“That’ll work, I reckon,” Red Bohannon said, “but it’ll take us at least ten miles out of our way on each side of the river. That’s two days lost.”
“That’s what’s bitin’ at my tail feathers,” said Don, “but there’s no help for it. Had we made our own crossing, the outfit would have been divided, and we’ve just seen what that can lead to. We’d better get back to the herd. We don’t know that they weren’t attacked.”
“I reckon we ought to pay more attention to Dominique and Roberto,” Jim Roussel observed. “That crossing’s a mite inconvenient, but it beats hell out of anything we could have done with an axe.”
While Red and Charlie agreed, they said nothing, for Don Webb didn’t seem in the least impressed with Roussel’s opinion. Webb led out and the others followed, riding at an angle such as Charlie had suggested until they reached the herd.
“We thought we heard shots,” said Bob Vines. “Indians?”
“Yes,” Don Webb replied. Quickly he told them of the attack and of the crossing they had discovered.
“Is where sheep cross,” said Dominique.
“It’s a good crossing,” Webb conceded, “although it’s a good ten miles downriver. We figured out a way to drive straight to it, and after we’ve crossed the Colorado, we’ll have to get back on the trail. It’ll cost us maybe two days.”
“But we might have spent that much time and more, trying to level that riverbank,” said Les Brown. “Besides, it would have divided the outfit, givin’ them Indians a chance to cut some of us down.”
“I’m considering that,” Webb said, with some irritation. “We’ll stay here tonight, and after a good watering, we’ll drive the herd all the way to the Colorado. We should be able to water them and get them across the river before dark.”
“That’ll be a good move,” said Bob Vines. “I’ll feel some better after we’ve crossed the Colorado. Up to now, we’ve faced only a few Indians here and there, but I can’t shake the idea that somewhere along the way they’ll attack with a force that’ll boggle our minds.”
But the Utes had other plans. An hour before sundown, twenty-five of them reined up their horses a hundred yards west of the camp. An Indian who obviously was the chief rode forward making the peace sign, but the unbelieving eyes of the Texans were on the bedraggled captives who were forced to walk along behind him. There were seven white women, and behind each of them, a knife in his hand, was an Indian brave. The captives were in rags. The oldest didn’t look more than twenty-two or-three, while the youngest two might still have been in their teens. The mounted Indian reined up and began speaking rapidly in Spanish.
“I can’t understand him,” Don Webb said.
“Me neither,” said Felton Juneau. “I know some Spanish, but I can’t figure him out.”
The Indian had become silent and looked angry. The only sound was the sobbing of one of the captives.
“Dominique,” Webb said, “see if you can understand him.”
The Mexican spoke a few words of rapid Spanish, and suddenly the Indian again began to talk. He included gestures toward the captives, and at one point, the oldest of the seven was brought forward. Her yellow hair was matted and dirty, and her tattered dress had been ripped off well above her knees. There was a large purple bruise on her cheek, and her left eye was swollen shut. Upon command from the chief, her Indian escort seized her ragged skirt, raising it well over her head. She wore nothing beneath it. Every Texan in the outfit had a hand on the butt of his Colt, when the spokesman for the Indians again became silent. Facing Webb, Dominique spoke.
“He wishes to trade, señor. He wishes two horses for each of the señoritas.”
“That’s impossible,” said Webb angrily. “We don’t have enough horses, as it is. Tell him we’ll swap him cows.”
“For the love of God,” cried the yellow-haired woman, “save us!”
“We will,” said Webb, “but we can’t do it his way.”
Dominique had told the Indian what Don had said, and the Ute spoke rapidly, angrily, shaking his head.
“He no want cows,” Dominique said. “He no get horses, the señoritas die mañana.”
“No horses,” said Webb.
Dominique repeated Webb’s response and the Indian shouted a command. Immediately the braves forced the weeping captives back the way they had come. Each of the women was thrown belly-down over a horse, and with an Indian mounted behind them, they were taken away.
