Across the Rio Colorado

by Ralph Compton

  They all laughed grimly and rode on. Far to the east, Creeker and his companions had caught up to the tag end of the stampede, before the animals fanned out to graze.

  “By God,” Ellis said, “if we don’t never have another piece of luck, we can’t complain. Would you look at that?”

  The mules Rufus Hook had grudgingly allowed them to ride were there, and they still wore their saddles. With them were the other five mules Hook would need to draw his wagons.

  “We’ll take the varmints with us,” said Creeker, “while we look for the horses.”

  They began finding the Indian mounts first, and they searched for another hour before locating their own horses. The animals had been together long enough to consider themselves part of a herd, and they all were grazing near the spring to which Creeker and his companions had followed the trail of the Kiowa and the stolen horses.

  “Let’s gather them up and get out of here,” said Dirk. “After gettin’ back them five mules for Hook, the least he can do is have the cook rustle us up some supper.”

  “That can wait,” Creeker said. “We got somethin’ else to do, first. Get your saddles off them mules and onto your horses. Then take your lariats and fashion some lead ropes for that bunch of mules and these borrowed horses.”

  Quickly they complied, but they didn’t ride directly to Hook’s camp, which was well beyond McQuade’s. Instead, they rode on until they were challenged by one of McQuade’s sentries. They reined up, and Creeker answered.

  “This is Creeker and friends. We come to return ten horses McQuade loaned us.”

  “Stand where you are,” the sentry replied. “I’ll get McQuade.”

  Mary had been awake when McQuade had returned, and assuring herself that he was safe, she had gone to sleep, not concerning herself with him further. McQuade sat on the wagon’s lowered tailgate, wide awake. He would begin his watch at midnight, and before he could get to sleep, he would have to get up again. He heard the sentry’s challenge, and Creeker’s response. But the sentry didn’t have to leave his post, for most of the men who had participated in the rescue were still awake. By the time McQuade reached the sentry’s position, Ike Peyton, Gunter Warnell, and a dozen others were already there.

  “Ride on in, Creeker,” McQuade said.

  Creeker and his companions did so, reining up near the wagon circle.

  “We took advantage of the full moon, and found our horses,” said Creeker. “I ain’t a man to forget. We’re obliged.”

  Without another word, they rode away, and only when the hoofbeats had faded into the night did any of McQuade’s outfit speak.

  “McQuade,” said Ike, “I’ve been around them that spoke from the Good Book, but I never knowed a man that lived it any better than you.”

  McQuade said nothing. He returned to the wagon to find Mary awake.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “We loaned some horses to the men we took from the Kiowa,” said McQuade. “They were returning them.”

  “I’m sorry I was cross with you before you rode out,” she said. “Am I forgiven?”

  “I reckon,” said McQuade.

  “I’m awake now. Why don’t you join me?”

  “Do I have to take off my hat, gunbelt, shirt, britches, and boots?”

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Damn,” McQuade sighed, tugging at his boots.

  There was considerable surprise within the Hook wagon circle, when Creeker and his companions rode in with all the stampeded mules and horses.

  “I must say I am impressed,” said Xavier Hedgepith. “I fully expected the lot of you to be murdered and scalped, leaving us short ten more mules.”

  “At least we got some hair to lose, Hedgepith,” Groat said. “That’s a hell of a lot more than can be said for you.”

  “Shut up, the lot of you,” said Hook. “So you recovered the horses and the mules.”

  “Yeah,” Dirk said, “but in escapin’ the Kiowa, we lost our weapons. What do you aim to do about that?”

  “Not a damn thing,” said Hook.

  “You ain’t exactly bubblin’ over with gratitude,”

  Groat said. “Maybe we’ll just take them five missin’ mules back where we found ’em.”

  “I don’t reward a man for doing his job,” said Hook stiffly.

  “We didn’t hire on to wet-nurse your damn mules,” Nall said. “Way we see it, we got five of your heehaws back, and they was the responsibility of your teamsters. Each of them mules ought to be worth a pair of pistols.”

  “What about you, Creeker?” Hook asked.

