Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The entire prairie around where the two rivers flowed together was a favorite camping site of the Cheyennes. The lieutenant did not want to blunder into any large groups of warriors going out on the tribe’s first hunting or raiding parties of the warm season.

  An hour’s careful searching revealed no sign of Indians. When Sergeant Douglas returned, there was an undeniable tone of relief in his voice when he said, “We didn’t see no sign of hostiles, sir. Fact is, it don’t look like nobody’s been through there since the last snows melted.”

  “That is good news,” Gavin said. He smiled. “Though I fear the lack of Indians may prove a disappointment to Private Carlson.”

  Douglas grinned back. “He’ll get his chance to fight Injuns afore his hitch is up, I’m sure.”

  After Sergeant Douglas and the dragoons assured their commanding officer it was safe to continue the journey, Count Valenko and his people were allowed to move on toward the site of their future settlement. When they arrived at the junction, they found a slightly wooded area along the banks that promised a scenic place to eat their midday meal.

  Valenko, sitting on the wagon seat with Gavin riding beside him, pointed to the trees. “Is beautiful those, eh? And ve get from there fire vood.”

  “Good idea,” Gavin said. “You’ll find it useful to gather wood at every opportunity.”

  “Is not much out here, eh?” Valenko asked.

  “Unfortunately, trees are at a premium in the plains country,” Gavin said. “However, there happens to be another source of fuel.”

  “Ha!” Valenko laughed. “No trees. Vhat out here goink to burn but the grass?”

  Gavin grinned. “You’ve been looking at it ever since we left Fort Leavenworth.” He waved at Private Paddy O’Hearn. “O’Hearn! Please be kind enough to bring us a good, dry hunk of buffalo chip.”

  It didn’t take long for the dragoon to find an excellent specimen. He rode up with it and handed it to the officer.

  “Here you go, sir,” O’Hearn said. “Ready to heat some coffee, ain’t it?”

  Gavin held out the dried feces and showed it to Valenko. “This is fuel.”

  Valenko made a face. “Is cow navos!”

  Gavin shook his head. “It is from buffalo. A big animal like a cow, Your Grace, that runs wild on the prairie. You’ll see plenty before you’ve been out here very long. I assure you that once the droppings are well-dried by the sun, there is no unpleasantness involved in handling them.” He tossed the chip back to O’Hearn. “A demonstration, if you please, O’Hearn.”

  O’Hearn slipped from his saddle and set the chip on the ground. After producing a box of store-bought matches, he struck one and held it to the dried dung. After a few moments, a low flame burned along the surface. The dragoon looked up. “It don’t look like much, but it’s hot and it’ll burn a good while. We use this for cooking all the time. So do the folks that settle out here.”

  “That is just one of several good things we’ve learned from the Indians,” Gavin said.

  Valenko broke into laughter. Irena, beside him, also giggled. “Is good. I am in new country, so I learn new thinks, eh? Ve gather ever’body and show them how to do this.” He shouted loudly, and the people left their wagons to obediently gather around. He pointed to the flaming object at O’Hearn’s feet and spoke for a few minutes in Russian. The people were amazed, and several stepped forward to sniff. They expressed surprise that no smell issued from the flames.

  “Don’t forget to tell them this is an important lesson, because wooded areas will be scarce where you are going,” Gavin said.

  Count Valenko spoke to the group. When he had finished imparting the information, he turned back to Gavin. “Is good to learn this. Now ve eat, then go on until dark.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Gavin said. “We’ll stay here until morning. I want to do some more scouting.”

  “Vhy?” Valenko roared. “Already you are holdink us back vith your lookink around.”

  “We gave this immediate area good examination, but we must go out much farther to make sure the rest of the trip will be safe,” Gavin said. “I shall be going, too, and taking all the soldiers. You’ll be all right here.”

  “But you don’t find no Indians,” Valenko argued. “So is safe, nyet?”

  “Just because they aren’t close here, doesn’t mean they are not moving in this direction or already within striking distance,” Gavin said. “Believe me, Your Grace, I only stop our travel when I think it is absolutely necessary.”

  “Bah! Is vaste of time!” Valenko insisted.

