Hiram and Odell reached the place where Otter Tail had wheeled his horse only minutes before. The tracks of the unshod horse were clear after the recent rain.
“One Indian,” said Hiram.
“Yeah,” Odell said. “They’re wantin’ to know how far away we are with all the whiskey. They’ve never done this before. I’d say it means trouble. You reckon there’s any use for us to spy on the Indian camp?”
“That’s what Estrello wants,” said Hiram, “and I reckon we need to know how many of the varmints are there waitin’ for us.”
Otter Tail returned to the Washita and sought out Broken Nose. “Carro come,” Otter Tail said, “two suns.”
Broken Nose nodded, saying nothing. They would be ready.
Having seen enough, Sergeant Waymont and Corporal Tewksbury made their way back to their horses and rode south. Reaching the Red River and their camp, they reported to Lieutenant Wanz.
“Two hundred or more,” said Wanz. “The question is, have they come to trade for whiskey or fight for it? Did you see any pelts, horses, or mules for trade?”
“No,” Waymont said, “but there wasn’t enough cover to go any closer, so we couldn’t really tell.”
Even as Broken Nose questioned his two scouts, Hiram and Odell had found a position in a thicket where they could see most of the Indian camp.
“By the Almighty,” Hiram whispered, “there’s at least two hundred. Maybe more.”
“Yeah,” said Odell, “and all I see are Indian horses. They ain’t brought a damn thing to trade for whiskey. Broken Nose aims to take it away from us, and by God, he’s got the men to do it. We’d better get word back to Estrello.”
Quickly, they made their way to their horses, mounted, and rode east at a fast gallop.
“So that’s their plan,” Estrello said when Hiram and Odell reported. “Well, we won’t go all the way to the Washita. I have a better plan.”
Estrello called his gang together and told them what he had learned.
“They’ve gathered at the Washita, aiming to take the whiskey away from us,” said the outlaw leader.
“That don’t come as no surprise,” Wilder said. “What do you aim to do about it?”
“We ain’t takin’ the whiskey on to the Washita.” said Estrello. “We’ll take the wagons to within five miles of the Washita, and the Indians can come a few at a time to do their trading.”
“I reckon you aim to convince Broken Nose that’s a good idea,” Suggs said.
“I aim to tell Broken Nose I’ll deal with ten of them at a time,” said Estrello.
“You’re asking for it, Wolf,” Wilder said.
Estrello saddled his horse, mounted, and rode toward the Washita. He reined up on a ridge overlooking the Washita and the Indian camp.
“Broken Nose,” Estrello shouted, “I want to talk.”
Broken Nose mounted his horse and rode toward Estrello. He reined up fifty yards away, saying nothing.
“The whiskey’s here,” said Estrello, “and we’re going to sell it a little different this time. The wagons stay where they are, and your men can ride to them ten at a time.” He held up both hands, fingers spread. “Ten at a time,” he repeated. “No more.”
Estrello turned his horse and rode away without awaiting an answer. Behind him he could hear the voice of Broken Nose. Finally, he was drowned out by a horde of shouting, angry Indians. A chill crept up Estrello’s spine, and he kicked his horse into a fast gallop.
“He went down there and blowed the lid off.” said Vernon. “Here comes the fight we been dreading.”
A horde of screeching Indians swept down the ridge behind Estrello. Those armed with Winchesters were already shooting. Every teamster was bellied down beneath his wagon. Betsy was under the wagon with Bill, while Amanda was under Mark’s wagon with him. Both women had their Winchesters blazing. The rest of the outlaws had taken the little cover they could find. Most were bellied down on the ground. The fire was deadly before the Indians were in range with their lances, bows, and arrows. Broken Nose, seeing his men being shot off their horses, shouted an order. He suddenly veered his horse to the north. The Indians knew what he had in mind, and half of them followed Broken Nose, while the others reined up just shy of rifle range.
“Damn it,” Wilder shouted, “they’re going to surround us.”
“Some of you fire at them comin’ in behind us,” Estrello shouted.
Another band of Indians came over the ridge from the Washita, taking the place of the band that was slowly but surely making its way around behind Estrello’s outlaws.