“By God, them was white women!” Red Bohannon roared. “There’s some killin’ needs to be done, and I aim to do it.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” shouted Charlie English.
There was a chorus of agreement from most of the others. To quiet them and get their attention, Webb drew his Colt and fired in the air. Finally they were quiet, and he spoke.
“In case none of you noticed, that bunch outnumbered us considerable, and there may be six times that many close by. We’ll take those white women away from them, but we can’t light out after them in broad daylight. Now settle down and listen.”
5
Nobody had to remind them their situation was precarious, that they were but few in number and far from home. On the frontier, men found a way to do what needed doing.
“We won’t have much time,” Felton Juneau said. “They know we ain’t of a mind to do any tradin’, and they won’t fool around. They’ll likely come after us in the mornin’ before first light.”
“Not if we make our move tonight,” said Don Webb. “We must find their camp, learn how strong they are, and where they’re holding those captives.”
“Any one of us can do that,” Mike Horton said. “We’re all Texans, and we’ve had to fight Comanches all our lives.”
“Then you’ll be ridin’ with me,” said Webb. “We’ll start just before sundown. The rest of you be settin’ on ready when we return.”
Nothing more was said, and when the time came, Don and Mike saddled their horses and rode out.
“They’re almighty confident,” Mike said. “We could follow their trail in the dark.”
“I don’t doubt they have the numbers,” said Don, “but overconfidence can go against a man. The last thing they’ll expect is for us to attack.”
“I’d feel better if the herd was across the Colorado,” Mike said. “If this bunch is anything like the Indians I’m accustomed to, they won’t take kindly to us snatchin’ captives from under their noses.”
“We’ll have to come up with a plan that’ll buy us some time,” said Don.
They had ridden almost fifteen miles to the southwest before the smell of wood smoke warned them of the nearness of the Ute camp. It was almost dark when, leaving the horses and taking their Henrys, they managed to find enough cover to observe the camp without being seen. It was strung out along the west bank of the Colorado, where a dozen or more cook fires burned down to coals. There were three teepees.
“Thunderation,” Mike said, “there’s more than a hundred of ’em, not countin’ women.”
“The captives must be in one of those three teepees,” said Don, “and we need to know which one.”
But they waited for almost an hour without learning exactly where the captives were.
“We know they’re in one of the teepees,” Don said, softly, “but we might stay here all night without ever learning which one. We’ll just have to raise enough hell to bust into all three of them. It’s time we was gettin’ back to the herd and decidin’ how we aim to do it.”
The rest of the outfit, except for Dominique and Roberto, had their horses saddled.
“Unless you’re thinkin’ otherwise, we figured some of us oughta stay with the herd,” Bob Vines said.
“Good thinking,” said Don. “We’re up against more than a hundred Utes, and there’s no way we can pull this off unless we outsmart them. They’re maybe fifteen miles to the southwest, along the west bank of the Colorado. Three teepees, and since we didn’t see any of the captives, they mu
st be in one of them.”
“Ten-to-one odds,” Jim Roussel said. “That’s better than they had at the Alamo.”
“Unless somebody has a better idea,” said Don, “I think five of us will try and rescue the captives, while the others stampede the horses. The rescue will probably be the most dangerous, so we’ll depend on volunteers. I’ll be the first.”
“I’ll ride with you,” said Charlie English.
“Me too,” Mike Horton said.
“Count me in,” said Red.
“Me,” Felton Juneau said.
“That’s it then,” said Don. “Bob, you’ll be in charge of stampeding the horses. Jim, Les, Arch, and Eli will be riding with you. The horses are strung out along the river, to the north of the Indian camp, and there may be sentries. It’s important that you stampede them all, not allowing any of the Utes to catch a mount, because after this is done, we still have to get the herd across the river and out of Ute territory. That means those horses must be run far enough to keep those Utes afoot for a week or more.”
