The Old Spanish Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Slowly Quando relaxed and the standoff was avoided.

  Northwestern Arizona Territory. June 7, 1862.

  “I’ll ride ahead and see how much farther we can follow this river without losing the Old Spanish Trail,” Don said. “Keep your rifles handy and watch the back-trail. We don’t know how soon some of those Paiutes will find their horses.”

  Once the herd was moving, Don rode downriver. The map indicated that the river flowed into the Colorado somewhere to the south. Far from that confluence, however, they must again travel west, if they were to follow the old trail. Don rode what he believed was fifteen miles, as far as the herd could travel in a day, before riding west in the hope of again finding the trail that would lead them to Los Angeles. After riding at least a dozen miles westward, he came upon a stream that was on the map but was unnamed. The map indicated that the old trail followed the stream for a distance into southeastern Nevada. It was enough for the time being, for they were assured of water for two days. Don rested his horse, watered the animal, and then rode eastward until he reached the river the drive was following. He then rode north until he met the herd. He waved his hat, pointing south, a signal that they were to continue. He rode ahead of them, and when he reached the place where they must turn west to return to the trail, he signaled a halt. The riders headed the longhorns, bunching them along the river. After supper, before time for the first watch, Don told them what he had discovered.

  “From here, it’s maybe a dozen miles west, where we’ll pick up the old trail again. As the map seems to indicate, the trail follows an unnamed river a ways into Nevada, where we’ll be crossing its southern tip into California.”

  “We’re not that far from California then,” said Rose.

  “No, we aren’t,” Don agreed, “but it’s a long hard ride from there to Los Angeles, and our map don’t show a stream anywhere between western Nevada and Los Angeles. But it does show the Mojave Desert.”

  “Si,” said Roberto. “Desierto. Malo.”

  “Do you and Dominique know where there’s water in the desert?” Don asked.

  “Si,” said Roberto. “Rio abajo desierto.”

  “River under the desert,” Bob said.

  “Si,” Dominique agreed.

  “You can find it then,” said Don.

  “Si,” Dominique said.

  “Per’ap,” said Roberto.

  Don looked uncertainly from one of the Mexicans to the other. Dominique and Roberto conversed for a moment in rapid Spanish. Finally both of them nodded to Don.

  “You can find it, then,” Don said.

  “Si,” said the pair in a single voice.

  “I hope they know what they’re talking about,” said Sarah.

  “So far, they’ve been more dependable than the map,” Bob said. “If there’s water under ground, there’s likely just a few places where it will surface. Even then, the water may be poisoned with alkalai and undrinkable.”

  “How do you know if it’s poisoned?” Sarah asked.

  “By tasting it,” said Bob. “Trouble is, if the cattle are thirsty, they’ll stampede toward the nearest water, and we won’t be able to hold them.”

  “After bringing them this far, they could drink poisoned water and die,” Sarah said.

  “They could,” said Bob. “Our only hope is that Don, with help from Dominique and Roberto, can guide us to clean water.”

  There was little conversation that night, as they all contemplated the dread desert that lay ahead. Nobody bothered with the map, for it showed no water from southwestern Nevada all the way to Los Angeles.

  “There’ll be time enough to concern ourselves with the crossing of the desert when we get there,” Don said. “Dominique and Roberto seem sure of themselves.”

  There was no disturbance during the night, and none of the outfit was aware that anything was wrong until they arose at first light.

  “Ellie, Millie, and Bonita are gone,” said Rose, her voice trembling.

  “Gone!” Don all but shouted. “They’ve been told not to wander at night.”

  “But they did,” said Rose. “They must have.”

  “The damn Paiutes have them,” Jim Roussel shouted. “Let’s saddle up and go after the varmints.”

  “Nobody’s going anywhere, until we know for sure,” said Don.

  “But they’ve got Ellie,” Roussel groaned.

  “They also have Millie and Bonita,” said Les Brown. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere without me and Arch.”

  “Quiet, damn it,” Don said. “Bob, you and Mike begin circling the camp clockwise. Red, you and Charlie circle from the other direction. Sing out when you find any sign.”