“We don’t have a chance, do we?” Betsy asked as lead and arrows struck the wagon box above their heads.
“We always have a chance” said Bill, “as long as our ammunition holds out.”
Southwest of the Washita, Lieutenant Wanz and his soldiers heard the distant gunfire.
“It’s begun,” Wanz shouted. “Ready your weapons and proceed at a fast gallop. Bugler, sound the charge.”
As the Indians caught the outlaws in a deadly crossfire, it had a devastating effect. Patton took an arrow in his back and a Winchester slug through his chest. Hiram and Odell were down. Estrello was firing his Winchester as rapidly as he could pump the shells into the firing chamber. An arrow slammed into his shoulder, knocking him backward. He sat on the ground, still firing.
Suddenly, there was the dramatic sound of a bugle as two hundred bluecoats swept across the ridge. Difficult as it was, firing from the back of a running horse, the soldiers had begun firing, catching a large number of the renegade Indians in a crossfire. Those who had ridden beyond the wagons suddenly gave up the idea and galloped their horses away to the east. Broken Nose escaped with them, leaving half of his followers to face the soldiers. They were trapped between the soldiers and the well-armed outlaws. Fifty of their number lay dead. Those remaining saw the cause was lost. Dropping their weapons, they stood with their hands over their heads. The outlaws had ceased firing as the soldiers reined up.
“In the name of the United States of America, all of you are under arrest,” Lieutenant Wanz shouted.
But some of the outlaws were wanted for murder. To surrender would mean a firing squad or the rope. The teamsters came out from under their wagons, dropping their Winchesters to show they meant no harm. The rest of the outlaws had dropped Winchesters as well, but they still had their Colts. Suddenly, a dozen of them drew their Colts, charging the surprised soldiers.
“Get ’em,” Vernon shouted. Lightning quick, the eight teamsters, joined by Amanda and Betsy, drew their Colts and began firing. They cut down the rebellious outlaws before any of the soldiers were hit.
Estrello had seen the whole thing and wounded though he was, got to his feet. His hate-filled eyes were not on the soldiers, but on the teamsters, who had wiped out almost half of his gang.
“You Judas bastards,” he shouted. He tried to raise his Colt, but it suddenly seemed too heavy. His hand went limp, and the weapon dropped to the ground. Then his knees gave way, and Wolf Estrello fell facedown. The outlaw leader was dead.
The soldiers had seen the teamsters cut down the advancing outlaws. They held their fire as Bill, Mark, Carl, Lee, Vernon, Todd, Nick, and Ed walked toward them. Amanda and Betsy held back, as though uncertain as to their reception.
“Lieutenant,” said Mark, “Captain Ferguson sent Bill Harder and me. We’re teamsters, along with these six other hombres, and we’ve been promised amnesty by Ferguson. The two ladies have been held captives by the outlaws and aren’t guilty of anything.”
“I’m Lieutenant Wanz,” said the officer, “and Captain Ferguson told me about you. I had no idea there were so many of you, and I’m obliged to all of you for helping wipe out this gang. Thanks to your cooperation, we didn’t lose a man. Captain Ferguson will be delighted. We’ll camp here for the night, and a burial detail will dig graves for the dead. I’ll be needing some of you to help me identify the dead outlaws. In my saddlebags I have quite a
collection of wanted dodgers. I expect we’ll find some familiar faces.”
Sixteen of the outlaws were dead. Except for the eight teamsters, only Brice, Graves, McCarty, Schorp, McLean, and Renato were alive. Fifty of the renegade Indians had been captured alive, and they, along with the six surviving outlaws were placed under an armed guard of fifty soldiers. As Lieutenant Wanz had promised, he assigned a burial detail to dig mass graves for the dead. Then he passed out the wanted dodgers to Bill, Mark, and their companions.
“Before we bury this bunch, we need to know who they are. Or were. See how many of them you can identify.”
Oddly enough, most of the outlaws were using their own names, and with a reasonably good sketch on the wanted dodgers, every outlaw—alive or dead—was identified.
“My God, what a reward there’s goin’ to be on this bunch,” said Lieutenant Wanz.
“Right now,” Bill said, “I’m more anxious to learn how the captain knew when we would be here, and that we were in big trouble.”