  “I must do my duty,” Gavin said.

  “Maybe I send some men to look around,” Valenko said. “They do a lot of hunting in Russia.”

  “Please don’t, Your Grace,” Gavin asked. “I’m certain they’re excellent hunters and trackers in Russia, but things are different out here. I needn’t remind you of Indians.”

  “Ve don’t care about no Indians,” Valenko said.

  “You will before you’ve been in the territory too long,” Gavin said. “Excuse me, please, I must get on with the reconnaissance.”

  The officer rode off to meet with Sergeant Ian Douglas to organize into scouting parties that would encompass at least two hours of riding. This was a common action on the prairie, and it didn’t take the two experienced leaders long to break down their small detachment into teams for a detailed reconnaissance of the area in the direction to be traveled the next day. After allowing the dragoons time enough for a quick meal of coffee, hardtack, and salt pork, the lieutenant and sergeant each took a team and galloped out onto the trackless, endless prairie country of northeast Kansas Territory.

  Gavin rode with Corporal Steeple’s squad behind him. The one exception was Private O’Hearn, who, although remaining in sight, ranged out ahead in case of a sudden and most unwanted appearance of hostile Indians. The lieutenant glanced back toward the wagon train, glad to finally be out of sight of the vehicles and Count Vladimir Valenko’s constant questioning and complaining about stops.

  Now, for the first time since leaving the fort, Gavin MacRoss really felt the freedom of the open plains country. No man-made objects broke the view of the wild, empty terrain that knew only the tread of buffalo and Indian tribes on the thick, grassy carpet of earth. With no hills or woods, the wide vista was unobstructed, giving an impression of unparalleled immensity and emptiness. It was like being on another world, where the sky was clear, the air crystal clean, and the smells that pleased the nostrils were those of fresh-growing vegetation.

  Even the dragoons’ horses, after months of confinement in stables with only limited exercise, were happy at the sense of freedom brought about by the open wilderness.

  Gavin felt like breaking into a wild gallop, but he also well knew another aspect of the country where he now traveled. Those Indians who roamed the plains were warlike, restless, and most definitely unfriendly toward whites whom they regarded as interloping threats, not only to their hunting grounds, but to their very way of life.

  “Ho!”

  Private Paddy O’Hearn’s voice drifted across the distance, the echoes winding down across the endless distance. Gavin looked ahead to see the dragoon signaling the others to hurry to him.

  “Gallop, ho!” the lieutenant ordered.

  When they reached the point man, he waved toward the northwest. “There’s an abandoned Indian campground about a half mile ahead, sir.”

  “Let’s have a look,” Gavin said. “Corporal Steeple, put out three men on a perimeter. For the love of God, tell them to stay on the alert!”

  “Yes, sir!” the corporal responded. “Rodgers! Carlson! Walker! Take up positions around the campground when we get there. O’Hearn! Anderson! Stick close to me and the lieutenant.”

  They rode into the area that O’Hearn had spotted. Bare, circular areas in the grass showed where numerous lodges had been pitched. In the center of the rings of dead grass were fire pits used by the tepees’ inhabitants. It h
ad not been a small village.

  “Cheyenne,” Steeple said.

  “No doubt,” Gavin agreed. “They weren’t here all that long either. That means they’re moving around looking for game.”

  “Or soldier boys,” O’Hearn added.

  “Right,” Gavin agreed. “Well, while we’re here, let’s see how many made up this particular band of Indians.” The lieutenant rode through the area, counting the signs left of the individual lodges. It took him almost ten minutes to complete the task.

  “There were a hundred lodges here,” he announced when he had finished. “That means from four to five hundred people.”

  “Yes, sir,” Steeple agreed. “From that, I’d say maybe a hundred and fifty warriors, give or take a few.”

  “Let’s determine which direction they went,” Gavin said. “Reform the patrol, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The group quickly moved out again, O’Hearn once more doing the honors as point man. The trail left by the Indians was easy to follow. Grooves in the ground from numerous travois, hoof prints, horse droppings, and other markings showed the village had moved off toward the northeast. The directness of the trail indicated the Indians were perhaps going to another favorite summer camping area to begin the season’s first serious hunting of buffalo. A half hour’s ride confirmed it. Gavin was relieved.

