“Fire!” commanded Gavin.
“Strelbai!” Karshchov translated.
A ragged, but respectable, volley blasted out of the assembled amateur infantrymen. The smoke rolled out, then was picked up by the breeze to drift away in a thick haze.
“Excellent,” Gavin said, pleased at the way the Russians quickly reacted to the battle commands. “Now we’ll practice while only pretending to load.”
Karshchov translated the instructions. Gavin spent an entire hour repeating the procedure over and over. He finally noted that the clicks of the hammers striking the nipples had become as one noise as the coordinated effort improved with each repetition.
The training was interrupted when shouting suddenly broke out. The angry shrieking of women filled the air as a small column of smoke appeared. Then, quickly, flames erupted from the outlying buildings as the roofs ignited.
The men in the firing line grumbled loudly, turning to Karshchov for an explanation. The Russian, feeling helpless, looked at Gavin.
“Tell them we must knock down those cabins and other structures to deny cover to the Comancheros,” Gavin said. “If we do not, they will hide behind or inside them to shoot at us. We’ll be like fish in a barrel.” Karshchov spoke to the men in a tone of authority, but laced with just a hint of gentleness and sympathy. They asked a few questions, and he answered, glaring at a couple of the more angry serfs.
“Basil, tell them to go comfort their women,” Gavin said. “They need a rest from drill anyhow.”
Karshchov sent them on their way, then walked over and joined Gavin. He pointed to where the dragoons were hard at work.
“I see our defenses are being constructed,” he said. He sighed. “If only we had a chance for a miracle.”
“I’ve seen too many slaughtered soldiers and civilians to believe in that,” Gavin said. “We can only fight like hell and kill as many of them as possible.”
“The serfs are very religious,” Karshchov said. “They will hold a prayer session this evening and light candles. The women have already set up a shrine. Too bad we have no priest.”
“Just tell everyone to pray like hell,” Gavin said. “Will you join us?” Karshchov asked. “It will please the people very much.”
“I’m not much on religion,” Gavin admitted. “But it’s certainly not going to hurt anything. Yes, I’ll be there.” He looked over where the men talked to the women, many with reassuring arms around their wives’ shoulders or waists.
Karshchov said, “It seems everyone has calmed down now.”
“There is still a lot of preparation to do,” Gavin said.
“Let’s ask Count Valenko to conduct the musketry drill. I must see to the fortifications my men are building.”
“I will stay and practice shooting,” Karshchov said.
“Very well, Basil,” Gavin said. “I shall see you later.” The lieutenant walked over to his detachment, which labored on an earthen breastwork under Sergeant Douglas’s stern supervision. Gavin glanced up, noticing the sunset beginning to form. He stopped and looked at the change in the sky, appreciating both the beauty and delicacy of the colors as they blended in with the sun and clouds.
“Farewell,” Gavin whispered to the natural phenomenon. “I’ll not see you tomorrow, or ever again.”
Nineteen
The Comanchero camp was like a cauldron sitting on hot coals. It threatened to boil over at any moment.
When the news of the loss of over a dozen men in the dry creek bed had been spread through the camp, it caused a near revolt. In that outlaw society, failure was bad enough. When it also meant the loss of comrades, then tensions could run extremely high. Risk was something all Comancheros were willing to take, but they would not tolerate deaths brought on by ineptness or bungling. Such brutal men, angered by what they considered incompetency or bad luck, would soon turn to violence for satisfaction.
Misadventure also offered an excuse for a rebellion to be organized by the more ambitious in the group who had a yen to be the big leader. That was easy when there were plenty of angry individuals ready to join in a serious threat to authority.
Guido Lazardo was no fool. He knew he faced an uphill task in not only maintaining his leadership position, but also in avoiding having a mob of angry Comancheros tear him limb from limb—if he was lucky—or roasting him alive after some delicate and painful knife work—if he was not. He wisely gathered his Praetorian guard around him. They consisted of seven trusted and capable gunmen:
Monroe Lockwood, the large American, had the utmost faith in his leader. He had seen too many successes to allow a setback to shake his loyalty. There was no doubt in Lockwood’s mind that sticking by Lazardo would pay off. He was willing to face down any number of malcontents to keep his man in office.