  The rest of the women huddled together, nobody saying anything. Dominique and Roberto had begun breakfast as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “Hell, all of us should be lookin’ for signs,” said Roussel.

  “With all of us trompin’ around, there wouldn’t be any sign,” Don said in disgust.

  Red and Charlie made the discovery.

  “Indians took ’em over yonder near the water,” said Charlie. “Crossed the river with ’em, where they had horses waitin’. Six of the varmints, and they rode north.”

  “We can’t leave the camp unprotected,” Don said. “Five of you will have to stay here, while the rest of us trail those Paiutes and rescue the girls.”

  “I’m goin’,” Roussel bawled. “They took Ellie.”

  “I’m goin’ too,” said Les Brown. “They have Millie.”

  “I got to go,” Arch said. “They got Bonita, and I aim to kill some Paiutes.”

  “Wrong,” said Don. “None of you are going. The last damn thing we need is a bunch of hotheads ready to kill at the drop of a hat. It’s the surest way to have the Indians kill all three of the girls. Bob, Mike, Red, and Charlie, you’ll ride with me. The rest of you keep your rifles handy and your eyes open. If six of them have found their horses, there’s a chance the others have. This could be a trick to draw some of us away, while the rest attack the camp.”

  “Damn you, Don Webb,” Roussel shouted, “you can’t—”

  “I can, and I have,” said Don. “I’m trail boss. Now shut up.”

  He didn’t like it, but he said no more. Les Brown and Arch Danson looked equally grim, but they kept their silence, as Don and his companions saddled their horses and rode across the river.

  “Oh God,” Sarah moaned, “I hope they can rescue the girls alive.”

  “If they don’t,” said Jim Roussel, “I’ll personally wipe out every damn Paiute in this territory.”

  “Like hell,” Les Brown said. “Some of them belong to me.”

  “And me,” said Arch.

  Nothing more was said. They settled down to await some word from their comrades, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

  *The Virgin River, which flows into the Colorado near the Grand Canyon.

  10

  The Paiutes had taken Ellie, Millie, and Bonita silently by seizing the girls, a hand over their mouths, and clubbing them senseless. When the three of them came to, they were far upriver, each belly-down over a horse on which a Paiute rode.

  “Ellie, Millie!” Bonita cried.

  A blow to the back of her head stunned her, and before her companions could answer her desperate cry, they too were struck. When Bonita again regained her senses, she went for the Paiute’s bare leg, sinking her teeth into it. The Indian reacted violently, and threw her head-first from the horse. Her head struck a stone, and before she could move, the Paiute had dismounted. He seized her, threw her belly-down over the horse, and mounted behind her. Seeing her mistreated, Ellie and Millie began screeching and fighting. Suddenly all the Paiutes reined up their horses and dismounted. One of them took each of the girls by her hair, and the three of them were dragged to the ground. Their hands were forced behind their backs and their wrists were bound with rawhide. Their ankles were bound in a similar fashion, and each of them had a wad of dir
ty cloth stuffed in her mouth. They were then flung belly-down over horses, Paiutes mounting behind them. The barking of dogs marked their arrival at the Indian camp. They were dragged off the horses, their gags removed, and then they were thrown into a teepee. The flap was closed behind them.

  “Damn them,” said Bonita. “At least they could have untied us. My arms and legs are asleep.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the least of our problems,” Ellie said. “After what happened to them in the canyon, what will they do to us?”

  “Arch will come after me,” said Bonita. “Don’t you think Jim and Les will be coming after you and Millie?”

  “I suppose they’ll try,” Ellie said, “but Don’s the trail boss. He may not allow them to come after us.”

  “That’s what worries me,” said Millie. “He was always telling us not to be up walking about after dark, and we disobeyed.”

  “We only went to the river for a cool drink,” Ellie said. “How were we to know these damn Indians would be lurking there?”

  “We’d better be thinking about what we can do to help ourselves,” said Bonita. “After we’ve been used by these Indians, I’m afraid our men won’t have us.”

  “Oh God,” Ellie said, “they’ll use us and then kill us.”