  “At least they’re going away from our destination with the Russians,” he said.

  “Luck is with us, sir,” Steeple agreed.

  Gavin checked his pocket watch. “I’d say we’d better return to the wagon train. That’ll give us plenty of time to settle in before dark.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The patrol turned back in the opposite direction and, continuing to take no chances by keeping men out on the flanks and O’Hearn scouting ahead, rode back toward the place where Valenko and his people waited.

  When they galloped back into camp, they found that Sergeant Douglas and his men had preceded them by a quarter of an hour. The sergeant, who had been waiting with the other squad, wasted no time in reporting to Gavin. He appeared worried.

  Gavin swung out of his saddle. “Did you find something, Sergeant?”

  “Not on our scout, sir,” Douglas said. “The area showed some activity, but it was headed out toward the northeast.”

  “That’s what we determined,” Gavin said. “There was an old Cheyenne campground of about a hundred lodges, but the Indians seem to have cleared out a couple of days back.”

  “Prob’ly the same group we tracked,” Douglas said. He took a deep breath. “We might have trouble yet, sir. When I got back, I found out that three of them Russians left the wagons to go hunting.”

  “Goddamn it!” Gavin swore. “Which way did they go?”

  “That count told me he sent ’em off to the northeast, sir,” Douglas said. “Right toward them Injuns. I been waiting for you to come back.”

  “Prepare all the men to ride out together, Sergeant,” Gavin said. “I’ll join you directly.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Gavin strode over to Valenko’s wagon, where the count and Irena relaxed in the shade of the vehicle. Natalia Valenko and her fiancé also lounged there on a couple of chairs set out for that purpose.

  Although the sight of Natalia was pleasurable, the American officer still had to fight to control his temper. He gave the young woman a stiff bow and tip of his hat before speaking to her father.

  “Sergeant Douglas tells me that you sent some men out hunting,” he said in a strained voice.

  “Yes,” Valenko said. “I think, vhy sit around doink nothink, eh? I tell them to get fresh meat.”

  “That was most unwise, Your Grace,” Gavin said. “This is very dangerous country that we are crossing right now.”

  “His Grace sent good men,” Karshchov assured Gavin. “They are older fellows who were soldiers in Russia. They carried fine muskets. All three are excellent shots and are mounted.”

  Natalia smiled. “Please don’t be concerned, Lieutenant MacRoss. Those men are avid hunters and used to spend weeks out in the forests back home while hunting deer and even bear.”

  “I appreciate that, really, Miss Valenko,” Gavin said. “But things are a bit different here in America. Particularly in this part of the country.”

  Valenko snorted. “You vorryink too much, young man.”

  “I think we should speak of this later,” Gavin said. “I specifically asked you not to send anybody out.”

  “Maybe so,” Valenko said with a shrug. “Maybe no.”

  “I haven’t time to argue with Your Grace,” Gavin said. “My men and I will ride out and fetch them back.” Karshchov stood up. “I would like very much to go with you, Lieutenant,” he announced. “I, too, can be well-armed. And I do not fear Indian savages.” He spoke loudly, obviously trying to impress his lady love.

  Gavin shrugged. “Suit yourself, Mr. Karshchov. I only ask that you stick close to me.”

  Karshchov smiled. “Of course. If it makes you feel better, eh?”

  Gavin didn’t bother to answer the question. “Get a horse. I’ll wait for you with my men. And hurry up.”

  “Of course,” Karshchov said. He turned to Natalia, taking her hand and kissing it. “Do skoroe vstrechyi, lyubimeya.” Then he rushed off to prepare a mount.

  The lieutenant returned to his horse and found the dragoons ready to leave. “We’ll be waiting for Mr. Karshchov,” he told Sergeant Douglas. “He wants to accompany us.”

  “Maybe he’ll learn something through observing,” Douglas noted with a grin.

  “Not that fellow,” Gavin said. “He’ll end up trying to tell us how to do our jobs.”