Big Joe, a black man who had known a slave overseer’s whip on his back, appreciated the taste of freedom and even leadership afforded him by the Comanchero chief. He and his good friend Lockwood saw eye-to-eye on most issues, and that included trust in the luck of Guido Lazardo. He, too, would not tolerate any rebellion in the ranks.
Crazy Fox, a Comanche brave driven out of his own tribe for murder, well appreciated being welcomed into the band led by Lazardo. As a previous member of a fierce but undisciplined tribe of warriors, he saw no problem with errors in judgment or tactics. Any mistakes were the result of bad medicine, which could plague anybody as far as he was concerned.
Tarheel from North Carolina was a natural follower raised in an area where every town or county had an undisputed leader or patron. He found those same qualities in the Sicilian. Breaking in a new chief was something he didn’t care to go through, so he threw in his lot with Lazardo.
Another steadfast follower was a Kiowa-Apache named Runs Fast. He had held a position of honor in his tribe as a leader in war and hunting parties, but found that being with the Comancheros offered more of what he craved—murderous forays and almost unlimited plundering. He gave Lazardo full credit for this improvement in his life. Runs Fast would be happy to take the scalp of anyone attempting to destroy the Comanchero chief.
Lefty Dan, an escaped convict from Massachusetts, felt safe here from the law. The faith he had in Lazardo matched that of his friends Monroe Lockwood and Big Joe. Whatever those two decided was all right with him whether it be to support Lazardo or gun him down.
A one-eared fellow named Lop-Head by his less than sympathetic outlaw brethren downright worshiped Lazardo. He had never known such success and power in any other criminal group in which he had traveled. As far as he was concerned, no matter what the setback, somehow Lazardo had what it took to come out even better than before.
In addition to those faithful few, Lazardo could also count on the loyalty of the army deserters Jack McRyan and Dennis Costello. They were not particularly trustworthy individuals, but both knew quite a few in the Comanchero band considered them responsible in a small way for bringing the army down on them., Without Lazardo’s protection, the pair would end up with flame-blackened skulls.
The first problem Lazardo faced was caused by a woman named Molly. Her man, a half-breed called Michael, had been gone for more than a week with some other Comancheros. Upon hearing of the deaths of the men at the creek bed, Molly had set up a shrieking howl accusing Lazardo of bringing about unnecessary deaths within the group. Only when she heard that the Comanchero chief himself would be coming after her, did Molly finally stop her yowling. The frightened woman wisely gathered up her snot-nosed, filthy offspring and crossed the river to hide in the trees on the other bank.
Lazardo sent Lockwood to look for Molly, but when he couldn’t find her, the gang’s chief decided to forget the woman and concentrate on the bigger task at hand—regaining complete leadership and fear over the Comancheros. That was the reason he called a conference of war in his quarters to which he invited Monroe Lockwood and Big Joe.
Big Joe wasn’t too worried. “All we got to do is go out there and shoot one or two of them sumb
itches,” he said. “Then they’ll forget they’s mad, and things’ll get back to normal.”
Lazardo shook his head. “We’ll need every gun if we’re going to wipe out that town. I don’t want any unnecessary gunplay that would kill any of the men. Besides, more deaths might cause the situation to get completely out of control.”
Lockwood dared to grumble a bit. “Wiping out that damn town is what we shoulda done in the first place.”
“The reason I didn’t want to stay there long enough to kill or capture everyone was because we didn’t know the area,” Lazardo explained. “There could have been an army post or another settlement close by as far as I knew. But now we know there isn’t, so we can take our time and destroy the place.”
“I understand, Mr. Lazardo,” Lockwood said. “This time we better kill or capture ever’ one of ’em and let the boys have a good time with them women.”
“That is what I intend to do,” Lazardo said. “But there may be trouble in getting the men to follow us. They are very unhappy.”
