The Last Raid

by Edd Voss

  After the two scouts left to take up their normal posts, Sheridan turned on O’Connell with eyes blazing. “Was there a reason that you just dismissed those two before I was finished?”

  “Yes sir, they had given us all of the facts that they knew for sure. Anything else would have been guesswork.” Taking a deep breath the NCO said “We need the facts before we get too worked up. If this is Apache we need to know for sure, not make a lot of wild guesses.”

  “So what is your idea, Sergeant?” the last word had a little reprimand in it.

  “Make camp for the night and go in tomorrow morning and see for sure what we are up against.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that they will get away while we tarry?”

  “No sir. If they think that they got away without being found out, they will take their time and give us the chance to catch them unaware.” Pulling his horse up and taking his hat off again to wipe the sweat away, he looked at the young officer. “It’s like hunting, sir. If you chase a deer it will run forever, but if you take your time and sneak up on it there is a good chance that it will stop or lay down to rest. When it does it gives you the chance to drop it with one shot.” Putting his hat back on, he smiled at his commander. “These are some damn good men. Let’s not just waste them on some chessboard idea of war. Do it my way and these men will be there to follow you for years to come.”

  Stroking his chin thoughtfully, the officer considered what this old soldier was telling him. “Okay, we will give it a try your way.” He had to admit that the older man was right and that he had a lot to learn about fighting in this type of terrain and with this type of opponent. Unlike many of his classmates at the Academy, he had come from humble beginnings, his father had been killed when he was just a baby, and his mother had survived through the kindness of relatives. It was only luck that his father had died saving the life of a man who went on to become a Senator. The senator repaid the debt to the boy’s father by getting him in to West Point.

  O'Connell gave the orders and the troop stopped and began setting up their encampment for the night. Calling up his junior NCOs, he told them no fires after dark and to double the night guard. Lt. Sheridan went around the encampment checking on the men and making sure that everything was in order before sitting down by his own fire and taking the meal that a private had fixed for him. Sgt. O’Connell came up a few minutes later and settled down on the ground to eat his own meal. The fires began winking out as the last of the light faded. As he drifted off to sleep, Sheridan thought for a moment about his future. With a name like Sheridan, he had to be aware of how he was thought of. Even though he wasn’t related to General Phil Sheridan, he was treated as if he was. Most other officers held him to a higher standard simply because of his name. While he was at West Point, one of his officers had suggested to the class full of future officers that it was sometimes a good idea to solicit the opinions of senior NCOs. Most of the others scoffed at the idea outside of class, but for Cadet Richard J. Sheridan it made sense. Now, here he was in his first assignment and about to meet his first real challenge as an officer. He knew that how he handled it would set the tone for the rest of his career. At some point he would have to be the one to make the final decisions, but he was ready to listen carefully to the advice of O’Connell. The men trusted and respected the NCO and that meant a lot when it came to asking men to fight and die.

  Chapter 3

  Since leaving the settlement, the Indians had kept up a steady pace. Not moving with any real speed, they knew the danger of hurrying in the heat of the desert. White men would run their horses and themselves to death trying to catch them in this heat. They stopped at sunset to eat of their provisions of jerky and to suck the moisture out of the pulp of one of the many different types of cacti that surrounded them. Each warrior gave his mount and the ones he was leading a hand full of cactus pulp to eat. Knowing that it would help the horses too. Getting to the pulp was the work of a few well practiced slices with the knives that each man carried. After a quick conference, they decided to go on just a little farther before bedding down for the night. When the time came, each one tied his horse’s lead on to his wrist then lay down and was asleep in an instant. Trusting the senses of the horses to be aware of trouble long before a man would, they didn’t set a guard knowing that the horses would wake them if anything came around while they slept. During the night two braves who had waited watching the town to see if they had been discovered slipped in and went to sleep. Since the horses that they rode had been part of the group stolen from the settlement the other horses didn’t react to them at all.

  Just as the sky in the east was beginning to turn red with the rising sun, the band was up and getting ready to resume their journey. The two men who had arrived during the night went to Pablito to tell him what they had seen after everyone had left the settlement.

  “Nothing moved for most of the day, till late in the day two men wearing the blue coats of the white man’s army rode near the buildings,” said the first one.

  “They didn’t ride into the town, but just rode around it once then went back the way that they had come.” The second one reported.

  “Did they try to follow our trail?” Pablito asked.

  “No, they just rode around the buildings and then rode back the way that they had come.”

  Pablito stood silently for a few moments then spoke, “Gather everyone.”

  As the others moved to follow his directions, Pablito returned to getting ready to go, his face gave no hint of what he was thinking. When all of the braves had been gathered, he turned and addressed them.

  “The Pony Soldiers will soon know that we have been here and what we have done, they will be sure to try and follow us so we must make it hard for them.”

  Each member of the party understood what this meant; they had all talked before the journey had begun. Everyone had decided that they would never return to the white man’s reservation; it would be better to die like an Apache than to live the way that they had on the reservation.

