by J. T. Edson
‘Like on you,’ Ma replied.
‘I’ll take the double and leave Ma the Henry,’ Colin suggested.
‘No!’ Dusty answered. ‘Leave the double. You’ll need that Henry and a full box of shells.’
Chapter Thirteen
Riding with the Texans and listening to Dusty’s plan, Colin lost some of his misgivings at bringing his Henry when there was only one magazine rifle at the camp. When Dusty had finished the explanation, Colin waited to hear the other two cowhands’ views.
‘It could work,’ Mark decided. ‘They’ll most of them never’ve seen a repeater afore.’
‘Them Tejas ain’t real fighting Injuns,’ the Kid went on. ‘And any Kaddo or Waco who’d ride with ’em’s not likely to be any great shucks as a brave-heart. I’ll go along with you, Dusty. Less’n you want to play it safe by laying for ’em and giving ’em a real notion of what a Henry’ll do.’
‘Now ain’t that just what you’d expect from a danged Tshaoh?’ Mark snorted. There’s no wonder the other tribes called you Nemenuhxiii, the Enemy People.’
‘He’s not fit company for hard-working, church-going folks,’ Dusty replied.
‘Which I ain’t with none of, anyways,’ the Kid declared. ‘Play it your fool way then. Only when they’ve killed ‘n’ scalped us, I’ll come up and say, “I told you so.” Not that we’re likely to wind up at the same place.’
‘If we do,’ grinned Mark. ‘I’ll ask to go the other way.’
After which they became serious. Riding south for over a mile, they topped a rim and came face to face with the Indians. About a hundred yards separated the two parties, but the braves were at the foot of the slope. Looking down, Colin felt a touch disappointed. Going by paintings he had seen, he expected the Indians to be tall, impressive men dressed in decorative buckskins and sporting trailing feather war bonnets. Instead the men below were squatly built, clad in a mixture of filthy buckskins and cast-off white men’s garments. Only a few carried muzzle-loading rifles, the rest being armed with lances or bow and arrows. Reining in their horses, they showed surprise and broke into a jabber of talk at the sight of the four riders.
‘Give me just two lil Pehnane tuivitst xiv and I’ll run the whole stinking boiling of ’em back where they come from,’ sniffed the Kid.
‘Go talk to them a mite,’ Dusty ordered.
Advancing a short way down the slope, the Kid raised his right hand in a peace sign. Then he spoke in the Tejas language. Riding forward, a stocky man, with a rifle on the crook of his arm and eagle feather stuck into the band of a battered Burnside campaign hat, replied. He spoke at length, accompanied by grunts from the other braves.
‘Wanted to know what we’re doing here, Dusty,’ the Kid announced without turning his back on the Indians. ‘I told him. So he allows that this’s Tejas country and we’ve got to pay him afore we can hunt here.’
‘How much does he want?’ Colin inquired.
‘Half of all the hosses we catch. Keg of gunpowder, lead for bullets, caps, knives, presents for his wives for starters,’ the Kid replied. ‘Likely he’d think out a few more, given time.’
Is this their land, Dusty?’ Colin asked.
‘Naw, and never was,’ scoffed the Kid. ‘What do I tell him, Dusty?’
‘To go to hell and roast there,’ the small Texan answered. Then, hearing a low hiss from the young Scot, went on, ‘It’s the only way, Colin. Give in to their kind and they’ll come back for more. When you get tired of giving, or they don’t want you any more, they’ll jump you. So we don’t start giving.’
The Kid had been addressing the Indians while Dusty made his point to Colin. Still not taking his eyes from the men below, the dark youngster spoke over his shoulder.
‘He says he’s got fifteen hands of brave-hearts. Stinking liar—there’s not more’n half that many. Allows they’ll stop us hunting and take what they want.’
‘Tell him we’ll have something to say about that,’ Dusty commanded. ‘Do like I said, Colin, unless they keep coming up. If they do, shoot to kill.’
When the Kid repeated Dusty’s warning, the Indians milled around and talked among themselves. Then they backed their horses away from the foot of the slope and formed into a line.
‘Ready?’ Dusty asked, slanting the muzzle of his carbine upwards and pressing its trigger.