“You can thank Estrello’s bunch for sinking that steamboat,” said Lieutenant Wanz. “A commercial steamboat from New Orleans picked up six survivors, and they talked. Captain Ferguson got a telegram from the post commander in St. Louis. Captain Hailey knew that Captain Ferguson was trying to bust up the whiskey smuggling, and he alerted Fort Worth that the whiskey was on its way. A friendly Kiowa at the fort mentioned this gathering of renegades along the Washita, and Captain Ferguson thought he knew why they were here. We camped along the Red and sent a scout to verify the presence of the renegade Indians. When the shooting started, we came to your assistance.”
“God bless all of you who had a hand in freeing us,” Amanda cried.
“Yes,” said Betsy. “Now we can find the gold and return it.”
“Gold?” Lieutenant Wanz looked puzzled.
“It’s an old story, Lieutenant,” said Bill. “Five years ago, Amanda’s and Betsy’s pa—who was one of the outlaws—hid some stolen gold. When Mark and me joined Estrello’s outfit, he was trying to force Amanda and Betsy to take him to the gold.”
“But you ladies had nothing to do with the taking of the gold?” Lieutenant Wanz asked.
“No,” said Amanda. “We were with Jake Miles when he buried it along the Washita, but we’re not even sure we can find the place again.”
“I hope you can,” Lieutenant Wanz said. “There may be a considerable reward. It could partially repay you for five years of captivity.”
“They’re going to get their reward,” Mark said. “Betsy with Bill, and Amanda with me.”
Lieutenant Wanz laughed. “Congratulations to the four of you.”
“Do you want us to help your men bury the dead?” Bill asked.
“No,” said Lieutenant Wanz, “my men can handle it. However, all of you being teamsters, I’d appreciate your assisting some of my men in manhandling that whiskey off the wagons. It will have to be destroyed.”
“What happens to the horses, mules, and wagons?” Ed asked.
“They’ll be taken to Fort Worth and confiscated by the government,” said Wanz. “Can you teamsters be persuaded to take them there? You’ll want to meet with the captain, I’m sure.”
“You can count on us, sir,” Ed said.
“Lieutenant,” Betsy asked, “is there a preacher—a chaplain—at Fort Worth?”
“There is, indeed,” said Wanz, “and I’d bet my commission I know why you want him. Now, if you teamsters will help, we’ll dispose of that whiskey.”
When it came time to get rid of the whiskey, the men simply hacked holes in the kegs with an axe. They started with Ed’s wagon. The first two barrels were full of the rotgut whiskey, but all the others were full of water! Less than one third of the load was whiskey. The rest was only water.
“This is one for the record,” said Lieutenant Wanz.
Word spread quickly, and the surviving outlaws cursed bitterly. Horses belonging to the dead outlaws were hobbled, along with the mules. The weather was fair, and with the soldiers standing watch, the teamsters had the night free. Since the wagons were no longer loaded, Mark and Amanda took one, while Bill and Betsy took another. Beneath the wagon canvas, they were comfortable.
“How long will it take us to reach Fort Worth?” Betsy asked.
“Maybe a week,” said Bill. “Why? Can’t you wait?”
“I suppose I’ll have to. I always thought it was men who were in a hurry to find the preacher and take a woman to bed.”
“Not really,” Bill said with a straight face. “Mark and me . . . well . . . we ain’t never done anything like this before, and it might take us a couple of years to get the hang of it. If you and Amanda would kind of . . . help us along. . . .”
Amanda and Mark were also contemplating their arrival at Fort Worth.
“I don’t like to think of collecting money for those dead men,” said Amanda, “but they were wanted by the law. You already have a ranch. Suppose you suddenly have thousands of dollars in reward money? What will you do with it?”
“I’m going to buy you some dresses and finery, such as silk pantaloons,” Mark said. “How long since you and Betsy wore dresses?”
“I don’t remember,” said Amanda. “Even before Ma died, we dressed like we do now. Don’t go buying any pantaloons, unless you plan to wear them yourself.”
“A dress with nothing under it but you, and you’ll have to learn to sit down all over again,” Mark said.
“What do you . . . ?” Suddenly she caught on and laughed. “Be sure that the dresses are extra long, and I won’t disgrace you.”
