’ll have to answer questions till the cows come home. Then we’ll have to repeat it again in triplicate to his intelligence officers,” Thad explained. “Army intelligence … well, I always thought there was something ironic about that title. Then after chewing my ass out for taking matters into my own hands, Pershing will probably want to reminisce about the good old days in Cuba.”
“Knowing the general, I’d say that was about right,” Patton agreed.
“Pedro and I just want to get back home to our ranch. I’m getting too old for all this horseshit.”
The sergeant laughed loudly.
“I doubt that very much,” Patton stated.
“If it’s just the same to you, I’d prefer the report didn’t even mention us. None of us was even here, if you get my drift. The glory is all yours.”
The lieutenant considered Thad’s last statement before finally nodding. Then, “Sergeant, these folks were never here,” he advised. “Make sure the men know it. I’ll make sure they get R and R when they get back, but if they even mention these people, they’ll be doing latrine duty for a year. Make sure the civilian guides understand it, too. Tell them I’ll personally make it worth their while.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. Turning to the men, he yelled, “Put your rifles’ safeties back on and prepare to move out!”
Pedro rounded up his horse and the black for McCallum before picking out two fresh mounts for Jeff Shaw and the girl. He made sure they had enough water, and then requested a few supplies from the soldiers. It was more than enough to get them to Rubio.
There were handshakes all around. “Thank you again, Lieutenant,” McCallum said. “You might just go the distance in this man’s army.”
Patton looked back at the older man and smiled. “Coming from you that means a lot. I appreciate it.” He threw McCallum a smart salute.
“Remember, you never heard of me or my friends,” Thad reminded Patton.
McCallum nodded to Pedro, who led the way out the gate. The four rode up the hill to where the mules had been left. Fortunately, they found them grazing contentedly.
Lieutenant Patton took one last look at the bodies of the Mexicans, and then over at the cars. Patton grinned and pointed. “Sarge, have some of the men throw these four rebels over the hood of the lead car. Tie them down good.”
“How’s that, sir?” the sergeant asked.
“I’m going to strap these rebels to my car and then dump them at the general’s tent flap. Yes, sir, by golly, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
The sergeant had been in the army long enough to know not to argue with an officer. He simply shrugged and shouted, “You heard the man! Strap ’em down and then let’s get the hell outta here!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
McCallum, Pedro, Jeff, and Mercedes made it safely to Rubio, and from there they rode north until they could arrange transport on a train headed back to the border. When they arrived back in the good old USA, all four breathed a sigh of relief.
The trip back had given McCallum time to reevaluate the boy and his girl. Thad McCallum had always been hard to impress, but when he heard the whole story of how Jeff had survived and how he had won over such an obviously beautiful and independent girl as Mercedes Valdez de Guerrera his original opinion about him changed.
This was clearly no silly boy who had merely wandered into a hornet’s nest as Thad had supposed. “Maybe there’s more of Al in you than I thought,” he had remarked to Jeff on the journey back to the States. Then, looking over at Mercedes, he had added, “One thing for sure, while you may have inherited some of his guts, you clearly got his charm and luck with the ladies.”
Jeff was truly surprised at Thad’s comments for two reasons. The first was that he had never thought of his father as being a ladies’ man. Second, and more importantly, he had learned from Pedro that his godfather was a man of few words and had a reputation for seldom giving out compliments.
It was then that Thad told Jeff about his mother’s illness.
“You know, when you bring a bride back with you, it might just make her happy and give her reason to keep on fighting to live. A mother likes to know her son is well cared for.”
At this, Mercedes hugged Jeff tightly, wiping away the tear that had formed in his eye before she backed away.
By the time Pedro arranged train tickets home for Jeff and Mercedes, Thad had the pair outfitted with new clothes and the necessary travel gear. He had figured that if they wanted to start things out right when they got back to Jeff’s family home, Mercedes couldn’t arrive looking like a rebel with a pistol on her hip. Sure, Al might be amused, but Maggie was the one who counted. They would need her blessing. Looking at Mercedes, decked out in a new dress and Jeff in a suit with a stiff neck and tie, he felt sure they would receive it gladly.
As he stood there, Thad realized that he would miss the pair. He had few people in his life that he was close to, and hearing Jeff call him Uncle Thad had unexpectedly touched him. He liked the girl as well. She was spunky, independent, and strong. Those were characteristics McCallum admired in anyone. The fact that she was also beautiful was icing on the cake. He had actually blushed at the train station when she had given him a goodbye kiss.
