Return to the Alamo

by Paul Bedford

  ‘You won’t have to,’ I replied evenly. ‘You have my guarantee that there will be no recurrence. Besides, it was not you alone that she threatened with it.’

  ‘Your fancy words don’t mean shit to me,’ Shockley snarled, his hand drifting closer to the butt of his revolver.

  Suddenly, from out of the gloom, Kirby began talking in an almost conversational tone. ‘Trying to recall that night on the Brazos. When was it? Five, six month ago?’

  I stayed silent, as was expected and he carried on. ‘The night you sank that dang steamer. What was it, the Mustang?’

  A nod signified my agreement.

  ‘How many men got killed that night, Major?’

  Without taking my eyes off Shockley I answered, ‘Seven!’

  A wary look had crept over that man’s face, as he registered the import of the strange conversation.

  ‘Hear tell you used a scattergun on most of them,’ continued Kirby inexorably.

  Something approaching alarm was now registering on Shockley’s countenance, as his eyes flitted to the coat at my side. Kirby fell silent, knowing full well that he had said enough. As Shockley and I maintained eye contact the tension in the camp increased. I was aware of Vicky inching away from me. Sensible girl, I thought, as her action gave me an idea to augment the pressure. Softly I said, ‘A little more.’

  Still seated on the ground, she shuffled a bit further away.

  ‘A little more,’ I repeated, knowing exactly the effect it would have on the man opposite. Encouraging her to move away seemingly invited him to start something.

  Shockley was a hard, stubborn and bigoted individual, but he had sense enough to know when to back down. I had caught him off balance. With a resigned sigh, he slowly reached into a jacket pocket and withdrew Vicky’s ‘purse cannon’. Leaning forward he gently placed it on the ground before him. Then, clearly lacking the good grace to easily accept the situation he got to his feet, collected his rifle and moved off.

  Kirby called out to him, ‘Think on this, Kirkham. We got troubles enough out here, but the major ain’t one of them. Don’t go turning this into more than it is.’

  The other man briefly glanced over his shoulder, before fading into the darkness. In the gloom nobody had been able to observe his expression.

  Kirby slapped his thigh as he remarked, ‘That’s one hard man to read. Weren’t sure whether he was gonna call the bluff or not.’

  Throwing my coat to the side, I lifted my shotgun for all to see. ‘It was never a bluff!’

  Travis guffawed with mirth. ‘Hot dang! I can see why they made you an officer.’

  ‘Well, actually they didn’t,’ I replied with a smile. ‘My father purchased the original Commission for me as a way of accommodating a second son. But I take your meaning, and thank you for the compliment.’

  For once even Travis was speechless!

  For the next five days we continued steadily west. That would remain our heading, now that we had reached a similar latitude to our destination. The sun had just reached its highest point of the day, when our slow progress suffered an unexpected interruption. Shockley, his lean face impassive as ever, rode swiftly to our front, and motioned for us to stop. The sudden lack of noise and movement was almost unsettling, after the relentless hours spent on that bench seat. Dropping down to the ground, I twisted and stretched, wondering what could have brought him back amongst us so rapidly.

  ‘We got company! Around a dozen Anglos all loaded for bear. Look to have been riding real hard from the coast.’

  Kirby’s puzzlement was obvious. ‘Didn’t think they’d pursue us over them killings.’

  ‘Maybe them watermen had family thereabouts,’ remarked Frenchie softly. ‘Kin can be funny about such things.’

  Recalling Williams’s sweaty nervousness in the warehouse I spoke up. ‘It makes very clear sense if it’s about the powder.’

  Kirby looked at me nonplussed, unusually slow to comprehend.

  ‘Do you not recall the extreme disquiet on that merchant’s face,’ I continued, ‘when he realized that we wanted it all? Someone had already laid a claim.’

  Recognition showed on the ranger’s face. ‘Dang it to hell, we don’t need this. How long we got, Kirkham?’

  ‘About time to take a shit,’ the other man answered.

  ‘We should use the wagons as shelter,’ I ventured. ‘If I’m right, they won’t want anything to happen to these barrels any more than we do.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a gamble,’ he replied sharply, but nonetheless instructed us all to take cover behind them.

