The Old Spanish Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Nobody will miss us until dawn,” said Ellie, “and I can’t imagine them sneaking up on this bunch of Paiutes in daylight. They’re camped right out in the open.”

  “I know it seems hopeless,” Millie said, “but I thought it was hopeless when the Utes had us. There was as many or more of them as there is in this bunch.”

  “These men we’re hoping will rescue us are Texans,” said Bonita. “If there’s a way to save us, they’ll think of it.”

  Among those left with the herd, the mood was grim. Jim Roussel, Les Brown, and Arch Danson paced the riverbank, cursing the Paiutes. The four women said little, and when they talked at all, it was among themselves.

  “I have confidence in them,” Sarah said. “When we believed all was lost, they were able to rescue us from the Utes.”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe in them,” said Rose. “There are so many Indians, I fear that nothing can be done until after dark. God knows what will happen to Ellie, Millie, and Bonita by then.”

  Again a barking dog alerted the Texans they were nearing the Indian camp.

  “We’d better shy away from the river,” Don said. “They may be camped alongside it.”

  “There’s a ridge over yonder,” said Bob. “We should be able to see for three or four miles without being seen.”

  They crossed the ridge, riding along the far side until there was sufficient cover for them to approach the crest of it afoot without being seen. From there they were able to see the river, including the portion where the Paiutes were camped.

  “Damn them,” Charlie said, “the girls are tied to stakes. This don’t look good.”

  “In a way, it’s better than I expected,” said Don. “From the looks of things, those Paiutes didn’t waste any time trying to take advantage, and if they had been successful, the girls wouldn’t be tied to stakes. With the bringing in of captives, the Paiutes have likely been up most of the night. They’re getting some rest before continuing their sport.”

  “They know we’ll be coming,” Charlie said, “yet all I see is three squaws.”

  “You’re forgettin’ they have dogs,” said Red. “That pack would be barkin’ their heads off before we could get within hollerin’ distance.”

  “There’s an arroyo over yonder beyond their camp,” Bob said. “If we were to conceal ourselves there, we’d be within rifle range, and we’d have a better view than from here.”

  “We’re going to consider that,” said Don, “but unless it runs well beyond the Paiute camp, we can’t get into it without being seen.”

  “It had better be deep enough to hide the horses,” Mike said. “We get too far from our horses, and that bunch can ride us down, even against our Henrys.”

  “All we can do is try,” said Don. “We’ll ride downriver until we’re out of sight of the camp. Then we’ll ride east and see if we can work our way into that arroyo.”

  But when they left the river, riding east, there was no arroyo where they had hoped it would be.

  “It doesn’t extend down this far,” Bob said. “It may be a dead end.”

  “We can go a little farther north,” said Don. “We’ll have to leave our horses here, and I’m not one to leave them unwatched this close to an Indian camp. The rest of you remain with the horses, and I’ll do some scouting on foot.”

  It was the sensible thing to do, and Don was soon lost in the underbrush. There was a light wind out of the west, and eventually he smelled wood smoke. The Paiute camp was coming alive, and whatever they had in mind for Ellie, Millie, and Bonita might not be long in coming. To Don’s relief, he soon came upon the blind end of the arroyo. It was deep enough to conceal men and horses, but the horses couldn’t be taken into it until it became more shallow. To lessen his chances of being seen or heard, Don made his way down the rim to the canyon floor, where there was an abundance of sand and little else. To his dismay, when the arroyo’s rims became low enough to get the horses into it, the Paiute camp was entirely too close. Don hurried back to his companions.

  “This arroyo doesn’t shallow down soon enough,” Don said. “We’ll have to leave the horses here and take our chances afoot.”

  “Bad news if they discover us,” said Bob, “but what other choice do we have?”

  Nobody said anything, for they all knew the answer. Tying their horses securely, they took their rifles and slid down the rim into the arroyo. They halted where the rim was just high enough for them to stand upright and view the Paiute camp. Some of the squaws had switches, whipping the three bound captives.

