A man's voice broke in. "Dal?"
Kate shot a glance over to where Jesse Traven lay in the wagon. "Ssh!"
The driver turned his head. "He comin' to? Was that him I heard?"
"He's delirious," Kate said, "talkin" in his sleep. He thinks he's back up in north Texas."
Leaning over close to Jesse's ear she whispered, "Mac's out there somewhere. Dal maybe with him. They said there were at least two, and the description sounded like Dal." Jesse had been wounded in the raid but tied up and brought along with the women. He was only just now showing signs of returning to full consciousness. For a long time they rocked and rolled across the country, though often it was flat for some distance. Then they went over low hills, if such they could be called.
Kate sat quiet, listening. If only she had a knife! Something to cut Jesse loose! She had to keep her eyes open. She might find something, some broken glass, anything!
She smelled water and foliage. The rider stopped by. "Ain't so deep. I'll ride in ahead of you. She ain't more than belly deep for the horses."
"When we goin' to sleep?" the driver demanded. "I'm t'rd."
"Who ain't? Ashford, he's meetin' somebody down by the water, some gun-runner or whatever. We got to get there, make our deal, get shut of these women, and head back inland and for Mexico."
She glanced at the driver. She could see the butt of his pistol, but it did no good for he had a thong over the hammer, and from watching him she knew it was a tight fit. Anyway, if they did escape, where could they go? This was open country, salt grass meadow as well as she could tell in the dark, and no place to hide.
She dozed off and slept. It was almost dawn when the stopping of the wagon awakened her. The wind had picked up a little, and she could hear it blowing through leaves that rustled.
"Get some rest," somebody was saying. "Ain't got more'n ten mile to go."
She could hear them taking the teams away. She crawled to the back of the wagon, trying to avoid the sleepers, and peered out. It was almost daybreak. She could see some trees and a lot of willows, and hear the soft rustle and gurgle of water.
If she could just get out now, slip away and run for it! Why, it might be full daylight before they knew she was gone. But where could she go? Where was she? And how could she leave the girls? They needed her, although this other woman, the mother who left her daughter behind, seemed steady and not at all afraid.
The woman spoke now, very low. "I'm not gettin' on a ship, no matter what."
"Trust Mac. He'll come."
Kate had to trust him. There was nobody else. To escape now, if it were only herself to think of, would be her best chance. The closer they got to the water the harder it would be.
Jesse was feeling better. They had been making believe he was still unconscious, but even so the men had tied his hands and feet.
Now, at this camp, she had to find something, anything. They were closer to the sea, and she might find a piece of a seashell.
Ashford's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You can all get out of the wagon now, but stay close. I won't be responsible for my men if one of you wanders off alone."
Slowly, Kate got down from the wagon, then helped Gretchen.
"Your brother still alive?" Ashford asked.
"He's not my brother. He's Gretchen's brother."
"You seem to know them well."
"They were neighbors. I knew the family well."
"Traven? Is that the name? Did you know a Major Mac Traven?"
"He was no major when I knew him. He was Sergeant Mac Traven of the Texas Rangers."
"You don't say? I have heard the Rangers were a hard lot."
"They had to be. It was wild country, and they fought Comanches, Kiowas, and outlaws 'most every day."
Ashford was thoughtful. Mac Traven had been a Texas Ranger, and he knew their reputation from the Mexican War and since. One could not take such men lightly. Still, he was alone or with just one man, and what could two men do against his lot? These were not the men he would have chosen; most of them were renegades and guerillas, but they were first-class fighting men and could handle themselves in wild country.
He tried putting himself in Traven's place. What would he do? What could he do?
He would try to get help. There might be former Rangers in the area. Ashford walked away from the wagon and looked into the slowly flowing stream. A small log lay across it almost at water level, and some brush and debris had piled up there, some twigs, branches, an old bottle, and what looked like a fence-post. Yet he was not thinking of that. He was trying to plan what he must do.
Remain here now, leaving only just before dark? Or chance going on to the coast at daylight?