  “We will break up into two parties, each group taking a different path, then each party will again become two, and we will keep doing this till we are in groups of two or three, all taking different paths back to our home.” Pablito studied his warriors knowing that they understood what was expected of them and would lead the hated Pony Soldiers astray. His faith was tempered by his knowledge of each man’s strengths. “When we get to the mesa that protects our wickiups, we will come together and ride home as Apache warriors.”

  Everyone showed their approval in typical Apache fashion with low grunts and small nods of the head. The group moved apart and continued with their preparations without any formal indication that the meeting was over. Soon they were mounting their horses and gathering up those that were left over and began to ride into the desert in two separate groups, each brave just naturally falling into one group or the other without any noticeable directions from the group’s leaders. Pablito rode at the head of one group while Cadete rode at the head of the other.

  At mid-morning each group once more split into two more groups, so that there were four groups in all. By the time the sun was setting they had split twice more till each group consisted of only four or five men. Each group made small camps with fires so small and well hidden that you would have to be almost on top of them to know that they were there. The next day the groups would make a final split into their final groups. With all of these different trails to follow it would make it almost impossible for the Cavalry to follow since each group would hide their trail as they went along. This tactic would also make it easier for them to find water for themselves and their mounts. Each man knew how to find the little hidden tanks of moisture that the desert kept to nurture those strong enough to survive in desolation.

  Knowing that his men knew how to survive in this desert that had bred and sustained them better than any people anywhere in the world, Pablito continued with Coyote Dancer, following arroyos and depressions i
n the desert as they went. Knowing that it would take time for the soldiers to get organized and begin following their trail, he took his time and used the natural rocky patches to hide the tracks of his horses. He rode the sorrel that he had watched from his hiding place before the raid began, it was a good strong horse that seemed to take the desert in stride. Never one to take his enemies lightly, he used all the caution that he had learned growing up to hide his trail. He had seen how relentless the soldiers could be. Apaches would go out to raid or to avenge a wrong that they felt had been done to them, but then they would go on with their lives; these white men would never forget a wrong and would keep on going to exact the revenge that they thought they deserved long after an Apache had forgotten it all. Even knowing this, they had all agreed on this raid hoping that they would be able to hide away from the white devils and live their lives in harmony with the traditions of their people. He looked forward to returning to the wikiup where his woman waited with his young son and daughter. He would teach them the ways of the desert and the ways of the Apache. His son had wanted badly to come along on this raid, but he was still a small child.

  The boy was young, but he showed the traits that would make him a great leader one day and Pablito swelled with pride at the thought of his son, Fast Runner. Corn Pollen Girl, his daughter, was the picture of beauty and she was smart, following her mother all day trying to learn all the ways of the women in her tribe. She never complained or cried for no reason and could make her fierce father break down and laugh out loud with her occasional attempts to imitate her brother. Throwing out her small chest and strutting around giving orders to other boys and girls saying “I am the daughter of Pablito so you had better listen to me and do what I say,” was enough to have him holding his sides with laughter. They were the reasons he had left the reservation and why he was here leading two more horses behind the one he was riding.

  Chapter 4

  O'Connell was making sure that his troopers were not trampling over any tracks by keeping them well away from the settlement and letting his two best trackers, Smithers and Jackson, do the looking around. He had seen how badly a mishandled troop of cavalry could destroy a trail in minutes just by milling around. He wasn’t going to let that happen this time. The smell of the burnt bodies was making the horses nervous so the scouts had gone in on foot and were taking their time trying to put together the story of what had happened the day before. He had already designated the soldiers who would be detailed to bury what was left of the dead. They were standing by with shovels waiting for the scouts to finish. Sheridan sat his mount and watched how O’Connell handled the situation and made mental notes. Nothing in the books he had studied dealt with this type of warfare, and he was smart enough to learn from those with more experience than he had.

  Jackson rode up and saluted the Lieutenant as he began his report. “Looks like they waited for the noon break before attacking, and then it was just a matter of swarming over whoever wasn’t caught in the first volley.” Taking his hat off to wipe his brow with the sleeve of his tunic he went on, “there were signs that many of them were killed in front of the eating hall and dragged to where the bodies were burned.” Putting his hat back on, he finished, “moccasin tracks sure looked like ‘Pache to me, Sir.”

  “Where is Smithers?” Sheridan asked.

  “He followed the main tracks out of town just to see if they were in a hurry or not.”

  “Good job, Private.” Turning to O'Connell he said, “Send in the burial detail, and let’s get after these renegades.”

  “Yes Sir,” O’Connell replied before turning to the rest of the troop. “Burial detail off your butts and let’s get these people, or what is left of them buried as proper as we can,” he barked.

  The soldiers entered the settlement and began digging one large grave near the entrance to what had been the mine. It took them a while to get the hole big enough to handle all of the bodies. While Sheridan and O’Connell were watching the digging, Smithers returned to give his report.