On the heels of the shot, Mark, the Kid and Colin also sent a bullet into the air. Their actions appeared to surprise the Indians. However, even a bunch of Tejas renegades could understand the chance the white-eye brother was throwing their way. For some reason each of the four white men had emptied his rifle. That was their misfortune, a gift from the Great Spirit no right-thinking brave could pass up. So the warriors started their horses moving forward.
Then they saw the white men swing the rifles into line but the sight caused them no concern—at first. Suddenly, despite the fact that no ramrod or powder flask had been used, the rifles spat again; and again and again. Lead screamed down the slope as the Texans and Colin made use of the inventive genius of Mr. B. Tyler Henry. Ricochets wailed in the horses’ faces and bullets fanned by their riders. The effects of the rapid fire was all Dusty hoped for. Startled horses reared, men reined their mounts into turns or sliding stops. None of the braves had seen a repeating rifle, few of which had reached Texas. Even the Union Army still equipped its men with single-shots, so the Indians had yet to learn the devastating effect of lever-action mechanisms and large capacity magazines.
‘Spirit guns!’ a brave screeched.
Which just about summed up the feelings of the rest of the band. The hint of supernatural intervention proved the final straw to break the back of the attack. Whirling their horses around, the Indians fled across the range. Dusty and his companions lowered their smoking rifles and watched the departure.
‘Whooee!’ whooped the Kid. ‘Grandpappy Long Walker’ll laugh fit to bust a gut when I tell him about this.’
‘Will they be back?’ Colin inquired, feeling slightly cheated at the lack of spirit shown by the braves.
‘Naw!’ scoffed the Kid. ‘If they’d been Comanches—’
‘I wouldn’t’ve tried it,’ Dusty interrupted. ‘You’d maybe best trail along after them, Lon. See them on their way, then make a circle and cut for sign of the Flores bunch.’
‘Yo!’ answered the Kid. ‘How soon do you want me back?’
‘Take all the time you want,’ Dusty told him. ‘Only try to be back by Monday to start work.’
‘I just knowed you’d say that,’ the Kid grinned.
Riding back over the rim with the other three, the Kid halted his horse on the other side. They left him waiting to make a start at his work and continued on their way to the camp. Looking around as he approached the wagon, Dusty found that Ma had organized its defense very well. The mesteneros and women left the places from which they would have made their fight as the trio came up.
‘You pulled it off, huh?’ Ma asked, cradling the Henry on her arm.
‘Looks that way,’ Dusty replied. ‘I sent Lon to see them on their way. We didn’t kill any of them, so they’ll likely not be back.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t come back,’ Jeanie remarked, putting the Sharps carbine into the wagon. ‘We can do without Injun fuss.’
Within a short time work around the camp was resumed.
Assisted by the Texans, Jeanie gave her dun its first taste of being ridden. To lessen the chances of injury to herself and the horse, she had it led belly-deep into the stream before mounting. Doing so prevented the horse from bucking wildly, although it managed to dump her into the water once. Before nightfall it would allow the girl to sit on its back while in the stream. However Jeanie knew it would be a different tale when she first tried riding on dry land.
Sunday passed quietly and without the Kid returning. His absence caused the others no concern. All his early life had been spent preparing for such missions and he could be relied upon to stalk the Tejas unseen by an
y of them. Jeanie gave her dun another session in the water, then tried on land. After a session of bucking, the horse started to run. Followed by Colin, Jeanie allowed the dun to run itself out and returned to the camp with it in a subdued condition. Although she had won another stage for control, her every instinct warned that the fight was not yet over.
In the afternoon Jeanie accompanied Colin and Dusty on a hunting trip from which they returned with two whitetail deer. After supper, Colin unloaded his trunk and took out the cleaning kit for the big double rifle.
‘What are these, señor?’ Fernàn asked, indicating the bagpipes which Colin had left on top of the trunk.
‘Why not play a tune on them and show him?’ April suggested with a grin.
‘Sure,’ Ma went on, I’ve seed ’em afore and wondered what kind of music they made.’