Yep, he thought, Al and Maggie will quickly fall in love with her, too. And maybe they’ll return someday and bring along some grandkids.
As the train pulled out, Jeff and Mercedes leaned out the window and waved. Thad waved back and was deep in thought when Pedro suddenly slapped him on the back. “Time to mount up, jefe,” he said as he took hold of the reins to their two horses. “What’s that you always say … the day’s a-wasting. First, we’ve got to let Jeff’s uncle know everything is good. And we have horses to break back at the ranch. Right, jefe? Or should I say, Iron Sergeant?”
Thad McCallum glared angrily at his old friend, and then snarled, “If I didn’t need your sorry ass back at the ranch so much, I’d tell you to go straight to hell.”
The two looked at each other seriously for a moment, and then broke out into laughter. McCallum laughed so hard he couldn’t catch his breath, which caused spasms of pain to pulse through his body. “Damned rheumatism,” he hissed. He arched his stiff back and, before taking out his briar pipe, popped a couple of pieces of licorice in his mouth.
“Vamanos, you old horse thief,” Thad said to his friend. “We got another long ride ahead of us.”
The End
Epilogue
Across the Río Bravo is a work of fiction, but like the rest of my novels there are elements of historical reality that come into play during the story.
There is a basis for the importance of photography in this tale. Pancho Villa was reputed to be a narcissistic man, and so the idea of promoting himself as a modernized Mexican version of “El Zorro” or perhaps a “Latin Robin Hood” would certainly have appealed to him. To that end, Villa participated in a film, part dramatization and part documentary footage of Villa’s march and the battle of Torreon, entitled The Life of General Villa. It was released by Mutual Film Corporation in 1914. Although much of its making is clouded in misinformation, D. W. Griffith is credited variously as producer or supervisor while Christy Cabanne is credited as its director, as is Raoul Walsh for camera work on the newsreel footage for the battle scene in Torreon. Walsh also is said to have played the role of a young Villa in the dramatized section about his early life.
It is believed that Villa agreed to the filming because he needed the money for his fight in the revolution. (Some sources say he was paid the hefty sum of $25,000 for his participation.) It was thought that the film could make rich Americans sympathetic to the cause of Villa, who was the victim of evil landowners (hacendados) who had supposedly raped his sister and stolen his family’s land and thus encourage donations to help his cause. Regardless, there is little doubt that Villa loved the idea of seeing himself recorded in photos and film to be saved for posterity.
General John Joseph (Black Jack) Pershing’s Mexican Punitive Expedition is now considered a relatively unsuccessful venture by the United States. While the army did eventually succeed in routing the revolutionary army, it never did capture Pancho Villa.
Today the failure of the expedition is generally not considered to be Pershing’s fault, but rather is attributed to the lack of cooperation from the Mexican government, the poor roads and primitive transportation, plus the breakdown in the American army’s quartermaster corps.
When the United States did finally decide to enter World War I, Frederick Funston, Pershing’s superior, was being considered to head the American Expeditionary Force. When General Funston died of a heart attack in February 1917, Pershing was chosen to replace him and was eventually given the post of Commander of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF).
Black Jack’s biggest contribution in the Great War is thought by many to be his absolute insistence that the American army not be broken up and incorporated into French or English units, or fed into battle piecemeal. He insisted that the army fight as an independent group and that he, as its commander, be given the respect due his post by our allies.
There is little doubt that the entrance of the American army finally helped turn the tide of battle and win the war. Later, in 1919, as recognition of his distinguished service during World War I, the president promoted Pershing to the six-star rank of General of the Armies. He remains the only general in American military history ever to hold that rank while living. George Washington was granted that same high rank, but it was awarded posthumously in his case.
During his time as Chief of Staff of the Army, Pershing mentored many of the most famous generals to lead later on in the Second World War. Men such as Marshall, MacArthur, Eisenhower, and Patton were all influenced in one way or another by his command presence.
Pershing finally retired from active service in 1924. He remained highly visible in public life and at one point a movement to draft him as a presidential candidate gained momentum, but Pershing declined to pursue the offer. General John J. (Black Jack) Pershing died on July 15, 1948.
George S. Patton Jr. is now credited with leading what would become the first motorized attack in the history of US warfare. His first real experience with combat occurred on May 14, 1916, when his men, driving three Dodge touring cars, surprised three of Villa’s men during a foraging expedition.
