Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Big Joe looked at Lockwood. “What’s all this shit?”

  Lockwood shrugged. “I ain’t never heard nothing so crazy.”

  “She says them fellers is gonna kill ’er!” Big Joe exclaimed.

  Lockwood only shrugged. “Aw! C’mon, let’s go get her.”

  The two Comancheros surged forward but were met by an onrush of the prisoners. Lockwood picked out the nearest man and swung a heavy fist, knocking him back. Another Russian leaped over his fallen friend and drove an elbow into Lockwood’s jaw, staggering him. The American punched out with rapid blows to drive his tormentor away.

  Big Joe was having trouble of his own as he got an ear boxed and took a straight jab to the nose. He, too, fought back but was overwhelmed by the organized resistance.

  The large Russian men now worked together as they pummeled and kicked the Comancheros, driving them back all the way to the gate.

  The guard observed the altercation with a wide grin across his face. “I told you two pandejos that them men was protecting her.”

  Lockwood and Big Joe charged again in savage fury. The two were no easy pushovers for anybody. Using their combined physical courage, expertise, and strength, they attacked with fists and boots, but the desperate anger of the captives again forced them to withdraw with additional scrapes and bruises.

  Big Joe snuffed and wiped at his bleeding nose. “Them fellers is crazy, Monroe.”

  Lockwood gingerly laid a hand on his bruised jaw. “I ain’t never seen nothing like this. Why, you’d think she was a queen or something.”

  “We got to get her, though,” Big Joe warned him. “Or Mr. Lazardo is gonna have us hanging head-down from that big ol’ cottonwood near his digs.” Then he added, “Over a fire!”

  “Let’s go!” Lockwood said.

  The pair waded in again, alternating their fisticuffs with wrestling holds. A couple of the Russians went down, but they came back up fast, damning the pain as they joined the others in the punch-for-punch and kick-for-kick contest.

  Once again, Lockwood and Big Joe were manhandled by the big men and pounded back to the gate. The damage to Big Joe’s nose had now grown to a fracture. Blood streamed from it and dripped heavily down on his shirt. He pulled his revolver form its holster, but Lockwood grabbed his arm.

  “Hang on, Big Joe!” he said. “Them fellers is worth a lot of money. We’ll really be in the soup if a couple get shot. Dead men don’t fetch no prices from Mexican mines.”

  “Then, what the hell are you gonna do?” Big Joe demanded to know.

  “I got to tell Mr. Lazardo,” Lockwood said. He snapped his fingers at the guard. “Get your butt over to Mr. Lazardo and tell him we got special trouble down here.”

  “Ay, chingado!” the guard exclaimed. “I don’t want to. He might get mad about what’s going on.”

  “Goddamn you!” Lockwood said. “You’d best do as I say, or I’ll see that you’re hung from a tree by your balls instead o’ your feet!”

  The guard reluctantly turned, then walked toward the center of camp to fetch the Comanchero chief.

  “Them foreigners is crazy,” Lockwood complained. “They didn’t fight this hard at the settlement. I wonder what’s got ’em suicidal all of a sudden.”

  “They didn’t have no real leadership when we jumped ’em out there, remember?” Big Joe said. “We hit ’em when they wasn’t expecting it. I think the shock unnerved ’em, and they been organizing or something.”

  A few moments later an angrily curious Lazardo showed up with the guard. “What is the trouble here?” he asked. “Can’t you two get your hands on that woman? Is the big one even more than large men can handle?”

  “Something’s crazy as hell, Mr. Lazardo,” Lockwood said. “Not only does that li’l blond gal refuse to come out, she said she told some o’ them fellers to kill her if it looks like we’re gonna take her.”

  “It don’t make a lick o’ sense, Mr. Lazardo,” Big Joe added.

  Lazardo stepped through the gate and approached the prisoners. Once again they formed up for a fight. “Where is that blond girl?” he yelled.

  The Russians, not understanding him, maintained their silence as they glared at him and the other two Comancheros. Their silence was mute defiance and determination.