  “Damn them,” Mike Horton said. “I’d like to shoot them down, women or not.”

  “I know how you feel,” said Don, “but it’s too soon for us to make our move. They’re suffering now, and they may have to suffer a lot more, before we can set them free.”

  “We’re in big trouble, if they just decide to burn them at the stake,” Charlie said. “All of us would be dead before we could get to them. Even if by some miracle we were able to free them, we’d never make it back to our horses.”

  “We can’t get our horses into this arroyo,” said Bob, “but we can bring them a lot closer. There’s plenty of cover beyond us, to the east.”

  “There’s also a west wind,” Don said. “Bring our horses in line with that Paiute camp, let them smell the Paiute mounts, and you’re just asking for one of ours to nicker. I know we’re risking our necks, but our horses stay where they are.”

  Sudden activity in the Paiute camp captured every man’s attention.

  “They’re goin’ somewhere,” said Mike.

  “Damn right they are,” Charlie said. “They’re ridin’ downriver, and there must be fifty or more.”

  “My God,” said Bob, “they figure we’ve had enough time to split our forces, and now they’re headin’ for our camp.”

  “So are we,” Don said. “Nothing is likely to happen here until they return.”

  They ran along the arroyo until they were well away from the Paiute camp. Then they quickly scaled the rim, mounted their horses and rode south.

  “From which direction do we ride in?” Mike asked.

  “It won’t matter,” said Don. “There’ll be enough of them to surround the camp.”

  “Indios!” Dominique shouted.

  The Mexican wranglers were the first to begin firing at the approaching Paiutes. But the Indians reined up just shy of rifle range, split their forces and began moving left and right, in an ever-widening circle.

  “Tarnation,” said Jim Roussel, “there’s enough of ’em to surround us.”

  “Just what they got in mind,” Felton Juneau said, “and they aim to taunt us into wasting as much ammunition as possible. Don’t shoot until you know they’re in range.”

  “By then, they’ll be close enough to rush us,” said Eli Mills. “Hell, they’ll come at us from ever’ direction. Five of us can’t shoot that fast or that accurate.”

  “Maybe not,” Les Brown said, “but we got to try.”

  “Come on, you bastards!” shouted Arch Danson.

  “Dear God,” Sarah cried. “There are so many of them.”

  “They must have been waiting for Don and the others to ride away,” said Rose.

  There was absolute silence, for Dominique and Roberto had ceased firing, realizing the Paiutes were still out of range.

  To the north, Don and his companions had heard the few shots, and reined up, listening. But the silence seemed more ominous than the gunfire, and they rode on.

  The Paiutes continued to advance, and suddenly with a whoop they came galloping in from four sides. Just as quickly they withdrew, for the defenders poured forth a withering fire. But their respite was short-lived, for the Paiutes attacked again, withdrew, and then attacked a third time. But suddenly, beyond the ranks of the attacking Indians, there came the rattle of gunfire. Horses galloped away riderless, and the remaining Paiutes kicked their mounts into a mad gallop, seeking to escape with their lives.

  “Re
in up,” Don shouted to his companions.

  Nobody spoke. They rode on into camp.

  “Lord Almighty,” said Felton Juneau, “you gents are a welcome sight.”

  “Anybody hurt?” Don asked.

  “No,” said Jim Roussel. “Where’s Ellie, Millie, and Bonita?”

  “Where the hell do you think?” Charlie English demanded angrily. “It wouldn’t have been any help to the girls if we’d set up yonder watching that Paiute camp while half the varmints rode down here, shot all of you full of arrows and took your scalps.”

  Roussel was about to shout an angry response when Don stopped him.

  “The girls are alive,” said Don. “There may be nothing we can do until dark unless the Paiutes force us to make our move. It’s unlikely they’ll hit you again, because they lost pretty heavy. Reload your weapons and be ready for anything. We have to return to our position and do what we can to rescue the girls.”

