Across the Rio Colorado

by Ralph Compton

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, making his way toward the wagon. He must go on watch at midnight … .

  But McQuade was allowed to sleep, for they all realized what he had done. He awoke at dawn to the smell of brewing coffee. He was alone in the wagon, and he realized Mary had been up all night, seeing to the wounded. He got up and made his way to the breakfast fires, where Mary handed him a tin cup of hot coffee. She didn’t wait for him to ask about the wounded, but volunteered the information.

  “Ike got by without any fever. Ellen, Maggie, and Eli are on their second bottle of whiskey, and Maggie’s starting to sweat. How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been dipped in the creek and wrung out,” said McQuade. “Why didn’t some of you wake me for my watch?”

  “Because any man of us can stand watch,” Ike said. “You done your share and more, last night.”

  “We’ll lay over here today,” said McQuade. “When Ellen, Maggie, and Eli are past the fever, we’ll have to move on. These Kiowa have a real mad on, and as long as we’re close by, they’ll be tempted to come after us again.”

  “The six we killed won’t help our case any,” Gunter Warnell said.

  McQuade felt better after breakfast, and he looked in on the wounded. Only Maggie was awake. She looked at McQuade, a ghastly grin on her haggard face, and when she spoke, her voice was a little slurred.

  “Answer me one thing, McQuade. What in thunder leads a man to get drunk? God, my head feels like it’s been used for an anvil or a chop block, and I’ve sweated so much, I stink. Get this blanket off me.”

  “The blanket stays until you stop sweating,” said McQuade. “I’ll have Mary bring you some water.”

  Having survived an Indian attack, McQuade thought most of the outfit seemed just a little more confident. Some of them had questions.

  “I can’t understand why they didn’t strike while we were replacing Henderson’s axle,” Will Haymes said.

  “I can,” said McQuade. “Everybody was on the ground, and could have acted much more quickly. As it was, with the wagons moving, you had to rein up your teams. I’d say it’s a miracle none of you were killed.”

  McQuade watched the sky for more smoke, but saw none. Time dragged, as they all waited for some improvement in the wounded. By noon, Maggie’s fever had broken to the extent that she slept comfortably. Ellen and Eli had begun sweating, and by supper time, their condition had improved enough that McQuade believed they could travel. Only Eli was questionable, for his entire upper torso was swathed in bandages. But Odessa had an answer for that.

  “I can handle the teams until Eli heals. The important thing is that we get these Kiowa behind us, before they decide to visit us again.”

  “Bless you,” said McQuade. “Does that suit you, Eli?”

  “Hell, yes,” Eli said. “Let’s be on our way.”

  McQuade’s outfit having lost a day allowed Hook’s wagons to catch up. After losing all his stock to a stampede by Indians, Hook was in no hurry to move into the lead. He had his wagons circled upstream, within sight of McQuade’s wagon circle, but as he was to learn, that didn’t spare him the wrath of the Kiowa. The Indians struck at dawn, just as the men were harnessing their teams. Creeker and his companions fought valiantly, and it was they who drove the Kiowa away. Two of Hook’s teamsters were killed, and three more seriously wounded. In the wake of it, Hook began shouting orders, most of which were directed at Dr. Horace Puckett.

  “Don’t just stand there, Puckett. I want these men seen to, and able to travel no later than tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m a doctor, not a magician,” said Puckett, glaring at Hook. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise you these men will be alive, come morning.”

  Two of the men had arrows driven into their shoulders, while the third had one of the deadly shafts buried in his side. Puckett found an arrow on the ground that had struck a wagon bow. His eyes on the barbed point, he shook his head.

  “What’s wrong?” Hook demanded.

  “Barbed points,” said Puckett. “They can’t be drawn out.”

  “The hell they can’t,” Hook snarled. “They’ll have to be.”

  “Then you draw them out,” said Puckett, “and I’ll doctor the wounds.”

  “Damn it, you’re the doctor,” Hook said. “Do what has to be done.”

  “This is beyond any training I’ve had,” said Puckett. “Common sense tells me that if the shafts cannot be withdrawn, they’ll have to be driven on through. The pain would be unbearable, and the shock could kill a man.”