The next morning, with the renegade Indians bound and distributed among the wagons, the newly organized caravan started for Fort Worth. The captured outlaws, their hands bound behind them, rode their own horses.
Fort Worth, Texas. September 22, 1866.
The arrival of Lieutenant Wanz and his prisoners created a stir at the fort. Nobody had ever brought so many captives in from Indian territory. The lieutenant didn’t report to Captain Ferguson until all the captives were locked up and under guard.
Lieutenant Wanz knocked on Ferguson’s door. Entering, he saluted.
“Damn the formalities, Lieutenant,” said Ferguson. “Tell me what happened.”
Wanz gave him a report in detail, up to and including the disposal of what was thought to be whiskey but was only water. Ferguson slammed his fist against the desk in delight when Lieutenant Wanz told him how the eight teamsters had turned on the outlaws.
“I’ll see there’s a pardon for every one of them,” said Ferguson. “They’ve earned it.”
“There’s one thing more, sir,” Lieutenant Wanz said.
He then told Captain Ferguson the little he knew of the stolen gold, and that possibly Amanda and Betsy might remember how to find it.
“They’d been through so much, so dirty, ragged, and scared. I didn’t have the heart to have them search for that hidden gold along the Washita,” said Wanz.
“You made the right decision, Lieutenant,” Ferguson said. “After a week or two of rest, decent food, and some new clothing, perhaps they’ll go with you and a detail to the Washita.”
“They’ve promised to do exactly that,” said Wanz, “but before they do anything else, they want to talk to the post chaplain. They’re wanting to be married.”
“Married? To whom?”
“Amanda to Mark Rogers, and Betsy to Bill Harder,” Lieutenant Wanz said.
“Well, by God,” said Captain Ferguson, “you can’t keep a Texan down for long. When this Reconstruction is over, Texas is going to be one hell of a state.”
“Do you want to talk to the teamsters, the men who have earned pardons?” Wanz asked.
“I’ll talk to them all in the morning,” said Ferguson. “I need to study the wanted dodgers you brought back on those outlaws. There’s going to be a pile of reward money to be divided among these teamsters. Go to the sutler’s store and make arrangements for them all—and especiall
y the ladies—to get anything they need. I’ll guarantee payment.”
Carl, Lee, Vernon, Todd, Nick, and Ed were assigned bunks in the bachelor officers’ quarters, while Mark and Amanda and Bill and Betsy were allowed the privacy of two small cabins. Stackler’s dog, Arky, was busy making friends at the mess hall, for his nose had led him there. There was enough time before the evening meal for the eight teamsters and the two women to visit the sutler’s store.
“I never had three new dresses all at once in my life,” Betsy said as they left the sutler’s store, “I just hope we can afford them.”
“Lieutenant Wanz says we can,” said Mark. “I just hate it they didn’t have pantaloons. Now Bill and me will have to teach you and Amanda to sit down properly. Those dresses aren’t near as long as I thought they’d be.”
“Then you should have bought us both some new Levis,” Betsy said, “because I won’t ever ride a sidesaddle. The first time I straddle a horse in one of those dresses, everybody’s likely to get an eyeful.”
“I told Lieutenant Wanz to find the chaplain for us,” Bill said, “and he promised to do it right after supper.”
“Yeah,” said Mark, “it’s time to put up or shut up. Damned if I’m sleeping in a bed with my britches on and a female in a new dress beside me.”
The evening meal at Fort Worth was a memorable event. The teamsters, including Betsy and Amanda, ate at the officers’ mess, where Captain Wanz related the capture of the renegade Indians and the total destruction of the Estrello gang.
“We didn’t lose a man,” Lieutenant Wanz boasted.
After supper, true to his word, Lieutenant Wanz led Betsy, Amanda, Bill, and Mark to the little post chapel. To their surprise, the place was already packed, and men stood outside the windows, trying to see inside. There was a hushed silence as the two couples went into the chapel, and they weren’t surprised to find their six teamster comrades there in a front row. The double ceremony was done quickly, and all six teamsters were on their feet slapping the backs of the embarrassed grooms. Then they began kissing the brides.
Ralph Compton Whiskey River Page 27