During the resulting firefight Julio Cardenas, one of Pancho Villa’s captains, and two of his guards were killed. Patton later strapped their dead bodies over the hood of his car and dumped them at General Pershing’s headquarters. Because of Patton’s actions, Black Jack Pershing would later refer to him affectionately as his “Bandido.”
After the fight at the San Miguelito Ranch, Patton carved two notches on his pistol grip. He would proudly carry that very same pistol on his hip all through the Second World War.
During the First World War Patton commanded the first tank school in France and was later wounded in combat. Between wars he became very close friends with another officer who was also interested in armored battle tactics, Dwight David Eisenhower. Together they would become America’s top advocates for tank warfare.
General Patton’s exploits in World War II are legendary, and today his name is synonymous with bold, hard-driving tactics and personal bravery. Sadly, shortly after the war ended, Patton was involved in a tragic automobile accident that left him paralyzed. On December 21, 1945, four-star general George S. Patton Jr. died as a result of his injuries.
Eventually his legendary fame rose to the extent that the movie, Patton, was release in 1970, about his war years. Starring George C. Scott as Patton, the film won seven Oscars, and remains an iconic classic.
Pancho Villa (1878–1923) was a Mexican bandit, warlord, and revolutionary. He was born José Doroteo Arango Arámbula on a small farm. It is hard to differentiate fact from fiction about his early life since Villa worked hard to create a new personal biography to fit his own needs.
It is claimed that at sixteen years of age Villa shot a man over an accusation of having accosted one of Villa’s sisters. He was forced to flee and became a roving fugitive bandit.
Later Villa joined the rebel cause fighting to overthrow the current government. His fighting skills helped him to become one of the most important figures of the Mexican Revolution. Together with his famous Division del Norte he was instrumental in the downfall of two Mexican presidents: Porfirio Díaz and Victoriano Huerta.
Eventually Venustiano Caranza succeeded Huerta and began a governmental military campaign against Villa. By this time, Villa was viewed by most Mexican politicians as a rogue and a dangerously loose cannon. When his personal army, the Division del Norte, was eventually defeated by government troops, Villa was forced to resort to banditry to keep his remaining men supplied with food and ammunition. This in turn eventually led to his vicious attack on Columbus, New Mexico.
The Mexican Punitive Expedition was a ten-thousand men troop movement into Mexico tasked by the United States government with the job of eliminating the revolutionary army and capturing or killing Pancho Villa. It failed to do either, although for several months the revolutionary leader was forced into hiding while recuperating from battle wounds.
For the next several years Villa had to live as a recluse, hiding in the mountains. Even as hard as it tried, the Mexican government was completely unsuccessful in capturing this elusive rebel bandit. Eventually, in 1920, a deal was brokered with the current president of Mexico, Álvaro Obregón, to pardon Villa’s actions and allow him to retire to a rather large hacienda.
Villa apparently lived quietly on his ranch and was at peace for a time, but four years later he was gunned down while driving his car through the town of Parral. Although it was never confirmed, the suspicion remains high that Obregón ordered the assassination over fears that Villa might be nominated as a presidential candidate in the 1924 elections.
Today most Mexicans have forgotten about Villa’s cruel role in the blood bath that was the revolution. They have, for the most part, forgotten his unjustified massacres, illegal executions, and assorted robberies. As far as the modern public is concerned what is left are stories of his daring and defiance. Thanks to many years of fictional Hollywood movies about him, Pancho Villa continues to be celebrated as a sort of latter-day Mexican Robin Hood.
About the Author
R. W. Stone inherited his love for Western adventure from his father, a former Army Air Corps armaments officer and horse enthusiast. He taught his son both to ride and shoot at a very early age. Many of those who grew up in the late 1950s and early 1960s remember it as a time before urban sprawl when Westerns dominated both television and the cinema, and Stone began writing later in life in an attempt to recapture some of that past spirit he had enjoyed as a youth. In 1974 Stone graduated from the University of Illinois with honors in animal science. After living in Mexico for five years, he later graduated from the National Autonomous University’s College of Veterinary Medicine and moved to Florida. Over the years he has served as president of the South Florida Veterinary Medical Association, the Lake County Veterinary Medical Association, and as executive secretary for three national veterinary organizations. Dr. Stone is currently the chief of staff of the Veterinary Trauma Center of Groveland, an advanced level care facility. In addition to lecturing internationally, he is the author of over seventy scientific articles and a number of Westerns, including Trail Hand (2006). Still a firearms collector, horse enthusiast, and now a black-belt-ranked martial artist, R. W. Stone presently lives in Central Florida with his wife, two daughters, one horse, and three dogs.