  “If you don’t remove the arrows, they’re dead men anyway,” Hook said. “I’m ordering you to remove those arrows by whatever means you must.”

  “Order be damned,” said Puckett. “I won’t do it.”

  “Hook,” Creeker said, speaking for the first time, “there’re wagonloads of pain killer in front of you. Give these men enough whiskey to get them dog-drunk. While they’re out, those arrows can be pushed on through.”

  Hook said nothing, his doubtful eyes on Puckett.

  “It might work,” said Puckett. “It’s the only chance they have.”

  “Then dose them with as much whiskey as it takes,” Hook said. He looked at Creeker, and the gunman’s eyes never wavered. Hook saw rebellion there, and he realized that he must rid himself of Creeker, and probably the others, as well.

  With the help of Savage and Presnall, Puckett tapped a keg for the necessary whiskey. Even then they could hear McQuade’s outfit moving out, leaving them with wounded men, not knowing when the Kiowa might return. While Creeker and his men had managed to repel the attack, none of the Indians had been hit. But there had been many shots fired, and the attack hadn’t gone unnoticed in McQuade’s camp.

  “They’ve discovered Hook’s bunch,” said Ike. “Maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

  “Maybe,” McQuade said, “but keep your gun handy.”

  Maggie, Eli, and Ellen had been made as comfortable as possible, knowing they could not remain another day so near the troublesome Kiowa. Besides, there were more ahead. McQuade rode out, as much to look for Indian sign as for water. Before reaching suitable water for the night, he had to ride around a slough, where there was standing, stagnant water. Reaching a clear-running creek, he watered his horse and rode back to meet the oncoming wagons. When the wagons had been circled and supper done, McQuade and Mary retired to the wagon.

  “This is one of them nights I don’t aim to take off anything but my hat,” McQuade said. “It’s too hot for blankets, and them damn mosquitoes is big enough to go after with a gun.”

  “They’re from all that standing water,” said Mary. “But this is just for one night, and then they won’t bother us.”

  But Mary couldn’t have been more wrong. Thirty-six hours later, she was the first to be stricken with burning fever and bone-wracking chills. His watch over, McQuade returned to the wagon at dawn, to find Mary feverish and talking out of her head. Maggie had healed enough to be up and about, and McQuade went for her. She had once worked as an assistant to a doctor. By the time she reached the wagon, Mary was shaking with chill.

  “My God, Chance,” said Maggie, “she has all the symptoms of malaria, and if she has it, there may be others. Whatever got to her may have gotten to them.”4

  “If she has it,” McQuade said, “you can count on others having it. I’ll stay with her, while you make the rounds of the other wagons.”

  Maggie hurried away, while McQuade sat there with his arms around Mary, dreading what Maggie might discover. He knew within minutes, for Ike Peyton, Gunter Warnell, Cal Tabor, and Will Haymes brought the bad news.

  “Maggie says it’s almost got to be malaria,” said Ike grimly. “A dozen families is sick with it, and they’re all scared half to death. Agin Indians and outlaws we got a chance, but this could wipe us out, without a doctor and medicine.”

  “I know where there’s both,” McQuade said.

  “You’re thinking of Hook’s docto
r, Horace Puckett,” said Gunter Warnell. “Do you really expect him to help us?”

  “Yes,” McQuade replied. “If I have to hog-tie Rufus Hook and hold a pistol to his thick head for as long as necessary. Gunter, you and Will saddle your horses and come with me. The rest of you keep your guns handy against Indian attack, and tell those who are sick that we’ve gone for medicine and a doctor.”

  The trio rode out, uncertain as to how far behind Hook’s wagons might be. To their surprise, they found the wagons remained circled where they had been at the time of the Indian attack.

  “Hook’s had some men wounded or killed,” said McQuade, when they sighted the circle of wagons. It was still early, and smoke rose from breakfast fires. Even in daylight, Hook wisely had men on watch. McQuade was about to sing out, when Creeker saw them and waved them in.

  “I must see Hook,” McQuade said.