  “That’s the way I feel too,” said Creeker. “We was captured by the Kiowa, and was lucky to escape with our lives. I speak for us all, when I say we don’t ride another mile with this outfit, unarmed. You got all kinds of ammunition and weapons amongst the goods you’re takin’ to Texas. If you’re that almighty cheap, then you can take the guns from our pay, but by God, we’ll have weapons in the morning.”

  “Agreed,” Hook said, “and you will pay for them.”

  “We’ll pay, then,” said Creeker, “and we’ll remember your generosity.”

  McQuade rode out at dawn, intent on getting as much distance as possible between his outfit and the Kiowa. Hook’s wagons were a day behind, meaning that he was three days away from any margin of safety. Pacing themselves, resting their horses, the Kiowa could easily ride seventy miles in a day. It was five times the distance a wagon could travel, on a good day. Reaching the water he sought for the night’s camp, McQuade turned his horse and rode back to meet the wagons. It was then that he saw the distant smoke against the blue of the sky. It was likely bad news for Hook’s outfit, and possibly for McQuade’s, as well. Not only did they have Kiowa on their trail, the “talking smoke” was sending word of white man’s presence to the Kiowa somewhere on the trail ahead.

  Hook’s wagons were on the move, and every man of them, Hook included, watched the back-trail. The puffs of smoke were even more evident to them, for they were closer. When they were forced to stop and rest the teams, Hook hailed Creeker.

  “What do you think the smoke means?” Hook asked.

  “I ain’t got that much Indian-savvy,” said Creeker, “but I’m guessin’ these Indians has got friends somewhere ahead of us, and they’re bein’ told we’re comin’.”

  “Why couldn’t you have simply recovered your horses, without incurring the wrath of every Indian in the Territory?”

  Creeker didn’t consider that worthy of a reply. He looked at Hook with a mixture of disgust and pity, and rode away.

  Chance. McQuade’s outfit had become seasoned enough, and his confidence in them had become such, that he believed they should be aware of what he suspected. When they next stopped to rest the teams, McQuade spoke to some of the men.

  “We got off too easy last night. While we left the Kiowa afoot, and they may not find their horses in time to come after us, they’re sending word ahead. Smoke signals have told other Indians we’re coming.”

  “We don’t know what to expect, then,” Ike said. “They could strike while the wagons are all strung out on the trail, or after they’re circled for the night.”

  “I’m sure they’ll come up with something creative,” said McQuade, “striking when we least expect it. We’re most vulnerable while we’re on the trail. They can swoop down on a few wagons, cut loose with arrow or lance, and then be gone before all of us can come together in defense. Ride with your pistols ready, with your children and wives keepin’ their eyes open for an attack. When we take the trail tomorrow, we’ll pull the wagons up three or four abreast, if the terrain permits. The shorter our line of wagons, the better our defense.”

  While McQuade was concerned with the Kiowa ahead, Hook’s outfit had problems with the Kiowa from the raided camp, who had recovered their stampeded horses. Lora Kirby, Hook’s “school marm,” hadn’t slept with him in a week. Instead, she huddled in the wagon with the saloon wome
n. Hiram Savage and Snakehead Presnall weren’t much better, while old Ampersand, the cook, spent less and less time cooking. At supper time, the day after Creeker and his men had returned with the horses and mules, Hook called them together.

  “Starting tonight,” said Hook, “you’re going to earn your money. The lot of you will be in charge of security. You now know something about Indians and their ways, which the rest of us do not.”

  “With responsibility, there’s got to be some authority,” Creeker replied. “Everybody—and that includes you—will accept any orders given for the safety of the camp. Without question. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” said Hook. “Do what you must.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Despite the rough terrain, as a precaution against possible Indian attack, McQuade had the wagons traveling three abreast. Dead leaves concealed many obstacles, and the left rear wheel of Ab Henderson’s wagon slid into a deep hole. The sudden shifting of the load to one side snapped the axle where the wheel joined, and the train ground to a halt. It took place while McQuade was scouting ahead, and he returned to find men fashioning a new axle from a fallen tree.

  “Our luck just run out,” said Henderson.

  “We can’t complain,” McQuade said. “It’s the first breakdown we’ve had, and there was no neglect involved. Throw enough weight on an axle, and it breaks.”