  “You’ll not have me!” Natalia’s voice, coming from the back of the crowd, had a ring of bravado in it. “I have ordered these men to kill me before allowing me to be taken by you.”

  Lazardo, being a European, instantly recognized the facts in the situation. He asked, “Who are you?”

  “I am Lady Natalia Valenko, daughter of His Grace Count Vladimir Aleksandrovich Valenko. We are a noble family of the Czarist Empire of all the Russias!”

  Lazardo had known she was a noblewoman before he asked. It was a situation that no American could possibly fathom.

  “Where is your father and what are you doing in the American wilderness, Lady Natalia?” the outlaw leader asked.

  “The settlement you blackguards attacked is owned by my father,” Natalia said. “He has come here to set up an estate.” In spite of her spirited showing, Natalia had been frightened almost beyond sanity. She was sincere about having herself killed rather than suffer the shame of being ravished. Now she realized she was safe, and the relief was mixed with shame as she stood in the midst of her people.

  “Thank you, Lady Natalia,” Lazardo said. “I assure you that you will not be harmed.” He knew full well that a raped noblewoman was not a good bargaining tool. The threat of her outrage would mean more money and a quicker reaction from her family than if a commoner had already had his way with her.

  “What the hell's this all about?” Monroe Lockwood asked.

  “It is something you do not understand,” Lazardo said. He gave his full attention to Natalia, suddenly becoming polite. He bowed, saying, “I am Guido Lazardo. I wish for you to look upon me as your protector until arrangements can be made to have you safely returned to your father.”

  Natalia pushed her way through the crowd and stood face-to-face with Lazardo. “I know what you mean. You are going to ask ransom for me, are you not?”

  “Of course,” Lazardo said.

  Natalia put aside the horrible fear she had been hiding. Now was the time for her to conduct herself by the philosophy of noblesse oblige.

  “You must return my people with me,” the young woman demanded.

  Lazardo shook his head. “These are peasants. I know, for I am a peasant, too. But a very smart one. I will sell these strapping fellows and lusty wenches along with the children down in Mexico or to Indians in Texas.”

  “I will not permit it,” Natalia said. “I demand their release in the name of the czar!”

  “The czar be damned,” Guido said. “But I will grant you one consideration. The big woman can return with you.” He indicated Irena Yakubovski, who stood nearby.

  “That is not enough,” Natalia argued.

  “I am in charge here,” Lazardo reminded her. “That is my only concession, Lady Natalia.”

  “I command you to release us all!” Natalia cried out. “Do you hear? I command you!”

  “Save your mandates for your miserable peasants,” Lazardo said. “Meanwhile, as your protector, I will have you put in more comfortable quarters where you can wait for your release in dignity and grace.”

  “I will stay here with my people,” Natalia said.

  “As you wish, my lady,” Lazardo said. “However, I will instruct the guards that if you desire to see me or seek more luxurious arrangements, you may send them to me.”

  “That will not happen!” Natalia vowed.

  “You speak English in the manner of the British,” Lazardo said. “I am a great admirer of those northern people. They are conquerors.”

  “Our conversation is at an end,” Natalia announced. She turned and walked back into the crowd of Russians.

  Lazardo bowed and said, “As you wish, my lady.” He turned and went back to the gate with L
ockwood and Big Joe following.

  Lockwood was curious. “Just what the hell happened, Mr. Lazardo?”

  “Yes, sir,” Big Joe said, echoing his own confusion. “I can’t figger nothing about this.”

  “Europe has come to the American prairie,” Lazardo said. He sneered. “It is something bumpkins would not understand.”

  Lockwood and Big Joe stopped and watched their chief return to his quarters. “I’ll tell you something,” Lockwood said. “That little gal may talk high and mighty, but she ain’t gonna pull nothing on Mr. Lazardo.”

  Big Joe grinned. “I think the fun is just starting.”

  Twelve

  Gavin MacRoss sat in the comfortable crook of two large branches in the heights of a cottonwood tree growing along the Little Arkansas River. The foliage, thick for early spring, gave him plenty of cover as he peered through his field glasses at the Comanchero camp on the other bank. If it hadn’t been for the danger he faced, he would have enjoyed his perch. The weather was beautiful, birds chirped, and the sound of the flowing water was very soothing.