  Karshchov showed up within ten minutes. Armed with a military musket and sitting a bit clumsily in the saddle, he said, “I am ready to go with you.”

  Without wasting any more time, Gavin led his men and the Russian out of the wagon camp at a canter, moving directly northeast. He noted Natalia waving at Karshchov and secretly wished it were him she had come to bid goodbye.

  The trail left by the trio of Russian hunters was easy to follow. The immigrants, not worrying about being tracked, had simply ridden straight out into the prairie. Within moments, Gavin could see why they had ridden in a northeasterly direction. A prominent rise in the terrain was easily discernible on the far horizon. By riding directly at it, all they had to do would be to keep it at their backs for the return trip across the trackless prairie to the wagon train. Natalia Valenko had been right about one thing. The Russians were experienced outdoorsmen and soldiers.

  O’Hearn, experienced and alert, was back on the point of the dragoon formation, following the trail. With the flanks and rear also covered, Gavin felt secure. Even if a large party of Cheyennes suddenly appeared, they wouldn’t be able to pull a sneak attack or ambush. The disciplined fire power of the soldiers would be more than adequate to make a successful break-away gallop back to safety.

  “Mr. Karshchov, if we come under fire from hostiles, please stay close to me,” Gavin advised him.

  “We will make an immediate run for the wagon train.”

  “Why don’t we teach the beggars a good lesson?” Karshchov asked in a haughty tone. “Your Indians are stone-age people, are they not?”

  “I suppose,” Gavin said. “But you must remember that they’ve had firearms thrust into their culture. They have learned to use them expertly and effectively in a very short time. A sure sign of intelligence in anybody’s estimation.”

  “Bah!” Karshchov scoffed.

  “Please, just do as I say,” Gavin said.

  The group continued on for another half hour before O’Hearn suddenly reined up. Gavin, with Karshchov close by, galloped up to him as Sergeant Douglas organized an impromptu defense position.

  “Cheyenne sign, sir,” O’Hearn announced, pointing to the ground. “See there? They cut the trail. No doubt they’re after them Russians.”

  “We’d best hurry,” Gavin sai
d. “But use caution, O’Hearn.”

  “Yes, sir,” O’Hearn said. “Don’t worry, lieutenant. I ain’t looking to give up my hair.”

  “What has happened?” Karshchov asked.

  O’Hearn looked at him. “I’d say that about now or maybe a half hour ago, them pals o’ yours was up to their asses in Cheyenne dog soldiers.”

  “I don’t understand,” Karshchov said. But he could easily see the soldiers were worried.

  The column renewed their trek, this time with carbines primed, loaded, and carried in anticipation for a violent encounter. O’Hearn, relying on the others to keep him covered, pressed on as he gave his full attention to the track he followed. Less than a quarter of an hour later, he pointed in the distance.

  “Crows!” he sang out. “And I don’t mean Injuns.”

  “Oh, God!” Gavin said under his breath, knowing what the sight of the large, black birds meant.

  Karshchov was thoroughly alarmed. He lapsed into Russian for a moment. “Shto eto? What is that?”

  “The worst has happened,” Gavin said in a low tone.

  They pressed on a bit more, toward the source of the crows’ attention. Sergeant Douglas sent Corporal Murphy and his men on a quick sweep around the area. When they found nothing, Gavin led the men forward, reaching the spot where they had to shoo the birds away.

  Karshchov took one look and fainted, falling from his horse and hitting the ground before anyone could catch him.

  Three bodies, stripped naked and filled with dozens of arrows, sprawled grotesquely in the grass. Slashed, dismembered, and violated, the Russian hunters had been scalped.

  Karshchov groaned and rolled over onto his hands and knees. Gavin dismounted and grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar, hauling him to his feet. He pushed him over to the dead men. Now Karshchov vomited.

  “Take a good look, Mr. Karshchov,” Gavin said in a calm voice. “Now you understand why I halted the wagon train and scouted the area, don’t you?”

  Karshchov nodded. “Da! I mean, yes!”

  “You see what happens when hostiles catch whites out in the open,” Gavin continued. “Not only are these men dead, but the Cheyennes now have three more muskets, powder, and ball.”