‘I warn you the pipes are an acquired taste,’ Colin smiled, rising to comply with the request. ‘But to a Scot, there’s no music in the world like them.’
Watching Colin tuck the tartan-covered bag under his left arm, erect the four beribboned pipes and place the chanter to his lips, Jeanie decided that she would acquire the required taste if it pleased him. Sucking in a deep breath, Colin started to blow. After a low murmur, the pipes began to wail in their eerie, dirge-like yet beautiful manner. Startled expressions broke from the mesteneros and Ma stared at the young Scot as he strode up and down before the fire.
‘Damned if I don’t try to da—’ April began.
And at that moment the horses gave notice that they had not acquired a taste for Highland music. Snorting and rearing, the mounts on the picket-line fought at the securing rope. In the larger pen, the mustangs heard and panicked. Two went down, then a third as they tried to move faster than the sarprimas allowed.
‘Cut it out, Colin!’ Dusty yelled, bounding to his feet. ‘Get to the picket-line some of you. Down to the night-pen, Felix.’
‘My dun!’ Jeanie shouted, snatching up her rope and darting off into the darkness.
Pandemonium reigned briefly around the fire but Dusty’s orders sent men scurrying to obey. Tossing his pipes on to the trunk, Colin scooped up his own rope and leapt after Jeanie. Once clear of the fire, his eyes quickly grew accustomed to the darkness. Running at his best speed, he went by the girl. Ahead he could see the dun stallion racing around the corral. Then it headed for the fence in his direction, gathering itself for a jump. Even as the horse took off, Colin shook free the loop of his rope. Much of his spare time, all that could be given when not learning the art of quick-draw, had gone to practicing with the lariat. For all that, he felt nervous as the dun sailed over the corral rails towards him. If Jeanie lost the horse, she would hold him responsible and go back to her old way of treating him. Muttering a silent prayer, he sent the loop flying out. With elation he saw that he had thrown true—and remembered the last occasion that he roped a stallion. Then he had been on a horse. Now he was a-foot and the situation would be even more dangerous.
Plunging by Colin, the stallion ran on. Grimly the Scot set his teeth and dug in his heels as he prepared to fight against the jolting pull that must come. Just before it happened, Jeanie arrived and grabbed the rope ahead of him.
‘Heave back as hard as you can!’ the girl yelled.
Obediently Colin threw all his weight to the rear. Nine hundred pounds of running horse rushed towards the end of the rope. However the lariat snapped tight about its neck and struck its flank, giving a warning. Having already learned the futility of fighting against a choking noose, the dun did not try. Showing the agility which had so attracted Jeanie when she first saw it, the horse came around on its hind legs.
With a deft flick, Jeanie sent the loose rope curling out to encircle the dun’s sky-pawing forelegs. A jerk drew them together and when the horse landed it crashed on to its side.
‘Keep him down, Colin!’ Jeanie ordered, darting to snatch up her own lariat. ‘I’ll get my rope on him and we can take him back.’
Winded by the fall, the dun made no further fight on being released. After they had led it into the corral, Colin stood and looked around. In the night-pen Dusty and Mark examined the horses with the aid of a lantern from the wagon. Felix rode up to say that, although disturbed, the lead-mares still held together. Clearly the picket-line had held, but Ma and one of the men were checking on the state of the holding stakes.
‘I’m sorry, Jeanie,’ Colin said at the girl came to his side.
‘It’s our fault more than your’n,’ the girl replied. ‘We ought to’ve known how easy the horses spook. How’d you fix to stop the dun?’
‘I never gave it a thought,’ Colin admitted.
‘Even after what happened last time?’
‘It was your horse, lass. I didn’t mean to let it go.’
‘You crazy Scotch yahoo!’ Jeanie breathed, turning to face him. ‘You risked your neck for me.’
Next moment she was in his arms and their lips met. After a moment they separated and stood looking at each other.
‘I—I’m sorry,’ Colin whispered.
‘Damned if I am,’ Jeanie replied. ‘I liked it—Come on, let’s get back and see if there’s anything we can do.’
‘It’d be best,’ Colin agreed. ‘Will the dun be all right in there?’
‘I reckon so. After the way he lit down, he’ll not feel like jumping again for a spell.’