  “Any idea how many there were Private?” the officer asked.

  “Looked to be a passel of em, sir, I counted at least fifty horses that were carrying riders, might have been more, they were leading some, while riding others. Must a been close to a hundred horses or more. Two of em stayed behind where they could watch the town see iffen any one came around. I figger they left about sundown and were making fast tracks toward the northeast. I’m purty sure that they saw us when we were scoutin the town yesterday.”

  “Give your mount a rest. We will be heading out after them as soon as the burial detail is finished.” Lt. Sheridan told him, returning the man’s salute. Jackson turned his mount and rode to join the other troops.

  “Sgt O’Connell, what are you thinking after those reports?”

  “Well, sir, looks like we are going to have a bit of a job ahead of us. Those Indians that waited have told the rest that we know they were here. So now it will be a game of hiding their trail, and us looking for it.” Shifting his weight in the saddle he turned and looked off towards the northeast. “I don’t think that they are headed northeast though. It might be just a feint to lead us away from their true destination. They will be breaking up into smaller groups though, since it will be hard for them to find water for all of those horses in one place. It will also make it tougher to trail them, so it is going to be a long slow process to follow them.”

  “We haven’t been out but a couple of days so we should have enough rations to last us on the march for about a week more before food becomes a problem. Unlike the Apaches, water will be a problem for us since we can’t just split up like they can.”

  “If not to the northeast, then which direction do you think they will head?”

  “My guess is they have a hideout in the Superstitions somewhere. Not many whites will even attempt that area. Nothing up there but cholla, sand, scorpions, and snakes if it doesn’t stick or sting ya it’ll bite ya. If they have found a place up there, they could last for a long time without running into any white men, which is what Pablito is looking for. Of course I am only guessing that it is Pablito.”

  “Okay Sergeant, how can we deal with these problems? Do we have enough water or can we find enough to keep the troop in good shape?’

  “We have the food for the men and feed for the mounts which we can supplement with what we can forage along the way. Water could be a problem, but there is enough here to refresh what we can carry. There are a couple of natural tanks between here and the Superstitions if that is the way they are headed. Other than that it could get dicey.”

  The burial detail was finishing up and Lt. Sheridan decided on O’Connell’s recommendation that Jackson and Smithers should scout the trail ahead and try to get an idea of where the Indians were headed. While Jackson headed out to rejoin Smithers and follow the tracks left by the band of raiders, the men on the burial detail got a chance to rest and drink all the water that they wanted. All of the troops were told to fill up any water bags and canteens that they were carrying. Every drop of water would be needed for both men and horses. An hour later the troop was on the move, slowly following the trail of Pablito’s band. By saturating their bodies before the trek the soldiers were hoping to last longer in the blazing heat. With the scouts well out ahead, the main body mounted up and formed into two columns before moving out along the trail the Indians had left. It wasn’t long till the formation was strung out and settled into their normal pace. Sheridan and O’Connell were at the head of the formation setting an easy pace. While they wanted to catch the raiding party, it made sense to take the time to do it right and not to lose the trail any sooner than they had to.

  It was close to noon when Jackson rode back to report. Snapping a smart salute to the lieutenant, he told them what he and Smithers had found.

  “We found where they camped last night. When they left it was in two groups going in slightly different directions. One was almost due north the other one was headed more towa
rds the west.”

  “Where is Smithers?” Sheridan asked.

  “He stayed at the point where they split till we got further orders from you, sir.”

  “Good job private, lead the way.”

  An hour later the troop was resting while the O’Connell and Sheridan talked over what the best strategy would be.

  “Send Smithers on one route and Jackson on the other one,” Sheridan told O'Connell.

  “We could do that, sir, but what about when that group splits, do we again split our forces?”

  “I see what you’re saying, Sergeant. This isn’t something that they covered at the Point.”

  “All due respect sir, West Point was busy teaching the tactics we used in the War back east and didn’t pay much attention to what was going on out here.”

  “What would you recommend we do?”

  “They will join up again together somewhere so let’s see if we can find just one group to follow. We’ll hang back until they bunch up again and take them there.”

  “Sounds like sound advice, Sergeant.”

  “I wish that I could take credit for it, but it was actually Jackson who advised it.”

  “Taking advice from a private?” Sheridan sounded shocked.

  “All due respect, sir, Jackson has been hunting and tracking this area since he was a kid, I was just using those skills to our best interests.”

  “Point well taken. If this works I’ll have to see he gets promoted.”

  “No need sir, he likes being a private, he doesn’t want the responsibility of being a NCO.” O’Connell chuckled. “Last time he got promoted he went into town and started a brawl in the saloon. He got busted back down to private and spent a week in the stockade, came out of there whistling as if nothing had happened.”

  “What about you Sergeant, should I put you in for promotion?”

  “No, sir. My time is almost up and I am seriously thinking about hanging it all up. Find me a nice widow woman to live out my days with on a ranch somewhere. Or maybe open up a saloon. I’ve seen enough of war.”