  He didn’t mention the obvious, that they were in danger of Indian attack, and that any time lost only added to their peril. But the frantic pace at which they worked was evidence enough that every man understood the risk. They lost almost two hours, which eliminated the grazing time for the horses and mules at the end of the day. They had just taken the trail again, when the Kiowa struck. Two dozen strong, they charged the lead wagons while McQuade was near the end of the train. The men reined up, drawing their guns, but the Kiowa had the advantage. Ike Peyton, Gunter Warnell, and Eli Bibb drove the lead wagons, and they bore the brunt of the attack. While each of the men killed one of the attackers, some of the arrows found their marks. An arrow ripped through Ike’s upper left arm, while another tore into Maggie’s right thigh. While Gunter Warnell escaped injury, one of the arrows ripped into Ellen’s right side. Eli Bibb caught one of the vicious barbs, just below his left collar bone. Men leaped from their wagon boxes, revolvers in their hands, and the Kiowa rode away, leaving six of their number dead or dying. When McQuade arrived at a fast gallop, no explanation was necessary.

  “It’ll be hard on those of you who have been hurt,” said McQuade, “but we must get to water and circle the wagons, before we see to your wounds. Ike, are you able to handle your teams?”

  “Yeah,” Ike said. “I ain’t hit that hard. Maggie …”

  “I can hold out,” said Maggie. “Best see to Ellen first.”

  “Eli took a bad one,” McQuade said. “Odessa, can you handle the teams?”

  “Yes,” said Odessa, her face pale.

  “Then let’s get these wagons moving,” McQuade said. “We must make up some time.”

  They took the trail, McQuade in the lead, each of them aware that their position had become more critical. Maggie Peyton, Ellen Warnell, and Eli Bibb had serious wounds, and the arrows would have to be driven on through. Any one or all three could be seriously ill for the next several days, with high fever. Worse, if the arrows had struck any vitals, Eli’s and Ellen’s wounds might be fatal. Very much aware of the wounded Maggie at his side, Ike pushed the teams as hard as he dared. Ellen Warnell lay back on the wagon box, her eyes closed, while Eli Bibb clenched his teeth. Odessa gripped the reins, keeping her teams neck-and-neck with Ike’s. When they finally reached the creek, McQuade quickly got the wagons into formation for the night. Men unharnessed their teams, while the women got fires going. The wounded took priority over everything else. Mary quickly cleansed and bandaged Ike’s wound. The others would be more difficult, for arrows had to be driven on through, before the wounds could be tended.

  “Ike,” said McQuade. “this is a mite touchy. That arrow in Maggie’s thigh will have to be driven on through, and it’s not a task for a woman. It’s up to you to do it, unless you can’t. I won’t do it without your permission and Maggie’s.”

  “Chance McQuade,” Maggie said, “I tended your wounds. Now the least you can do is tend mine. Do what must be done, to get this wicked thing out of me.”

  “You heard her,” said Ike.

  “I’ll do my best, then,” McQuade said. “Gunter, you and Ellen have the same problem to face. That arrow has to come out of her. Can you remove it, or shall I?”

  “If you’re going to tend to Maggie,” Ellen said, “then tend to me. God knows, none of us has had any experience with this.”

  “I’d be obliged, Chance,” said Gunter. “I’ll do it if I have to, but I trust your hand more than my own.”

  “Some of you help Mary get them into their wagons and get them ready,” McQuade said. “Gunter, help Eli out of that shirt.”

  “Here’s two quarts of whiskey,” said Ike. “You’re goin’ to need it.”

  “Yes,” McQuade said, “and that’s just for Maggie. I’ll need equal amounts for Ellen and Eli. They’re all going to have to be dog-drunk before I can drive those arrows out.”

  McQuade went to the Peyton wagon and found Mary there. She had lit a lantern, and Maggie lay on her back, under a blanket.

  “Maggie,” said McQuade, “I want you to drink half of one of these quarts of whiskey. It’s all we have to help you stand the pain.”

  “You’re one in a million, Chance McQuade,” Maggie said. “There ain’t another man on this earth I’d trust, handin’ me a bottle of whiskey and me jaybird naked under a blanket.”