“Leave it to us,” said Bob, “and you gents had better watch your step, because we’ll stampede the herd right through the Ute camp.”
“Bueno,” Don said. “Are we forgetting anything?”
“Yeah,” said Jim Roussel. “Once you’ve rescued them females, they’ll all be afoot. The horses in our remuda are already bein’ worked to death.”
“He’s right,” Bob said. “Before we run those Indian ponies too fast and too far, we’d better rope seven of them for those women to ride.”
“That’ll make your part of this a little tougher,” said Don, “but I’ll admit that I can’t think of anything better.”
“No matter,” Bob said. “It’s got to be done, and the only choices we have are some of those Indian ponies.”
The cattle were grazing peacefully and would be on their own until the outfit returned. Dominique and Roberto would see to the horse remuda and the pack mules. With Don and Mike in the lead, the Texans mounted and rode out. Don and Mike reined up where they had left the horses before, and the ten of them proceeded on foot. Those who had not seen the Ute camp wanted a firsthand look at what might become a very perilous undertaking. After a few moments of observation, they crept back to their horses.
“Too dark for you to see much,” said Don, “but you could see the three teepees and the grazing horses.”
“Give us enough time to get in position beyond the horse herd,” Bob said. “I reckon you aim for us to stampede the horses before you make your move?”
Don laughed softly. “You know it, amigo. Since they’re on the other side of the river, we’ll all have to cross somewhere to the north of them. The best place is where we aim to cross the herd. When you’ve stampeded their horses from here to yonder, you may have to circle back to there just to get across the Colorado.”
“So will you, to escape with the captives,” said Bob, “but that shouldn’t be a problem, if we stampede the horses south, right through the camp. Let’s ride, gents.”
They were some five miles north of the Ute camp when they crossed the Colorado, and while they were still a mile away from the grazing horses, Bob Vines and his companions dismounted. They crept ahead on foot, each man holding the muzzle of his mount, lest one of the animals nicker and reveal their presence. Three hundred yards behind them, Don and his men advanced in similar fashion, awaiting the start of the stampede. It came suddenly, with shooting and Texas yells. With the river on one flank and the shouting, shooting cowboys behind, it wasn’t difficult to run the frightened horses right through the Indian camp. Foremost in the mind of every Ute was the need to capture one of the horses from the fleeing herd, leaving only the squaws to defend the camp. The five men who hoped to rescue the captive women came galloping on the heels of those who had stampeded the Ute horses. Don, Red, and Charlie were swinging their lariats, and each dropped his loop over the exposed poles at the very top of one of the teepees. In an instant the trio of shelters were snatched away, revealing the female captives. Three had been concealed in the first teepee, and two in each of the others. But they were not alone. There had been two Ute squaws in each of the teepees, and armed with knives, they ran screeching toward the five Texans as they dismounted. Two of them came after Don, and as he slugged one, the other drove a knife into his upper left arm. Quickly he subdued the second with a blow from the muzzle of his Colt. Several of the captive women wrestled with the squaws, fighting for possession of the knives. But other squaws had thrown themselves into the fray, and there was a dozen of them on the ground before the Texans were able to reach the captives.
“Look out,” Red Bohannon shouted. “Some of the varmints got horses.”
Four of the Utes had managed to catch horses from the fleeing herd, and they all came whooping back with lances in their hands and killing on their minds. Quickly the Texans shot them off their horses, and thinking fast, Red and Charlie caught the rope bridles of two of the animals.
“Good,” said Don. “We’ll need them.”
Without a word, Don seized one of the youngest of the women and set her astraddle of the Indian pony. But before the rescue could proceed, the oldest captive—the woman with the tangled yellow hair—sprang to the saddle of Don’s horse and kicked the animal into a gallop. But Charlie English was after her in an instant, catching the horse’s bridle and leading it back. Sobbing and cursing, the frantic woman clawed at Charlie’s face, as he lifted her out of the saddle.