Copano Bay was a completely land-locked harbor, except for the opening into Aransas Bay, which was protected from the waves of the Gulf by St. Joseph's Island. Copano had never amounted to much as a harbor, but some vessels did come there.
One more day and he'd be rid of the women and girls. He thought of that, then hastily turned his thoughts away. After all, he needed arms and he needed money, and people always suffered one way or the other. He had dealt in slaves before this, although the others had always been black. And he had only bought or sold them for his own plantation.
Plantation! He swore under his breath. All gone now, destroyed in the War. His stock had been run off and the house and stables burned. Even the slaves' quarters were gone.
Just wait! He'd have arms again. He could help Maximilian and come out of that with a good bit of money and arms. Perhaps he might even get some actual help from the Prince. Hadn't they owned Louisiana at one time? And didn't La Salle make a sort of claim on Texas?
He might persuade him to help or at least recruit some of the mercenaries who were supporting him. He would need men ... of course, southerners would rally to the Cause. None of them had wished to surrender. Oh, here and there was some malcontent or coward, but most of them had wished to fight on had it not been for Lee.
Surrendering! Handing his sword to that upstart Custer, of all people!
Yet in Mexico, where he would be safe, he could recruit an army and start north, retaking the country as he went. He might even sail to Mobile Bay and strike north from there, following the Tennessee River right into the heart of the South! He would ride back into Richmond a conquering hero.
He walked back to the camp, glancing toward Kate's wagon. Now there was a woman. If he talked to her ... she was bright and very practical. She would see the light soon enough, and after all, what choice could she have?
His tent had been raised, and he walked back into it, pulled off his gloves, and threw his hat on the table. He got out his map case and opened it, spreading the maps on the table.
Copano Bay, Lamar Peninsula ... the mouth of Copano Creek. He was not exactly sure where the town was. He knew of the place only by reputation.
Now, he leaned over the map - right at the mouth of Copano Creek, if. ...
Kate built their own small fire and fixed what food was provided. It was not much.
When they had eaten she went down to the bank of the little stream to wash the dishes. She cleaned them, then straightened up to take the kink out of her back. Looking down stream, she saw the pole that lay across the river and the debris.
She also saw the bottle ...
Chapter Seven.
Morning came with low clouds and only a hint of red in the sky. From the shelter of trees the three riders looked across at Ashford's camp. A sleepy-looking man was rounding up the small herd of cattle, some fifty head.
Through his glasses Mac could see only one or two men moving about. One was harnessing a team. Another was at the fire.
"Walk your horses until we're close," Happy Jack suggested. "See that gully there? We can come up out of there, but don't get carried away with shootin' to scare the cattle an' forget to hold some lead for those fellers."
"You ready?" Dal asked.
They walked their horses through the brush to the dr
aw, then turned along the draw, which would bring them parallel to the camp and the herd. "That white rock?" Mac asked. "There by that lightning-struck cypress? What say we come out right there? Stampede their cows and ride like Hell for that clump yonder?"
Mac drew his bolstered gun. "Careful you don't get stampeded yourself," Jack whispered. "There's a big bird down here. They call it a whooping crane. If you ain't ready for it you can get scared out of your britches!"
Mac touched his lips with his tongue. The fog was lifting. The morning would be bright and sunny. It worried him that the camp was now out of sight and a dozen men might be waiting with rifles. The chances were against it, but a man never knew.
Happy Jack pulled up near the white rock. "I'll go up until I can see over the edge. When I give the word, come a shootin', but not until we see the cattle."
He climbed his horse up the sloping bank and drew up, holding an open palm behind him to keep them back. Then he spoke. "Herd's not more'n fifty yards off. When you top the ridge, give 'em Hell!"
Their horses scrambled through the sand. Suddenly the last of the fog lifted, and the camp lay bright and clear before them. A man had just walked out of a tent and was stretching. The team had reached the wagon, and another man was bent over reaching for the trace chain.