  Mary laughed and McQuade was thankful for the dimness of the lighted lantern. Odessa Bibb had taken it upon herself to see that Eli drank the prescribed whiskey, and he went on to Gunter Warnell’s wagon. There he found Minerva Haymes and Lucy Tabor with Ellen Warnell. She too had been covered with a blanket.

  “Ellen,” said McQuade, “I want you to drink half this bottle of whiskey. This is going to be painful, and we have nothing else to see you through it. Minerva, I’ll need you or Lucy to light me a lantern.”

  “Do you want one of us here while you drive the arrow through?” Minerva asked.

  “It’s a grim thing to watch,” said McQuade. “It’s up to you.”

  “This is the frontier,” Minerva said, “and I can’t help feelin’ that some of us ought to know about this kind of thing. I’ll stay.”

  “So will I, if you need me,” said Lucy.

  “Thanks,” McQuade said. “Give that whiskey an hour.”

  With Ike wounded, McQuade went to see that the first watch had taken its position, and found Gunter Warnell had taken charge.

  “Somebody else could have taken care of that, Gunter,” said McQuade.

  “I needed something to keep me busy,” Warnell said. “We must secure our wagons at night. There’s enough danger on the trail.”

  With Maggie and Ellen wounded, other women had taken it upon themselves to cook for McQuade, Warnell, and Ike Peyton. McQuade ate little. While he had removed arrows before, his patient had never been a female, and he was more nervous than he would have admitted. Returning to the Peyton wagon, he found Maggie deep in drunken slumber, snoring raggedly.

  “I think she’s ready,” said Mary.

  “I know,” McQuade said. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

  “You’re not embarrassed, are you? Maggie wasn’t.”

  “I’m not accustomed to doctoring naked women,” said McQuade, “but I got it to do.”

  Mary removed the blanket and held the lighted lantern so that McQuade could see. He seized the shaft of the arrow and broke off all except what would be needed to drive the barb on through. Punching the loads out of his Colt, he took the weapon by the muzzle and began the grisly task. Even in her drunken stupor, Maggie grunted with pain. While holding the lantern, Mary had her eyes closed, unable to watc
h. When McQuade was finally finished, his shirt was soaked with sweat.

  “Mary, there’s hot water ready by now. Can you get one of the other women to help you cleanse, disinfect, and bandage her wound? I have to get to Ellen before the whiskey starts to wear off.”

  “Yes,” said Mary.

  McQuade went on to the Warnell wagon, where Minerva and Lucy waited with Ellen.

  “She’s asleep,” Minerva said. “Has it been long enough?”

  “I think so,” said McQuade. “I’ll only need one of you to hold the lantern. This is not an easy thing to watch.”

  “We’re staying,” Lucy said.

  Lucy removed the blanket, while Minerva held the lantern. McQuade was relieved to see that while the arrow had pierced Ellen’s side, it seemed to have struck a rib. There had been much bleeding, but the barb was driven out more easily than McQuade had expected.

  “Will the two of you be able to cleanse, disinfect, and bandage her wound?” McQuade asked.

  “Yes,” said Minerva. “You’re dripping. Go fetch yourself a dry shirt.”

  But McQuade’s trial wasn’t finished. He found Eli Bibb in a deep sleep, and with his trembling hands slick with sweat, he drove the arrow on through. Odessa had insisted on holding the lantern, and when the ordeal was over, she stood there white-faced and silent. McQuade looked up and saw Mary at the wagon’s tailgate, with the medicine chest.

  “Could you take care of Eli?” McQuade asked. “I’m about done.”

  He sank down on the wagon’s tailgate, and Mary climbed in. A silent Odessa still held the lantern. Hardy Kilgore brought him a tin cup of hot coffee, and McQuade accepted it with a nod of thanks. Finishing the coffee, he put the cup down. His head sagged with weariness, and the next thing he knew, Mary was speaking to him.

  “I want you to go to the wagon and sleep. You’ve done more than your share. I’ll be awake, looking in on Maggie, Ellen and Eli. Ike too, if he needs me. I’ll see that they all get more whiskey if they become feverish.”