  Les Brown seemed about to explode with anger, but Rose Delano quieted him. Quickly Don and his companions wheeled their horses and rode away. Avoiding the river, they rode northeast, reaching the close end of the arroyo they had so recently departed. There was a distant wailing in the Paiute camp, testimony to the effectiveness of Henry rifles.

  “Let’s go,” said Don. “God knows what effect this will have on the captives.”

  “Could be bad news,” Red agreed. “Maybe half that bunch that rode south didn’t come back. The others are likely in a killing mood.”

  Leaving the horses, the five of them crept up the arroyo to their former position. The sight that met their eyes wasn’t encouraging. The three captives had been stripped naked and squaws were lined up in two long rows, facing one another.

  “They aim to kill them,” Bob said, “but they’ll have some fun with them first. They’ll have to run the gauntlet.”

  “Them damn squaws has got clubs heavy enough to break an arm or leg, or crush a skull,” said Charlie. “Them three women won’t ever live through that.”

  “They’ll have to,” Don said. “It’s the only chance they have. The way those squaws are lined up, the girls will be running this way. They have to reach this arroyo, and it’ll be up to us to see that they do. We’ll have to see that those Paiutes lose interest in everything except these Henry rifles.”

  “Shoot to kill then,” said Mike.

  “Yes,” Don said. “We have no choice, but we won’t shoot the squaws. While the men won’t take part, they’ll be close enough to watch, and they’ll also be within rifle range. They’re already gathering, and I’m gambling that one holding his horse is the chief or medicine man. He’ll mount the horse for a better view, and when he does, I’ll shoot him off it. That’ll be the signal for the rest of you to cut loose. Make every shot count. After the first couple of volleys, our targets will be coming after us.”

  “We’ll have a chance, as long as we can shoot,” said Red, “but when the girls get here—if they do—we’ll have to run for our horses. That’s all the time the Paiutes will need. They’ll mount up and ride us down.”

  “We’re not going to give them that chance,” Don said. “I want you to bring all of our horses up here, as near the canyon rim as you can, but keeping them under cover. Then come on and join us in time for the shooting.”

  “As you pointed out a bit earlier,” said Bob, “with our horses that close, one of them could nicker, giving us away.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Don said, “but we’re now in a position where it’s well worth the risk. The wind’s died down some. Get goin’, Red. We don’t have much time.”

  Ellie, Millie, and Bonita had watched fearfully as a great number of Paiutes had ridden downriver, for they believed they knew where the Indians were going. But within no more than two hours, less than half the Paiutes had returned, and some of them were wounded. Mirlo, Oso Pato and Lagarto were among those who had not returned, and the others seemed to blame the captives. Squaws threw sticks and stones at the three helpless women bound to stakes.

  “Now they’ll kill us for sure,” Bonita cried.

  “Not for a while,” said Millie. “They have something else in mind.”

  The three cringed when a squaw approached with a long knife. Wordlessly, she cut the rawhide thongs that bound the three captives to the wooden stakes. Two other squaws, each armed with knives, approached the first. Each of them seized one of the girls, and with deft strokes of their knives, they stripped the captives naked. The braves looked on, while the squaws laughed and jeered. Bonita, Ellie, and Millie were allowed to stand there just long enough to regain the feeling in their feet and legs. Then they were prodded to the upper end of the two lines of squaws who had begun gathering. Some of them had only switches or heavy sticks, but a few had clubs or lances. One of the squaws seized each of the naked captives by the hair, halting them. One of the squaws grunted, pointing down the corridor between the lines of those who waited in anticipation.

  “Dear God,” said Bonita, “they’re going to make us walk through there. They’ll beat us to death.”

  “Maybe not,” Millie said. “I’ll be running, not walking, and if I can get my hands on one of those clubs, I’ll crack some heads.”

  “So will I,” said Ellie angrily. “Don’t give up, Bonita.”

  But before the terrified women could be forced through the gauntlet of vindictive squaws, a shot rang out. The Paiute chief toppled from his horse, and for a moment, the Indians were shocked into immobility. Like echoes of the first, other shots rolled like thunder through the stillness, and Paiute braves fell to rise no more.