  We had hardly made our dispositions before there came a thunder of shod hoofs and our pursuers hove into view. On seeing that they were discovered they abruptly reined in.

  ‘Mother of God,’ Vicky gasped, ‘they look like ghosts!’

  It was hard to disagree; such was the quantity of trail dust coating the horsemen. They had ridden long and hard to catch us, but now that they had, they seemed undecided as to their course of action. A pitched battle, centred on two wagons packed full of gunpowder, must have seemed distinctly unappealing.

  All six rangers had their long rifles cocked and ready, whilst I held my shotgun in the crook of my arm. Taking advantage of the temporary lull, I carefully viewed our surroundings, and quickly realized that neither side had any territorial advantage. We were situated at the bottom of a very gentle grassy slope, with neither trees nor any substantial vegetation near us. The gradient was so slight as to cancel out any real benefit to the others, if they should attempt a charge. I could not immediately make out any significant cover if we were to abandon the wagons, so there was nothing for it but to hold fast, and wait on events.

  Our pursuers, sitting their horses some seventy-five yards away, had obviously come to the conclusion that there might be some benefit from a parley, as one of their number advanced slightly and dismounted, carefully avoiding any sudden moves. Arms spread wide, almost in supplication, he shouted over to us, ‘Hot dang, but ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? You made good time from Galveston. I’m right proud of you.’

  Travis muttered under his breath, ‘What the hell’s he rabbiting on about?’

  ‘My name is Jacob Sutter,’ continued the spokesman. ‘I’d deem it an honour to parley with the boss dog of your outfit.’

  Kirby stepped out from behind the lead wagon and advanced two paces, rifle pointing skyward, but still cocked. ‘Reckon that’d be me, but I won’t be closing the gap any.’

  ‘Fair enough, friend, fair enough,’ replied Sutter conversationally. Even at that distance he was an incongruous looking character. His large frame was encased by a long frock coat. He had a substantial beard, although this was partially covered by a voluminous scarf that he used to hold a stovepipe hat in place. I could not imagine why anyone would choose to wear such headgear on horseback. Almost as if he had overheard my thoughts, he slowly reached up to remove it. ‘Now the thing is, we’ve ridden awful hard to catch up with you folks, on account of what took place at Virginia Point. Not saying you’re to blame though, no siree, not saying that at all. But there has to be a reckoning, back in Galveston in front of the General.’

  ‘By Christ, that’s all we need,’ I muttered to no one in particular. Calling softly over to Kirby I said, ‘Ask him which General. If it’s Lamar, it means he is after some or all of this powder, and he won’t rest until he gets it.’ My skin crawled at the thought of that man’s involvement. Many of the trials and tribulations that had confronted me when I first arrived in the Republic were due to his chicanery.

  The ranger shouted back, ‘I don’t know any Generals. Who you got in mind?’

  ‘His Honour the former President Mirabeau Lamar of course, the saviour of this glorious nation.’

  The man obviously had a blinkered view of his patron, but that made everything suddenly so clear and it definitely explained Williams’s nervous reaction to our demand for all his powder stock.

  Kirby, however, showe
d little sign of being impressed. ‘You need to back up some, Mr Blowhard, else there’ll be blood spilt. First off you ain’t interested in us; it’s these barrels you’re really after. And the thing is, they belong to Captain Jack Hays of the San Antonio Ranger Company. So you can follow us all over God’s creation, but you ain’t laying a hand on them. As for the ferrymen, they were all shot by some English soldiery.’

  ‘We found them in the trees, or at least bits of them. Massacred to a man,’ returned Sutter accusingly.

  ‘I ain’t no god damn massacree,’ howled a deeply offended Travis, stepping up next to his leader. That man ignored him, and responded in an altogether calmer fashion.

  ‘Them assassins were killed legal, in self defence and I’ll swear to that before Captain Hays himself in Béxar County.’

  ‘So you fellas are all Texas Rangers then?’

  Hesitating slightly, Kirby managed to resist the temptation to look back at me, before answering boldly, ‘Every damn one of us!’