Happy Jack let go with a wild cowboy yell and jumped his horse toward them, firing a shot, but he did not fire into the air, pulling down instead on the man with the cattle.
Charging and yelling, the three raced at the startled cattle, which took one look and broke into a wild run, right through camp.
The stretching man leaped aside as a wild longhorn lunged at him. The man tripped over a camp-chair and fell sprawling. Another man scrambled for a rifle. The man at the trace chain turned, surprised, and in that moment his team, harness and all, was gone!
The sleeping camp exploded into action. Men scrambled for their rifles. Others ran to escape the charging cattle. The teamster rushed after his running team, swearing.
The cattle, thoroughly frightened, stampeded through the camp and headed out across the salt meadow, eyes distended, horns bobbing!
Dal was the first at the grove, turning quickly to fire, keeping his shots away from the wagon.
A moment and it was over. Dust hung in the air; and men were rushing out with rifles while others were putting out the scattered fire. From the grove, they looked back.
"Anybody hurt?" Mac asked.
"That feller with the cows is hurt," Happy Jack said grimly. "Figured there was no use wastin' a bullet, so I fired right into him. Got him in the belly, an' if you ask me he won't be settin' up for breakfast! Not this morning!"
They were a good hundred yards from the camp. "Let's go," Mac suggested. "They'll be firing into this clump of trees, and we're liable to get singed."
Keeping the trees between them and the camp, they rode away, dropping down behind a row of sand dunes, low dunes but offering cover. A dozen of the cattle walked ahead of them, and Happy Jack chuckled. "Take 'em awhile to round up their beef, if they ever do. We shook 'em up some."
"Won't be so lucky again," Dal said. "Now they'll keep a closer watch."
The country before them offered little cover, but there were low places and occasional clumps of trees. Mac glanced back but could see nothing but a few scattered cattle and horses.
They rode on, watching the country with care. It was not until they reached some willows along a creek that they pulled up. "Might's well have some grub ourselves," Happy Jack suggested. "It'll take them most of an hour to get goin'."
They gathered a few twigs and boiled coffee while chewing on beef jerky. "That's a bad outfit," Mac commented, "and we'd best not take them lightly. They'll be hunting us."
"They ain't got too much time," Jack said. "They've got that ship to meet. Least that's what seems likely."
Their fire left no smoke in the sky, and their cover, while light, was sufficient. They squatted on their heels drinking coffee and watching the country around. Dal's muscles were stiff, and he moved with care because of his wound. Although he was almost well now, he had to be aware of his weakness.
The light fog that had drifted over the salt meadows and marshes before dawn had largely disappeared. The sun was bright, but the three men at the fire were tired. "Dal? You'd better catch yourself some shut-eye while there's a chance."
"Maybe you're right." Dal eased himself back on the grass and was almost instantly asleep.
"He caught a bad one," Mac said. "Lost a lot of blood."
"This here's a bad time to be in a fight," Jack grumbled. "Times are bad, there's no market for beef, and with the armies comin' home there'll be three men for every job. If I had two-bits to buy seed I'd go to farmin'."
"Two-bits wouldn't get you very far."
"It would buy a packet o' seeds. It's a start. Mac, I'm worried about those girls. That's a mean outfit. Right now Ashford seems to be in control, but suppose he gets shot or whatever? Those girls wouldn't have a chance."
He removed his hat and wiped the sweat-band. "Mac, you better catch yourself twenty minutes or so. I'll stand watch."
"Well -" Mac stretched out, hat over his eyes, and Happy Jack refilled his cup and scanned the country around. From where they sat their fire was screened by the low place where they had camped and some tall reeds growing in the water, as well as by willows along the creek. Open country was all around them.
Three men against thirty? And two of them had too much conscience.
"Well," Jack muttered, "that never bothered me much, not when there's fightin' to do." A good prairie fire, now, would set them by the ears, but impossible because of the girls. Whatever he thought of must take them into consideration.
