Ashford glanced back. Nothing followed them. He had done well to get these men across that much country without being attacked, and it was almost over.
The girls ... for a moment he felt a twinge of guilt ... would bring a nice price below the border. The guilt returned, and he felt himself flushing. What would some of his friends say? Did the end justify the means? He would have guns, he would return with a conquering army and free the South once more. He would drive the hated Blue Bellies back north of the Ohio and keep them there.
He would be a hero, the savior. He might even be elected president of the new Confederacy. If a dozen or so women contributed to the cause it was well worth it, and where else could he get money? Money was what he needed.
Some of his men spoke of raiding ranches, but Ashford was no fool. Cash money had always been in short supply on the Texas frontier, and what had been saved would have been used up in the four years of the War. There would be little or no money.
The British had always been friendly to the South. Once he had an army he could get them to send ships to transport them north. Maybe it would be better to land closer, to come ashore at Charleston or even at Newport News.
He would not need over a thousand men to start, for others would flock to his banner. He would strike so swiftly there would be no chance to gather forces against him. It would be a complete surprise, and by that time the Union Army would have been disbanded.
It was a glorious dream, but one Ashford believed in and was sure he could accomplish.
Only hours remained. They would rendezvous with the ship, obtain arms, rid themselves of the women, and start to gather their strength.
Or maybe they, too, should go aboard the ship, go south to Tampico, and having landed there, build their strength and return from there?
He must try to make a deal with whoever had brought the arms and money. He could go aboard, make a place for his men ... yes, that could be it.
They could sleep on deck, cook their own food if need be. And he would be gone.
If any pursuit came from Refugio or anywhere he would seem to have vanished into the coastal mists. He would erase the tracks, leave nothing for the Travens to find.
Good! That was the way he would do it.
Chapter Eight.
Standing among the willows along the creek Mac Traven watched the wagons move out. The country was too open. There would be no chance to cut off one wagon and get away with it, and their time was running out. Once the women got aboard ship the Travens would have no chance.
Rounding up help was out of the question. In the first place, they knew nobody in this part of Texas, and spring was a worrisome time, when people had to get their crops in. Nor was there time. The Gulf could be little more than ten miles away.
Ten miles! Even in the sand and the swampy land, which seemed to alternate around here, they should make it by sundown, and if the ship was there they would be gone. It was now or never.
Dal and Jack moved up beside him. "Ain't much time," Jack said. "We got to do something."
"We get ourselves killed," Dal said, "and they got no chance at all. That's a mean bunch. They aren't going to run, and nobody's going to scare them. They've been through the mill, and they can shoot. We've been mighty lucky so far."
"We've got to do something!" Jack growled irritably.
"They're holding further west than I expected. Doesn't seem like they're headed for San Antonio Bay."
"Copano," Jack said. "It's a mite of a place on Copano Bay. The Rangers trapped three Mexican ships in there one time. Used to be a pirate hang-out, too. I say they're headed for Copano or some spot along the shore near there."
"What's it like down thataway?"
"Low ground, lots of live oaks and willows. All that country around Copano Creek is wooded. Maybe I should say it was wooded. I ain't been down there since I helped some Irish folk through that country. The way people keep cuttin' down the trees and mucking out the stumps to make farm-land a body never knows what he'll find when he goes back."
"Maybe that's our chance," Mac suggested, "in that brush and live-oak forest?"
"If we was to ride west we'd come up to Salt Creek. She flows right into that country."
"All right. Let's get going!"
What to do? What could they do? Three men against thirty? But it was up to them. Otherwise the girls would be sold as slaves, treated like animals ...
They followed Willow Creek until they were within a mile of the wooded region, when they turned at right angles and rode west and south into the trees.
Happy Jack pointed toward some torn-up ground near a bunch of oaks. "Javelinas," he said. "Wild pigs been rooting up the ground for roots an' such. Quite a passel of them."
They followed a dim path into the woods, weaving their way along. The smell of the sea was with them all the time now, mingled here with the smell of decaying vegetation. There was no sound but the hoof-falls of their horses and the sound of leaves brushing their bodies.