  He had climbed into the lofty regions of the tree just before dawn while it was light enough to allow a safe ascent, yet too dark to be spotted by any alert outlaws who might be early risers.

  The lieutenant was well prepared for a day-long stay in the tree. A haversack across his shoulder held the food he would consume until it was dark enough in the evening to climb back to the ground without danger of observation from the Comanchero camp. His canteen, hanging by its strap on a branch near him, was filled with water from a creek a couple of miles away where the rest of the dragoon detachment, along with Basil Karshchov, waited for his return with whatever information he could garner.

  The lieutenant’s time was not wasted. He had spotted the stockade where the prisoners were held on the north end of the encampment, and the large corral for the Comancheros’ horses in the exact opposite direction at the southern extreme. The young officer estimated the size of the settlement to be approximately a half-mile long with a width that ranged from a few feet where the two rivers joined, expanding out to a couple of hundred yards up to the stockade. He was surprised to see numerous women and children, obviously belonging to Comancheros, living in the primitive village. The outlaw band, like other similar ones, was a culture unto itself that stayed outside the bounds of normal society.

  Between visual sweeps with the binoculars, Gavin sketched the layout of the camp, noting easy accesses and areas where the population was the heaviest. After he’d completed his drawing, he studied it at odd intervals. Several plans of entering and exiting the settlement for a rescue mission made tentative appearances in his alert mind.

  Various-sized bands of Comanchero horsemen kept busy all day, riding in and out of the place. Gavin wondered how long it would be before they noted the absence of the group he and his men had intercepted two days before. As a professional military man, he surmised that the riders were scouting and exploring the countryside to gather information for any future forays of murder and kidnapping they might wish to conduct. Eventually, he realized, some of those Comanchero riders would discover the bodies of their dead compatriots.

  By mid-afternoon, Gavin had gathered all the information he needed. In order to keep from getting bored until it was safe to withdraw, he kept a sharp eye on everything that went on. As far as he could determine, there wasn’t a race of man, outside of Orientals possibly, that wasn’t represented in the band. Whites, Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and various mixtures thereof were in great evidence among the population.

  As the day progressed, the army officer also noted a couple of fights, camp chores by the women, loud games enjoyed by the children, and other activities that hardly betrayed the evil of the participants. He wondered how many of the small boys running and laughing would end up as cold-blooded killers and slavers.

  The day drifted by slowly, but eventually the sun eased into its westerly slide toward the horizon, growing redder as it continued its eternal journey. When the shadows grew long enough and the evening’s gloom settled in, Gavin slowly and carefully descended from his perch and stepped down on the thick grass of the patch of woods. After a few moments of careful waiting and listening, he withdrew into the deeper interior of the copse where his horse was hobbled. He led the animal to the other side of the trees and, when clear of the woods, mounted up for the ride back to the dragoon camp.

  Private Olaf Carlson was on guard duty when Gavin returned. The young trooper stood up and waved the lieutenant on in to the bivouac. He smartly presented arms as his commanding officer rode past.

  “Glad to see you back, sir,” Carlson cheerfully greeted him.

  “I’m real happy to be back, believe me,” Gavin said as he returned the salute and went into the trees alongside the creek to dismount. The others waited eagerly for him, especially Basil Karshchov, who wasted no time in approaching him.

  The Russian asked, “What did you see? Was Natalia there? Is she all right? What about the others? Are they all dead or alive?”

  “Hold on,” Gavin said. “One question at a time. But to answer the most important for you: no, I didn’t see Miss Valenko. But I did spot where she and the others are being kept.”

  “I pray she is not harmed,” Karshchov said;

  “I saw no mistreatment of the prisoners,” Gavin remarked. “They seemed to be simply kept in confinement without having to bear any undue torment. But their circumstances are most unpleasant.”

  “The suffering people!” Karshchov said. “My poor darling!”