“Things ain’t getting no better out there, Mr. Lazardo,” Big Joe warned him. “I still think we’re gonna have to kill a couple of ’em to get things calmed down.”
“Big Joe’s right, Mr. Lazardo,” Lockwood said.
“I have a better idea,” the Sicilian stated. “We are going to give the men a chance to get rid of some of that anger toward me, yet still have enough left over to wipe out that town and those soldiers.”
Lockwood grinned. “I knowed you’d come up with something. I sure did.”
“Me, too,” Big Joe added. “What’re we gonna do, Mr. Lazardo?”
“We’re going to give them somebody to beat up on and get rid of their anger,” Lazardo said.
“Who?” Big Joe asked.
“Our latest members,” Lazardo answered.
“You mean them two deserters?” Lockwood asked. “McRyan and Costello?”
“The very ones,” Lazardo said. “Call those two idiots in here and prepare them for the sacrifice. I got to think careful of what I’m going to tell everybody.”
“We’ll take care of it right away,” Lockwood said. He went to the door of the hut and found Tarheel and Lefty Dan on guard duty. “Fetch them two deserters and bring ’em here pronto.”
“You bet, Monroe,” Tarheel said.
Lockwood went back and sat down to wait. With Lazardo now deep in thought, both he and Big Joe knew better than to disturb his mental processes.
Ten minutes later, Jack McRyan and Dennis Costello, followed by Tarheel and Lefty Dan, stepped into the inner sanctum of the gang leader. Before they could speak, Lockwood and Big Joe quickly overwhelmed them, shoving the pair face-first to the earthen floor.
McRyan, terrorized, turned his head to one side and screamed, “Hey! What’s the idea?”
When Costello freed his face from the dirt, the best he could manage was, “We didn’t do nothing!”
“You brought the army down on us!” Lazardo growled.
The two luckless deserters were jerked upright as their pistols were taken and their hands tightly tied behind them with rawhide.
“We didn’t bring nobody down on this camp,” Jack McRyan protested. “That sergeant was trailing after you fellers, not us!”
“We didn’t do nothing!” Costello yelled one more time.
“I want a confession from you,” Lazardo said. “A loud one.” He nodded to Lockwood and Big Joe.
Immediately, the two Comancheros got serious about beating them up. Fists and boots collided with the hapless victims as they wailed and shouted in fearful pain at the cruel pummeling. The thrashing went on for almost a quarter of an hour.
“That’s enough!” Lazardo ordered. He addressed the prisoners. “If you had enough, all it takes is for one of you to just yell out that you brought the army down on the camp.”
Costello suddenly bellowed, “We brung the army down on the camp! We brung the army down on the camp!”
McRyan hissed at him. “Shut up, you stupid, yellow bastard!”
“We brung the army down on the camp!” Costello yelled again.
Lazardo smiled and gestured at Lockwood and Big Joe. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“That’s what you wanted ever’body to hear,” Big Joe added.
McRyan and Costello, held by their tormentors, were untidy messes. Blood flowed from cuts on their faces as bruises and swelling visually spread across their battered features. Neither one was able to see because of their eyes being swollen shut.
“Follow me,” Lazardo said. “And drag those two along.”
The spectacle of the Comanchero chief striding through the camp with Lockwood and Big Joe dragging the bloody army deserters behind him quickly drew a crowd. Having heard the confession that Costello yelled, nearby Comancheros quickly passed the word around the camp. Curious, but still hostile, the outlaws gathered around and followed after the strange procession.
When Lazardo reached the stump of a felled tree, he immediately leaped upon it and looked around.
“Everybody!” he yelled. “Todo el mundo! Tutti! Tout le monde! Come here and listen to me. Everybody!”
Grumbling but curious, the Comancheros stood ready for anything out of the ordinary as they waited to see what Guido Lazardo had to say to them.
“Do you see these two miserable pieces of shit?” Lazardo bellowed. “I have just cleverly drawn full confessions from the both of them about leading soldiers to our camp. Some of you heard it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lazardo,” a Comanchero said. “I heard one of ’em yell that they’d brung the army here.”