  Creeker nodded. Dismounting, McQuade and his companions followed Creeker to the cook wagon. Hook sat on a stool, eating from a tin plate. He eyed McQuade without any friendliness. McQuade didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Hook, we need a doctor and medicine. We have a dozen families with chills and fever. It could be malaria.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Hook shouted, dropping his plate. “You’ll infect us.”

  “I’m not leaving here without your Doctor Puckett,” said McQuade.

  Hook’s shouting had gotten attention, including that of Dr. Horace Puckett. But Hook was furious. He turned to Creeker, Groat, Porto, and the others, with a direct order.

  “I want these three out of here,” Hook snarled. “If they don’t go, shoot them.”

  “I’ll kill the first man that pulls a gun,” said McQuade.

  “Nobody’s going to pull a gun,” Creeker said, his cold eyes on Hook. “Dr. Puckett, I believe these men have need of you.”

  “We have a dozen families down with chills and fever, Doctor,” said McQuade. “Could be malaria, we think.”

  “It can be treated with quinine,” Puckett said, “and we have an adequate supply.”

  “I have an adequate supply,” said Hook, “and it will be saved for our own use.”

  “Rufus,” Puckett said, “this is contrary to everything you promised me, before leaving St. Louis. You told me these people were to become residents of your planned community, that I would see to their needs. Well, they need me now, and I’m going, and I’m taking with me the necessary medicine for treatment.”

  “You go, then by God, don’t bother comin’ back,” Hook snarled.

  “If that’s the way you want it,” said Puckett mildly. “But remember, nobody knows the probable cause of malaria. Whatever lies ahead—whatever infected Mr. McQuade’s party—may infect yours as well. Mr. Creeker, will you have one of your men saddle my horse, while I get my personal effects, my bag, and the necessary medicine?”

  “Groat,” Creeker said.

  Groat went to saddle the horse, while Creeker remained where he was, his hard eyes on Rufus Hook. Xavier Hedgepith, who had witnessed it all, spoke to Hook.

  “Don’t be a damn fool. You already have three wounded men, and the doc’s right. We could all be needing him, before this is done. Now you talk to him, before he leaves.”

  Clearly, Rufus Hook didn’t wish to retract any of his harsh words, but he was all but surrounded by hostile faces. When the doctor returned, prepared to mount the horse, Hook grudgingly spoke.

  “I was wrong, Doc. Since you’ll be seein’ to these people in Texas, I suppose it’s your duty to doctor them along the way. Take what you need, do what needs doin’, and come on back as soon as you can. We got three men near dead.”

  “You can pour whiskey down them as well as I can,” said Puckett shortly. “If this is malaria, it could become an epidemic. I’ll return when I have done my duty.”

  He mounted the horse and rode out, following McQuade and his companions. Just for a moment, McQuade’s eyes met those of Creeker and his men, and no words were needed. There were sighs of relief when the four horsemen rode into the McQuade wagon circle. It took Doctor Puckett only a few minutes to diagnose the illness as malaria.

  “There are several kinds,” said Puckett. “The most common is the thirty-six-hour variety. The attacks come every three days, with an almost continuous feeling of exhaustion and an inability to function. I’m beginning treatment immediately of those who are ill, and I’ll remain with you until we are sure the danger of epidemic has passed.”

  McQuade watched with relief as Mary and the others were dosed with quinine. Doctor Puckett was up all night, checking the condition of his patients every hour. Maggie Peyton was with him, watching, listening, learning. By dawn of the next day, there was a definite improvement in all those stricken. Mary sat up, eating her breakfast and drinking coffee.

  “It’s no less than a miracle, the doctor coming to take care of us,” she said. “How did you manage it?”

  “The doctor had something to say about that,” said McQuade. “Thank God all Hook’s people don’t take his orders without question.”

  Doctor Puckett remained with them three days. Between visits to his patients, he asked countless questions about the frontier, which McQuade attempted to answer. Maggie went to great lengths, feeding the genial doctor, making fresh coffee, and seeing that he had a place to sleep when he finally found time for it.

  “We’ll hate to see you go,” said McQuade.