  Sergeant Douglas, curious as to what would be going on for the next several days, joined them. He carried a cup of coffee that he handed over to Gavin. “I figger anybody that’s spent the day in a tree should at least have a cup o’ java.”

  The lieutenant smiled his thanks. “This is just what I need.”

  “Sorry I ain’t got any brandy or whiskey to lace it with,” Douglas said.

  “That would be most appreciated, Sergeant Douglas,” Gavin said, grinning. “Believe me!”

  “Have a good day, sir?”

  “A very good day, Sergeant,” Gavin said. “Let’s sit down and talk over some very important subjects.” Karshchov, too nervous to relax, remained standing as the two dragoons settled in for a professional consultation between themselves.

  Douglas knew there was more work to be done before they would settle in their blankets that night. “I’m all ears, Lieutenant.”

  Gavin pulled his sketch-map from his pocket and handed it over. “That’s the layout of the Comanchero camp. It’s as accurate as I could make it from peering out of a tree across the river.”

  “Christ!” Douglas exclaimed. “There’s enough shelters there for a hundred and fifty or two hundred people.”

  “My count exactly,” Gavin said. “There are even women and children living with the Comancheros. Whole families of the sons of bitches.”

  “The dogs are breeding future generations,” Karshchov said in anger.

  “It appears so,” Gavin said. He turned his attention back to the map. “At any rate, here’s the layout.”

  “It’s a good map, sir,” Douglas said. “But you still ain’t completely happy with what you’ve learned, are you?”

  “There’s nothing like a personal reconnaissance to take care of any unanswered questions or to gain knowledge of the unknown,” Gavin said. “That camp is going to have to be visited in order to fill in any missing information I couldn’t get from looking and sketching.”

  “Sounds like a job for an experienced officer and his sergeant,” Douglas said.

  “That is exactly what I was thinking, Sergeant,” Gavin said. “If we enter the place in the dark, our field dress should make us inconspicuous as long as we leave our military accouterments behind.”

  “Except for belts and holsters, right, sir?” Douglas asked.

  “Exactly,” Gavin said. He smiled, saying, “I don’t think we should take our sabers along.”r />
  Douglas chuckled at the idea of lugging the bladed weapons with them. “All right, sir, if you insist. It’s a shame we can’t go over there in all our martial glory.”

  “We would need blaring bugle calls to add to our appearance,” Gavin joked back.

  Douglas laughed. “Say! Don’t forget that O’Hearn has his old bugle with him. As I recall he was pretty damned good with the thing.”

  “He is going to wish he remained a field musician before this is over,” Gavin said.

  “He gave up his bugle for a carbine because he wanted to do real soldiering,” Douglas replied.

  “I admire him for that,” Gavin said. He changed the subject, asking, “When can you be ready to go?”

  “I’m ready right now,” Douglas said. “You’re the one drinking coffee.”

  Gavin quickly drained the cup. “Let’s be on our way. By the time we get there, it will be dark enough for us to enter the place.”

  Karshchov grabbed Gavin’s sleeve. “I shall go, too, Gavin.”

  “I’m sorry, Basil,” Gavin said. “This is a very ticklish job. I don’t believe you’ve the experience needed if we have to go low and sneaky to get in and out of the place.”

  “I must go for the sake of my ladylove!” Karshchov exclaimed.

  Douglas put a friendly hand on Karshchov’s shoulder. “We’re working out a plan to rescue the lady and all your friends. You don’t want to queer it, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Karshchov said.

  “Then, let us do our job, please, Mr. Karshchov,” Douglas asked of him.

  “Yes. I am sorry,” Karshchov said. He turned to Gavin. “Please, then, you try to find out if Natalia is all right or not, will you?”

  “Of course,” Gavin said.

  “Tell me the truth when you find out,” Karshchov pleaded. “I must know, no matter how horrible!”

  “I’ll not lie to you, Basil,” Gavin promised. “You can count on that.”

  “Let’s go, sir,” Douglas urged him. “It’ll be completely dark in another fifteen or twenty minutes.”