  “They may kill me,” said Millie, “but they won’t use me. I’ll give them hell.”

  “So will I,” Bonita vowed. “I’d as soon be dead as to live like a squaw.”

  “I suppose we’ll soon know what they have planned for us,” said Ellie. “They’re getting awful noisy out there.”

  All too soon, one of the Indians entered the teepee. With his knife he slashed the raw-hide bonds binding Bonita’s arms and legs. He forced her to her feet and she fell, for her legs were numb.

  “Esposa,” said the Indian, seizing her again. “Esposa de Mirlo.”

  With one brawny arm about Bonita, he drew aside the teepee flap and stepped outside.

  “Oh God,” Millie said, “I remember one of those words from our time with the Utes. Esposa means ‘wife,’ I think.”

  Bonita was led to a roaring fire, and in the shadows surrounding it, she could see the grim faces of many Indian braves. The Indian who had dragged her out of the teepee took her by the hair, forcing her to stand in front of him, facing the multitude.

  “Mirlo,” said her captor, loudly enough for them all to hear. “Esposa de Mirlo.”

  One of the Indians, whom Bonita believed might be the chief, left the circle, stepping forward. He spoke.

  “Esposa de Mirlo muerto.” Pointing at Bonita, he spoke again. “Esposa de Mirlo.”*

  “Esposa de Mirlo,” the rest of the Indians shouted in a single voice.

  The Paiute—whose name was Blackbird—took that for tribal approval, and throwing Bonita over his shoulder, he disappeared into the darkness.

  Oso Pato—Bear Paw—entered the teepee where Ellie and Millie fearfully awaited their fate. Millie’s bonds were quickly severed and the Paiute forced her to stand, but her feet and legs wouldn’t hold her, and she would have fallen if he hadn’t supported her.

  “Esposa,” said Bear Paw. “Esposa de Oso Pato.”

  “Don’t let him take you, Millie,” Ellie said. “Fight him.”

  “I’ll try,” said Millie, with more courage than she felt.

  Bear Paw led the girl before the assembled Paiutes and the same ritual was performed. He then flung Millie over his shoulder and set out for his teepee.

  Lizard—Lagarto—entered the teepee where only Ellie waited.

  “Esposa,” the Paiute said. “Esposa de Lagarto.”

  He forced Ellie out of the teepee ahead of him, taking her before the tribe. For a third time the assembled Paiutes shouted their approval. Taking Ellie over his shoulder, Lagarto disappeared in the darkness. Mirlo, Oso Pato, and Lagarto had lost their wives because of the bad medicine brought upon them by the white man. Now it was only

  fitting that the whites should pay. Three Paiute braves had taken white squaws. There would be more . . .

  Don, Bob, Mike, Red, and Charlie had no trouble following the trail. It led north, along the river.

  “We know one thing for sure,” Charlie said. “They’re expecting us. They didn’t bother trying to hide their trail.”

  “That’s bad news in more ways than one,” said Red. “By the time we find their camp, they’ll have had the girls long enough to ruin them.”

  “Maybe not,” Don said. “Those women are young, but they’re tough. We took them from the Utes, after they had failed to take them as wives. I don’t look for the Paiutes to be any more successful.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Bob. “Trouble is, the Paiutes could slit their throats before we can figure a way to rescue them.”

  “Indians are inclined to torture captives before killing them,” Don said. “It’s not a very pleasant thought, but it could buy us some time.”

  “We’ll likely need some time,” said Charlie. “We got maybe ten hours of daylight, and I can’t see us making any moves before dark.”

  “It all depends on the situation,” Don said. “If the girls refuse to become squaws, then the Paiutes may not waste any time. We could find ourselves facing a showdown long before dark.”

  It was the small hours of the morning, and pitch dark in the teepee to which Mirlo took Bonita. Sliding her off his shoulder, he dropped her on the bare ground with a force that rattled her teeth. While she couldn’t see him, she felt his groping hands. Doubling her fist, she swung hard, smashing his nose.

  “Ugh,” Mirlo grunted. “Ugh.”