“Wait your turn, ma’am,” Charlie said. “You’re not the only one.”
Each of the two youngest women was placed on one of the captured Indian ponies. The other five captives were each riding with one of the Texans. Don made it a point to choose the yellow-haired woman who had made off with his horse. The seven horses were barely out of the Ute camp when there were frantic shouts from downriver.
“Damn,” Felton said, “Some more of ’em caught horses.”
“We’ll try to outride them,” said Don. “At least as far as the river crossing.”
There was no moon, and the pursuit soon fell away to silence, allowing the Texans to slow their tiring horses to a walk. Reaching the place where they would cross the Colorado River, they reined up to rest the horses. Jim Roussel and Les Brown were leading the two Indian ponies on which the youngest captives rode. Suddenly the woman sharing Don’s horse spoke.
“Will you allow me to change positions? The saddle horn is ruining my behind.”
One of the other women laughed and Don said nothing, as she eased herself around.
“We goin’ to wait on the others?” Red Bohannon asked.
“No,” said Don. “When the horses have rested a little, we’ll go on.”
They crossed the Colorado, taking the long way back to the herd. Drawing near, they reined up, as a voice spoke from the darkness.
“Quien es?”
“Tejanos,” said Don.
They rode on toward a soft glow. Dominique and Roberto had dug a fire pit, allowing them to have a fire without it being seen from a great distance. There was the distinctive fragrance of boiling coffee. The Texans lifted their female companions to the ground and dismounted. Red and Charlie then helped the two youngest women off the captured Indian ponies.
“Thank you ever so much for saving us,” said one of the girls in a trembling voice. “My name is Ellie Andrews.”
“I’m Millie Netties,” the second girl said.
“Hold off on the introductions until the rest of our outfit gets here,” said Don. “Have some coffee.”
Silently Roberto and Dominique filled tin cups with coffee, while the five Texans stood’near their saddled horses, listening. At the first sound of approaching riders, they spread out into the darkness, and Mike Horton issued a challenge.
“Bob Vines and companeros,” a voice said softly.
The five Texans rode in, leading seven captured Indian ponies.
“Where in tarnation you hombres been?” Red demand
ed. “We was about ready to go lookin’ for you.”
“Where do you reckon?” said Eli Mills. “Them damn Indian ponies run like a bunch of wild turkeys. Especially when they been stampeded.”
“You didn’t stampede all of ’em,” Charlie English said. “Some of that bunch caught up horses and come after us.”
“Sorry,” said Bob Vines. “We did the best we could.”
“That was plenty good enough,” Don Webb said. “Were any of you hurt?”
“One of the squaws nicked me with a knife,” said Don.
“I fix,” Roberto said. “Where?”
“Left arm,” said Don.
Dominique built up the fire and the coffee pot was replaced with another pot filled with water. Roberto came with the medicine chest as Don removed his shirt.
“What about tonight’s watch?” Bob asked. “You want us all in the saddle?”
“No,” said Don. “We’ll go with the usual watch, but when you sleep, don’t shuck anything but your hats. It should take those Utes a couple of days to catch their horses, but we can’t take any chances. They’ve lost face, and I don’t expect them to take that without a fight.”
“Before we begin the first watch,” Bob said, “we ought to introduce ourselves to these ladies and learn something about them.”
“Names only, for tonight,” said Don. “Everything else can wait until we get the herd across the Colorado. Ladies, why don’t you tell us your names? Then I’ll introduce us, and we’ll find you some blankets so you can bed down for the night.”
“I’m Rose Delano,” the woman said, who had ridden away on Don’s horse.
“Sarah Miles,” said another of the women.
“Ellie Andrews,” one of the youngest girls said.
“Millie Nettles,” said another of almost the same age.
“I’m Molly Rivers,” the fifth one said.
The Old Spanish Trail Page 8