One gutsy Comanchero pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I suppose you’re gonna tell us that them two yahoos let them prisoners a-loose, huh?” He smirked and looked round. “I wonder how many of us is gonna believe that, huh?”
“They did not turn them loose personally,” Lazardo shot back. “But they helped.” He knew full well that McRyan and Costello had been with some of the other outlaws at the time the prisoners fled. There would be shouts of disagreement if he said they’d taken part in the actual escape. “We found they had spied on the stockade and snuck out word to the soldiers of the best way to let those slaves out.”
That made sense. Several members of the crowd began nodding to each other in belief. But most still looked at Lazardo with blank gazes.
“How’d you find that out?” somebody hollered.
“We’ve been talking to them,” Lazardo said. He laughed and pointed to the battered pair. “Can’t you see?”
Several members of the crowd, appreciating the humor of someone being beaten half to death, joined in the laughter.
Lockwood, hanging on to McRyan, leaned toward Lazardo and whispered, “Tell ’em that these two know about some dead scouts of our’n. Hell, some o’ the boys ain’t come back yet. Might as well figger they’re dead.”
“Another thing, my brave people!” Lazardo said, taking the advice. “These rotten bastards have told us of how the soldiers killed some of our scouts. They followed their trail back here, and that is how they found us.”
A few more of the Comancheros began to come around. They shouted abuse at the nearly unconscious prisoners still held up by Lockwood and Big Joe.
“I didn’t trust them in the first place,” Lazardo continued. “So I had both Lockwood and Big Joe keep a sharp eye on them. In fact, it was them that kept these two bastards from escaping just the other night. That’s when we decided it was time to haul them in and have a little talk, which we did a couple of hours ago.”
Now the Comancheros began to believe what they wanted to. A couple of ambitious fellows who had their sights on leadership shouted questions and expressed doubt, but soon they shut up as the crowd came around to the chief’s line of reasoning.
“I am going to give you a choice,” Lazardo said. “I will let Lockwood and Big Joe take care of them, or hand them over to you. Which is it?”
As an
answer, about a dozen men swarmed forward and grabbed the prisoners, who had begun to regain consciousness. Shouting at and roughing them, the Comancheros dragged McRyan and Costello away toward the stockade.
The Indians Crazy Fox and Runs Fast shared a few moments of confusion. Not coming from a society in which lying and falsehood were in abundance, they believed their leader, even though neither could recall any long interrogation or particular attention given to the two unfortunates about to be sacrificed to save Lazardo’s life and leadership. But, as far as they were concerned, if the Comanchero chief said the deserters were spies, that was good enough for them. Whooping and hollering, they moved off to join in the fun of the executions.
Lazardo, Lockwood, and Big Joe watched the mob pull the now wildly protesting ex-soldiers out of sight. Lockwood laughed. “I reckon that’s that.”
“I must plan out the best way to make quick work of that Russian town,” Lazardo said.
“I reckon there ain’t no rush, Mr. Lazardo,” Big Joe observed. “Them folks in the settlement ain’t going nowheres, and that crowd o’ riled Comancheros is gonna take their time in killing them two.”
“I still must destroy that town,” Lazardo reminded him. “If I don’t, then I’ll be going through what those wretches will soon be suffering.”
The three walked back to Lazardo’s quarters. A few straggling women and kids, finally hearing of what was going on, ran past them to join in the fun that was about to start.
“I’ll tell you something,” Big Joe said. “I ain’t one to pay too much mind to what other folks goes through, but what McRyan and Costello is about to put up with makes my blood run cold.”
“I’ll say!” Lockwood said with a gruff laugh.
“We must see that it is over by dawn,” Lazardo said. “I want to make an early start for that settlement.”
“If the killing is still going on up to daybreak, me and Big Joe will go up there and bring it to an end,” Lockwood said.
“They might get mad at us, Monroe,” Big Joe warned him.
“I don’t think so,” Lockwood said. “They’ll be pretty tired by then and getting bored, too, I reckon.”
Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2) Page 19