"We better find a place to hole up," Jack suggested. "And if we get those women away we'll need more horses or a wagon."
"No way we'll get a wagon," Dal said. "Jack? You know this country. Where's Refugio from here?"
"West. Maybe a mite north. It'll be the closest town if we're runnin'."
They found what they wanted in a thick stand of live oak near Copano Creek, a small clearing where there had once been a cabin or barn. The building had been pulled down long ago, but the logs lay about, and part of the roof slanted down until it almost touched the ground. It offered enough shelter for two or three people. "Better take a stick and stir around in there," Jack warned. "That's a good place for snakes."
Dragging scattered logs into position they made a crude fort and cleared a space to tie the horses. "Get some sleep," Jack advised. "I got an idea we'll be up most of the night."
Happy Jack did not feel happy. He was stiff and tired. This was the most riding he'd done in some time, and he was beginning to feel it.
Dal was pale and tired, not yet recovered from his wound and the weakness with which it left him.
They each found a place to lie down, and stretching out were soon alseep. Later, Mac opened his eyes to see several whooping cranes fly overhead, flying east toward the Gulf. He lay quiet, listening to the snores of Dal and Jack, and then he got up and taking his Spencer, scouted around their hide-out.
No fresh tracks of men or horses. Bear tracks, but several days old, javelinas, and what could be a cat track, a big one, probably a panther. There was no need to worry about them, for once they caught the smell of man they would stay away.
Glancing back, Mac saw both of his companions were still asleep, so he walked into the forest. He was, he felt, not far from Copano. He had been walking for almost an hour when he glimpsed the water. Emerging from the trees, he looked out upon the Gulf. There was no ship.
A few small boats were farther out, but nothing else.
Keeping to the edge of the trees so his body's outline would merge with them, he walked north, scouting for tracks. He found nothing.
Then he heard it. A distant sound of a wagon rolling, bumping over rocks or branches, occasionally a curse from one of the drivers. Two riders came into view, at least three hundred yards off. One stood in his stirrups and looked all around. Mac remained immobile and was not worried. From their distance they would not see him unless he moved. They were well out in the open now, but to cross Copano Creek they would have to turn inland and find a way where the creek was narrower or where crossing was easier.
From the way the sunlight fell, his glasses did not reflect, and he had a chance to study them well. Colonel Ashford still wore his now-shabby uniform coat with the insignia of his rank. There were other faces he could pick out, including that of Frank from the trouble in Victoria.
What could be done to delay them? How could they help the girls to escape? Would there be a chance while crossing the Copano?
Or should they try sharp-
shooting, picking off one and then another? He disliked the idea of shooting men from ambush, but they had, in a sense, placed themselves beyond fair play when they took women as prisoners to be sold as slaves.
The shore where they apparently intended going was deserted. Parts of it were cut off from view by low sand-hills piled up by storms in ages past. Hurricanes along this coast struck with frightful effect - that much he knew, although he had never seen one. For a time he had served with a Ranger who had lived on the Gulf Coast and told stories of the storms and the damage they created.
There was no sign of that now. The sky was clear and blue, the air very clear.
Now the caravan had stopped. Several riders had closed in around Ashford and were talking. He wished he could read lips. There had been a man in his outfit who had deaf parents, and had become quite adept at it, learning from them.
They were going to turn. They were going to be coming right toward him, although on the far side of the creek. Bit by bit, so as to offer no decisive, clear-cut movement to be seen, he eased back into the trees, then walked several yards back into the forest.
Retracing his steps he found Happy Jack Traven sitting with a cup of coffee in his hands and Dal tugging on his boots. "Better douse the fire," he said, "but gently. We don't want any smoke."
Dal took up the pot and filled his cup. "Are they coming, Mac?"
"A few miles off. They have to ford Copano Creek over yonder." He pointed. "There's nothing on the water but a couple of far-off fishing boats. They'll probably make camp on the beach."