  Bonita came off the ground scratching, clawing and kicking. The Paiute was off balance, and when he tumbled over on his back, Bonita was astraddle of him. It was a near perfect position, and she drove her knee into his groin. Before he doubled up, she drove the knee in a second time. Rolling away from him, Bonita got to her hands and knees and started slapping the sides of the teepee, seeking the closed flap. Not finding it, and desperate, she slammed her bare foot against the base of a lodge pole. It was torn loose, and Bonita took advantage of the small opening. Ramming her head through, she was almost free, when she was seized by rough hands. She kicked and fought, but the two squaws outside were too much for her. A third squaw opened the flap, and Bonita was flung back inside the teepee. Mirlo had recovered somewhat, and she felt his hand on her face. Bonita sank her teeth into one of his fingers. Doubling his other fist, the Paiute slammed it into the side of her head. Bonita was barely conscious, but managed to roll away from him. Feeling stones beneath her—a fire ring—she seized one and swung it with both hands as hard as she could. There was a dull thud as it connected with the Paiute’s head, and there was only his labored breathing. Feeling carefully, Bonita found the teepee’s flap, and she tore through it in such a fury the squaws couldn’t stop her. But a pair of Paiute braves did. Laughing, they dragged the kicking and clawing girl back toward the teepee, only to see Mirlo emerging on hands and knees. He spoke rapidly, angrily, and their laughter ceased. The braves dragged Bonita back toward the fire, the bloodied Mirlo following.

  Oso Pato had an equally hard time with Millie Nettles. The Paiute began shouting so violently at the girl, that several men of the tribe entered the teepee and removed her. Oso Pato approached the fire, his face and bare chest a mass of bloody scratches. His left leg seemed stiff, and he walked with a limp.

  “Cobarde,” someone shouted. “Oso Pato cobarde.”

  The last thing any Indian wished to be called was a coward, and Oso Pato turned on his tormentors in a fury.

  “Gato,” Oso Pato shouted. “Diablo gato.”*

  Under the watchful eyes of the Paiutes, Bonita and Millie were stood side-by-side near the fire. It seemed they were all waiting for something, and it wasn’t long in coming. The screams from Lagarto’s teepee were not screams of terror, but of anger. Finally there was a thrashing about that threatened to collapse the teepee, and eventually Ellie crawled out, unmolested. Finally,
Lagarto emerged, clearly reluctant to face his comrades, some of whom were laughing openly.

  “Esposa de Lagarto?” the chief asked.

  Dejectedly, Lagarto shook his head. Blood oozed from many scratches on his face and chest, and his right thumb was twisted in an unnatural position. Two braves seized Ellie and stood her beside Millie and Bonita.

  “I suppose none of us made it as wives,” Bonita said.

  “No,” said Millie fearfully. “Now they have something else in mind for us.”

  “I’m afraid I know what it is,” Ellie said.

  Three stakes, head-high, had been driven into the ground, a few yards from the fire. The Paiute whom they believed was the chief pointed to the three of them and spoke in a thunderous voice.

  “Torturar.”

  Half a dozen screeching squaws rushed forward, two of them seizing each of the scared women. The three of them were backed up to stakes to which their wrists and ankles were bound with rawhide. With slender branches, all the squaws gathered around them, lashing their backs, arms and legs. They could only close their eyes and take the beating. When it was finally over, it seemed they were ignored. The fire had burned down to coals, and but for three squaws, the Paiutes had disappeared.

  “They don’t intend to burn us at the stake,” Bonita said.

  “Not yet,” said Millie.

  “That comes later,” Ellie said. “They’ve given up on us as squaws.”

  “I’m dying for water,” said Bonita.

  “I made some while they were whipping us,” Millie said.

  “So did I,” said Ellie. “I think that was the purpose of the whipping. They wanted to humiliate us.”

  “Well, I don’t feel humiliated,” Bonita said. “That Paiute tried to take me, and I gave him more than he expected.”

  “I think we all did that,” said Millie, “but a lot of good it’s going to do us, if we die at the hands of these savages.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” Bonita said, “and the longer we stay alive, the better our chance of being rescued.”