  This response was met with silence, as Jacob Sutter struggled to evaluate the situation. If he tried to rush us on horseback, he would undoubtedly lose the majority of his men. On the other hand if he started a firefight, he could easily ignite the powder and kill us all. Either way he could not justify going into battle against Texas’s finest. Even on the coast he must have heard of the rightly famous exploits of Captain John Coffee Hays, defending the land against Comanche depredations.

  Recalling the attempted flanking movements at Virginia Point, I took the opportunity to search the surrounding countryside. Sutter could possibly have sent some men circling around behind us. I was aware of Vicky, crouched down behind my wagon, looking curiously up at me. She probably considered it odd that I should be looking away from the assembled horsemen. Turning a full 360 degrees, I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. And yet an uneasy feeling had settled on me.

  Letting my eyes drift back to Sutter, I was suddenly aware of a small cloud of dust mushrooming up from his long tailcoat. Then he staggered back, as though struck by some invisible force. Almost simultaneously, blood gushed from Kirby’s neck and with a loud groan he collapsed onto his knees. Instinctively taking in the angle of the ranger’s wound, I looked off to my right and sure enough, at the crest of a small knoll some 200 yards away, there lingered a telltale puff of smoke.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Tarnal assassins,’ screamed out Travis, as he discharged his long rifle at Sutter’s men. Exactly as it was intended he should. Davey rushed over to Kirby, grabbed him under the armpits, and heaved him to the rear. Shockley, although oblivious to the real origin of the deadly rifle balls, had the presence of mind to bellow at his comrades to scatter away from the powder wagons. Half carrying their leader, five men and one terrified female scurried off to their left. This allowed them a clear field of fire at the Galveston men, who at this point were milling about in confusion.

  I, on the other hand, did the exact opposite. Gripping the heavy shotgun tightly in my right hand, I drew the Paterson Colt with my left, and ran towards the remaining wisps of smoke as though the hounds of hell were after me. Somewhere up ahead I knew I would find Captain Speirs and Sergeant Flaxton.

  Realizing that it was impossible to reach them before they reloaded, I zigzagged wildly in the hope of confusing their aim, and as a consequence gave myself further to travel. Frantic exertion produced torrents of sweat. My heart began to thump heavily. Every nerve end was alive. I expected to receive a stunning blow at any moment. But when it did come, it had the most unusual consequences.

  Having just completed another dogleg turn, I witnessed a burst of smoke some fifty yards ahead of me. Simultaneously, the shotgun received a brutal jarring contact and was sent spinning from my hand. It crashed to the ground off to my left, and with a roar both barrels discharged. Providence was surely with me, as the lethal hail flew directly at my two adversaries. At that range the expanding spread of projectiles was unlikely to prove deadly to the prone men, but it did have the effect of disrupting their aim. My breathing was becoming laboured, and my legs felt like lead, but I was nearing their position.

  And then I saw him. Sergeant Daniel Flaxton cocked his rifle, and calmly took aim directly at me. Swiftly raising my revolver, I squeezed the retractable trigger. With my right hand still numb from the vicious blow it had suffered, I had retained the Colt in my left and as a consequence my aim was off. As the weapon roared, I saw earth fly up directly before Flaxton’s muzzle at the very moment that he fired. A sound resembling that of a bee in flight swept past my left ear. Gasping for breath, I burst into their lair.

  The two men had discovered a small hollow in the ground, which had proved perfect for some long range sniping. Flaxton’s visage loomed up at me, as he struggled to his feet. The deep knife wound to his left leg was obviously a major impediment. Without any scruples, I levelled my piece at his torso and again squeezed the trigger. The weapon belched forth smoke, and my opponent disappeared from view. Then, further back and to my right, I saw the man that I really wanted.

  Captain Speirs was desperately trying to wipe fresh blood from his eyes, fully aware of my presence but unable to react. One of the projectiles from my shotgun had gashed his scalp. It was not a serious wound, but he was bleeding profusely. As I stood there, revolver again at the ready, he clamped a soiled handkerchief to the injury. The captain appeared to accept my sudden ascendancy, as he made no attempt at resistance.

  This was the first time that I had seen him at close quarters. Underneath the grime and blood he was undeniably good looking, but there was a hint of cruelty in his dark features, and maybe something else. His lips were a little too thin, his chin a little too finely honed. Finally able to look me up and down, Speirs favoured me with a sardonic smile. ‘Damn, but you must be the luckiest fellow living to have survived three encounters with my men and I.’