  “They’ve come for us!” Ellie cried. “Run!”

  Evading the squaws with their clubs and sticks, the women ran frantically toward the distant arroyo. But the braves had taken up their bows and were loosing arrows at the fleeing women. Bonita screamed. One of the deadly barbs had buried itself in her left thigh, and when the leg gave way, she fell. Hearing her cry, Ellie and Millie paused, looking back.

  “Come on!” shouted a voice from the arroyo. “Run!”

  Ellie and Millie ran on, for there was nothing they could do to help Bonita. Fearfully she looked back, as arrows fell all about her. The Paiute braves were coming closer . . .

  *“Wife of Blackbird dead. Wife of Blackbird.”

  *Devil cat.

  11

  Again Ellie and Millie paused, reluctant to leave the wounded Bonita.

  “Come on,” Don shouted.

  “Cover me,” said Mike. “I’ll go get her.”

  Before anybody could object, Horton was over the arroyo rim and running toward the terrified Bonita, a blazing Colt in his hand. He cut down two of the pursuing Paiutes, and as firing from the arroyo grew more intense, the others dropped back.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Bonita cried, when Mike knelt beside her.

  “Hush,” said Mike. “I’ll have to carry you over my shoulder, so I can run with you.”

  He hoisted the girl over his shoulder, and with arrows zipping all around them, made his way back to the arroyo. There were shouts of joy from Ellie and Millie, as Don and Bob took Bonita and brought her into the safety of the arroyo. But it. wouldn’t be safe for long.

  “We have to get out of here,” Charlie said. “They’re mounting up to cut us off.”

  “The rest of you get to your horses,” said Red. “I’ll hold ’em off long enough to give you a start.”

  “No,” Don said. “We’re all in this together, and we’ll live or die together.”

  “Most of them are mounted,” said Charlie, “and they’re splitting up. They’re comin’ at us from north and south, aimin’ to trap us here.”

  “Charlie, you and Red get the horses down here,” Don said. “A few more yards, and this arroyo shallows down enough for them to get in and out. We’re ridin’ right through that Paiute camp to the river.”

  Without question, Red and Charlie obeyed, and even as they led the horses into the arroyo, there was shouting and
the thump of hooves as the Paiutes closed in on them from two directions.

  “Bob, you and me will lead the charge,” said Don. “Bonita, Ellie, and Millie, you’ll be riding double with Mike, Red, and Charlie, and you’ll have to ride behind them so their hands are free to use their Colts.”

  Mike mounted his horse and lifted Bonita up behind him. Red positioned Ellie behind him, while Charlie quickly lifted Millie up in similar fashion. With Bob and Don in the lead, they trotted their horses far enough up the arroyo for the horses to climb out. While the majority of the Paiutes had mounted their horses and were seeking to close the jaws of a trap from north and south, a dozen of them still crept toward the arroyo directly from the Indian camp. They were taken totally by surprise when they found themselves facing five horsemen, each with a Colt in his hand. They scattered, and as the Texans galloped toward the distant river, only the squaws stood in their way.

  “Don’t shoot them,” Don shouted.

  But one of the squaws sprang at Mike’s horse with a knife, and he slugged her with the muzzle of his Colt. The others offered no resistance, and with a pack of dogs yelping madly at their heels, they rode on. Reaching the river, they rode south. The band of mounted Paiutes, who had ridden south hoping to trap them in the arroyo, had changed course and were galloping their horses back toward the river.

  “Rein up and use your rifles!” Don ordered.

  No explanation was necessary, for they all knew they must dispose of this band, before the others rode in from the north and joined the attack. Expecting to find their prey riding for their lives, the Paiutes burst into the open and were confronted by a hail of lead while still too distant to attack with bows and arrows. More than half of them were shot from their horses, dead or wounded, before the others could gallop out of range.

  “Now let’s ride, before the rest of them get here,” said Don.

  The brief pause had allowed their horses to rest, and they continued south at a slow gallop. But there was no pursuit. Their comrades saw them coming from a distance, and there were glad shouts.