  “I won’t be that far away,” Puckett replied. “I expect Mr. Hook’s wagons will be catching up to you. He’s had three wounded teamsters sweating out infection, but he’s an impatient man. He won’t wait for that. Besides, I suspect that whatever infected your party with malaria won’t spare his. It’ll be a miracle, if by the time he catches up to you, some of his men aren’t sick.”

  That same afternoon, they heard the rattle of wagons. Hook had arrived, and it was but a short time until Creeker rode in. Nodding to McQuade, he spoke directly to Doctor Puckett.

  “The chickens has come home to roost, Doc. We got us some sick hombres, and the sickest of the lot is the big rooster himself. He’s scared he’s gonna die, and the rest of us is scared he won’t.”

  “It’s what I’ve been expecting,” said Puckett. “Will one of you bring my horse?”

  McQuade saddled the animal and brought it to him, handing him his bag after he had mounted. They all gathered around, wishing him well, inviting him back. Creeker tipped his hat and rode out, Puckett following.

  “Even with Hook havin’ control of these Texas grants,” Ike said, “I feel better just knowin’ Dr. Puckett will be there.”

  “So do I,” said Maggie. “He knows his medicine, and he’s promised to teach me just as much as I’m smart enough to learn, once we get to Texas.”

  “Speakin’ of Texas,” Will Haymes said, “I been keepin’ track, and this is June tenth. We been on the trail six weeks.”

  “We’re better than half way across Indian Territory,” said McQuade, “and while we’ve seen no more smoke, I don’t believe we’re done with the Kiowa. I think we’ll go on posting a double guard and trailing the wagons three abreast. Those of you in wagons one and three, from front to back, keep your eyes open. You’ll have an opportunity to see attacking Indians first, and I want all of you to be especially watchful as we pass through brushy or wooded stretches where there’s plenty of cover. Cut loose with your guns, even if you don’t hit any of them, and don’t let them get close enough to hurt any of us. Ask Ellen, Maggie, or Eli how it feels to have an arrow driven through you.”

  Creeker slowed his horse until he and Doctor Puckett were riding side by side, and it was Creeker who spoke.

  “What do you think of McQuade’s outfit, Doc?”

  “They’re good people,” said Puckett, “and I believe I’m going to like being a part of this Texas colony. It’s going to be a success in spite of Mr. Hook.”

  Creeker laughed, slapping his thigh with his hat.

  CHAPTER 9


  With three teamsters wounded, Rufus Hook had been in a precarious situation, unable to distance himself from the hostile Kiowa. While Creeker had little respect for Hook, he had persuaded three of his men—Dirk, Nail, and Rucker—to take on the three wagons until the teamsters were able to resume their duties. But by the time Hook’s wagons had caught up to McQuade’s party, the trio of make-do teamsters were fed up. With Hook and seven other teamsters ill with what almost had to be malaria, there was obviously going to be another delay, allowing McQuade’s outfit to forge ahead.

  “Damn it,” said Rucker, “I didn’t hire on as no teamster. I’m done as a wagon jockey for Hook.”

  “Me too,” Dirk and Nall said in a single voice.

  “I told you it was for just long enough to get us away from that bunch of Kiowa,” Creeker said. “By the time Hook and the rest of these hombres is cured of malaria, them three gents that was wounded should be able to handle their teams again. I ain’t cozyin’ up to Rufus Hook, if that’s what’s botherin’ you. Seein’ how McQuade has pulled that bunch of his together, I got me a feelin’ that things is goin’ to be a hell of a lot different, once we reach Texas. Hook’s goin’ to be some surprised, and that’s why I’m goin’ easy on him now.”

  “We’ll still be under his thumb, even in Texas,” said Groat. “Ain’t you forgettin’ he’s got all our names down for land grants, with plans for us signin’ it all over to him?”

  “It’s a long ways between what he’s expectin’ and what he’s goin’ to get,” Creeker replied. “When I get that grant in my name, it’s mine, and Hook can go to hell.”

  Ellis laughed. “I like the sound of that, but what’s the good of fiddlefoot hombres like us owning land grants in Texas?”

  “None, I reckon,” said Creeker, “if you aim to go on selling your soul and your gun to varmints like Hook. Me, I got ambition for somethin’ better, and the way to start is ownin’ land with my name on it.”