  Now that we were no longer creating our own din, I became aware of continuing gunfire from the two embattled groups below us. My first priority was to get my prisoner down there, to demonstrate that they were skirmishing unnecessarily. Speirs’s rifle was lying safely out of reach, so I gestured with my revolver.

  ‘The Pepperbox. Place it on the ground where I can see it, but slowly. It has already killed one of my companions.’

  The other man shrugged. ‘C’est la vie, as the Frogs would say. For me too, it has been a costly excursion.’ As he spoke his dark eyes suddenly seemed to glitter with renewed vitality, as though something had just changed.

  ‘Flaxton!’

  Something solid collided with my left knee, causing my leg to buckle under me. If I had dropped my revolver at that point I would have been finished. As it was, now lying on my back, I found myself staring directly up into the six muzzles of a Pepperbox! In sheer desperation I squeezed the trigger. The charge detonated and the ball flew off into the blue yonder, leaving me with only two chambers to defend myself.

  Speirs responded in kind, but under duress his aim was no better than mine and the ball thumped into the ground near to my left shoulder. Frantically I rolled twice to my right, before getting to my knees. The captain had tried to follow my movements, but was again struggling to peer through the blood flowing down from his scalp wound. Again I fired and this time the ball tugged at his jacket sleeve.

  One chamber remaining!

  With a howl of sheer frustration he twisted away, and ran pell mell for his horse. The animal was ground-tethered at the reverse foot of the knoll. Holding my weapon, this time with both hands, I cocked the hammer and took careful and deliberate aim. Sighting down the barrel onto the centre of Speirs’s broad back, I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. There was a loud pop as the percussion cap detonated and then nothing . . . Hang fire!

  ‘God damn your eyes,’ I cried out after him in dismay.

  Blasphemy appeared to be my only remaining weapon. My revolver was, to all practical intents and purposes, now empty, but might still be dangerous. Taking c
are to keep it well away from me, I watched helplessly as my target released the reins, clambered into the saddle and sped away. It appeared that I was not the only one to lead a charmed life.

  From behind me came Flaxton’s mocking voice. ‘Just can’t quite finish the job, can you, Major Collins?’ Helplessly sprawled on his back like an overturned turtle, he tried to laugh, but all he could manage to produce was a red froth bubbling up out of his mouth. This matched the liquid seeping from the hole in his chest. Kicking out at me had clearly used up all of his remaining strength.

  Dismissing Speirs from my mind, I walked slowly over to him, ensuring that my revolver again pointed in his direction. He was unarmed and seemingly near to death. Although panting for breath and obviously in great pain, he still managed to sneer up at me. ‘You’ve had your five. That barker’s empty!’

  As though acknowledging the fact, I let my weapon drop to the ground and reached down to grasp one of the two discarded rifles. Coughing up a gobbet of slime, he regarded me mockingly. ‘You’re a toff, you haven’t got the guts.’

  Glancing swiftly at the nipple, I couldn’t see a copper cap, which meant that the muzzle loader had been discharged. No comfort there! Looking down at Flaxton’s scarred and yet strangely vulnerable face, I steeled myself for the inevitable. Because of my misplaced sense of honour, one or more of the rangers had died and it could even have been his ball that struck Kirby. Reversing the rifle, I stood over the mortally wounded soldier and raised my arms, so that the metal clad butt was directly over his head. I saw real fear in his eyes for the first time and my limbs began to tremble as I steeled myself to deliver the coup de grâce. Mistaking this reaction for hesitation he spat out, ‘I’m a screamer!’

  Hardening my heart I replied, ‘Good for you,’ and brought the butt down on his temple with a sickening crunch. Any sound that he was about to make was choked off immediately. Not content with a single blow, I struck again and again. It was as though some form of blood lust had come over me, which had to be purged from my system. Then, quite abruptly, it just dissipated. All strength left my body, and I found myself slumped on the ground next to Flaxton’s now barely recognizable corpse. The rifle stock was coated with brain matter and hair and I threw the weapon from me in disgust. The uncomfortable realization hit me that I was now no better than the man that I had just bludgeoned to death.