"That Kate now," he muttered, "she'd always had a good head on her shoulders. If I could just get inside her head! She's thinkin' right now. She's figurin', but on what? What can she do?"
Not quite five miles away Kate Connery was watching the teamster bringing back the four-horse team from the brush, and she was thinking the same thing. There was little time. The Gulf Coast was right over there. She could smell the sea, and it needed no special awareness to understand that once aboard a ship they would have small chance to escape. What was to be done, if anything, must be done now.
"Dulcie," she said, "pass the word along, and whisper when you do it. Tell them to be ready for anything. I don't know what we will do, but it will have to happen soon."
"The boys are out there," Gretchen said hopefully.
"There are only three of them. At least that's all we saw. What can they do?"
Sitting in the wagon they listened to the angry talk outside. "Was I Ashford," somebody was saying, "I'd waste no time with the women. Nor tryin' to trade for guns. I'd start movin' toward Laredo, and I'd hit ever' ranch in between. I'd steal every head of stock they've got, take their guns and whatever money they have, and drive right on into Mexico.
"Ol' Maximilian would make us a deal for those cows, believe me. An' meanwhile we'd have the women for ourselves."
"Leave it to him. He's smart. He knows what he's doin'."
"Maybe. An' maybe he wants the women for hisself. Maybe he'll sell us out an' take off aboard that ship, or whatever. I don't trust him. I don't trust nobody."
"Maybe you're right, Frank. Maybe not. I don't know about ships, and I can't figure just what Ashford has in mind, but he's got us this far."
"Toward what?" Frank asked. There was no reply.
Kate peered out through a slit in the canvas. Some of the cattle had been gathered and some of the horses brought back, and Ashford came riding up. "All right," he spoke quietly, "we're moving out. I've put scouts out ahead of us, and flankers. We'll get those Traven boys next time they show."
The driver cracked his whip, and the teams leaned into their harness. The wagons moved. Riders, rifles in hand, moved out to the flanks. What could Dal and Mac do against so many? Their progress was slow. There were two wagons, one loaded with food supplie
s and loot, the other carrying the women. But the salt meadows, easy enough for horses, often had areas of deep sand. Coupled with the late start, they had made but four miles by noon.
Ashford rode up alongside the wagon, and Kate thought he was about to speak to her when a rider appeared. "Seen some tracks, Colonel. Three riders, headin' off to the southwest."
"West?" he was puzzled. "Why west?" Were they going for help? He knew nothing about Major Mac Traven, but Dal Traven he knew well, and Dal was a first-class fighting man, a daring rider and an expert with any kind of weapon.
The town of Refugio lay off to the west, and they might have friends there.
For a few minutes Ashford considered that, but finally came to the conclusion that by the time they returned with help - if they had, indeed, gone for help - he would be on the ship and away.
He had been a fool to hurry so. With the times what they were he could have recruited an army. So many men were returning home to ruined plantations, empty houses, and no possible way out of the economic trap created by the War's end.
There were many men in the South who felt as he did, and just as many who were prepared for anything that promised three meals a day and a horse to ride. Ashford was well aware that some of the wilder groups of his men were for raiding all the way to the border and escaping across it with thousands of horses and all else they could steal.
At the moment there was no force in Texas that could resist them. The Rangers had largely been disbanded during the War, and what remained would be insufficient to stop a movement of the kind considered. Moreover, there were a good many Texans who would join with them.
The cotton market was gone for the time being, although once things settled down the British ships would be returning to pick up cotton for the mills of Manchester and other centers. In the meantime there was nothing. There were millions of cattle, of course, and there would soon be a huge market in the East, where most of the beef, even the milk cows, had been killed for food during the War. But how to get that cattle there? The Mississippi lay across their route, a seemingly impassable barrier.
The wagons rolled on, the riders held out on the far flanks. Occasionally when he topped out on one of the low sand-hills he could glimpse the sea, the blue waters of the Gulf. It was not far.
the Shadow Riders (1982) Page 5