On their return to the fire, Jeanie and Colin found the others coming back. Before any of them could speak, the girl launched into a defense for Colin.
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she announced.
‘Nobody says it was,’ Ma replied. ‘Only I’d’s soon we didn’t have any more bagpipe music ’round the camp.’
‘I warned you the pipes are an acquired taste,’ Colin pointed out. ‘Did any of the horses hurt themselves?’
‘Few bruises, some with the wind knocked out of them is all,’ Dusty replied. ‘We’d best take a longer look in the morning though.’
‘Sure,’ Ma agreed.
Once more the group gathered about the fire and the conversation welled up. Fernan returned Colin’s bagpipes, discarded in the rush to prevent the dun escaping, and Dusty watched the Scot put them back into the trunk.
‘Ma,’ the small Texan said. ‘What’s the hardest part of a corrida?’
Trader allus reckoned getting the hosses going the way you want ’em to and not busting back away from the caracol.’
There’re a couple of mestenas up this way that must have bust out of a corral,’ Jeanie went on. ‘Now they’ll not drive. As soon as you try, they turn and run back towards you. Once that happens, more of ’em go along. Why, Dusty?’
‘It’s just a fool notion,’ Dusty replied. ‘But I think I know how we can make them go the way we want.’
‘How?’ Jeanie asked.
‘With those bagpipes,’ Dusty explained. ‘If Colin gets at the back of the range we’re fixing to drive and rides towards the caracol playing ’em, the mustangs will head away from him.’
‘They might at that,’ Jeanie admitted and explained the scheme to Felix who grinned broadly and answered. Also smiling, the girl translated for Colin’s benefit. ‘Felix’s for it. He reckons that he near on headed for the high country his-self when you cut loose with ’em, Colin boy.’
‘Tell him he’s no taste for good music, lass,’ Colin suggested.
‘Will you do it for us, Colin?’ Ma asked.
‘That I will, Ma,’ the Scot agreed. ‘We may have to plug my horse’s ears though. He might not have a taste for good music either.’
Having adopted Dusty’s scheme, Ma and the others discussed it for a time and decided how it could best be carried out. With the arrangements made, they turned in for the night. Double guards kept watch in case the Tejas returned, but dawn came without the Indians making an appearance.
There would be a delay before setting out to make the corrida, while the mustangs in the night-pen received a more thorough examination than h
ad been possible by lantern light. So Jeanie decided to give the dun a workout. On her arrival at the corral, she found the horse acting in a subdued manner and had little difficulty in saddling it. Nor did it protest as she led it to the stream, then mounted in the water. After a short time, she steered the dun ashore. It stood for a moment and she prepared to ride out in a spate of bucking. However the expected protest did not come, so she gently started the dun moving and rode it to where the men were gathered.
‘How’s this?’ Jeanie asked, looking to where Colin was slinging the bagpipes over his shoulder by their carrying strap.
‘You’ve done real we—’ the Scot began.
Pride on his face, Fernan moved forward to take a better look at the girl. In doing so, he knocked a pile of tin plates from the bench formed by the tail-gate of the wagon. They landed on the hard earth with an unholy clatter. Instantly the dun blew out a snort, bounded into the air almost unseating its rider and took off on the run.
Although taken by surprise, Jeanie did not panic. She had been riding almost since the day she learned to walk and acted automatically. Clamping hold of the saddle with her legs, she caught her balance and started to pull on the reins to regain control. Immediately she knew that she was in trouble. During the jolt from landing on the startled bound, the dun had managed to get the bit between its teeth. Which meant that she could not hope to control it by the reins.
‘Damn this fool stupid horse!’ she muttered. ‘All right, blast you, run ’til you’re ready to stop. I can take it as long as you can—and you’ll still have to carry me back.’
With that she composed herself for what she knew would be a long, fast ride and gave her full attention to staying on the racing dun’s back.
At the sight of the dun taking off, the mesteneros hooted with laughter. All of them at one time or another had been carried off in a similar manner and regarded it as a part of their work. Knowing Jeanie’s ability as a horsewoman, they felt no anxiety for her safety.