"What about that ford?" Happy Jack asked. "If we're goin' to move, it had better be soon."
Mac mentioned his thought about picking them off. "Takes too long," Dal said. "How many could we get before they hole up or fight back? Two? Three?"
Mac filled his own cup from the pot that would soon have to be dumped.
Happy Jack got to his feet. "I'll get the horses, although from what you say they won't be doin' us much good."
Mac stared into the remains of the raked-out fire. Dal was scattering handsful of dirt over the coals. What chance did they have? He stared bitterly, probing his brain for some thought, some idea, some suggestion.
Those girls now, they had to be scared. And what of Susan's mother, who had to leave her little daughter behind, just hoping her father would arrive in time? What must she be thinking now? Had he come? Suppose he was dead? What would Susan do? What if Indians came first? Had she been wrong? Would it have been better to bring the child along?
Kate ... Kate was strong. She was attractive, damned attractive, but she had inner strength and she had grown up on the frontier, using her head every minute.
Yet they would be in despair. After all, by now they must know what lay before them and that a ship was to meet them here.
They could not know that Dal was alive, or perhaps that they were even close. Still, there must have been some talk around their camp. Frank was not the type to keep his mouth shut, so perhaps they did know their brothers were somewhere near.
If so, they would be hoping, and Mac knew that they could not fail them. After all, they were their only chance. "We aren't going to fail," he said aloud, "not if we have to kill every one of them and sink their ship." Nobody spoke. They felt as he did, but the question was, how?
"When we stampeded the cattle," he said, "that may have given them something to hope on. At least, they knew somebody was around."
"Seen some tracks of wild cattle," Happy Jack remarked. "There's longhorns a-plenty in this brush."
"And about everything else! Everwhere a body looks there's thorns or stickers."
They rinsed their cups at the branch that trickled by under the trees and packed them so they would not rattle.
"Maybe," Dal said, "when they try to ford that creek, we might have a chance."
Mac checked his guns again. His mouth felt dry, and his heart was beating with slow, heavy thumps. What could they do? No matter. Now was the time. They had no choice.
"If we could even get one of them away!" Dal said. "Maybe if Jesse -?"
"We don't know what kind of shape he's in. He may be hurt bad. He may be all tied up."
"Leave it to Kate. She won't be tied up, and believe you me, she's got it all figured out by now. If we only knew what she has in mind."
"We'd better leave the horses, and one of us come back for them. It's not easy getting them closer, and one of them might whinny when they smell their stock."
The thicket was tight with interwoven branches and there were places where only a man might get through; yet as they approached the creek and the Gulf shore the growth thinned a little, so movement became easier.
Several of the riders were already across the creek when they arrived. They were sitting their horses, looking back at the approaching caravan. The teams had been exchanged, and both wagons were now pulled by oxen from among the captured animals. They were slower but better for the heavy pulling that might be expected on the marsh-like banks of the creek and the heavy sand of the beach.
The supply wagon was first, heavily loaded with both food and ammunition, as well as bedding. Gingerly, the oxen came down the marshy bank and into the water. It was belly deep, but the cattle moved steadily forward.
They were mid-stream when Mac threw his rifle to his shoulder and shot the lead ox.
The ox threw up its head, then disappeared under the water. Riders wheeled to face the direction from which the shot had come. Firing from well back in the trees, Mac knocked a man from his horse. Happy Jack got another, and Dal's shot dropped a second ox.
A volley of shots cut through the leaves overhead, but the Travens had already moved back, keeping low to the ground.
One of the riders rode his horse into the water to cut loose the dead oxen. Excited by the smell of blood on the water the horse began to buck and plunge, throwing its rider into the river.
From the bank of the stream Happy Jack could see the girls' wagon, but it was surrounded by several riders, and to shoot at them would endanger the girls.
The Travens faded back, deeper into the brush. At times they had to get down and crawl along game trails, but they worked their way back.
"We stopped 'em, but now what?" Jack asked.
"They'll send skirmishers into the brush," Mac said, "and we're not apt to get that close again until they're out of the brush."
"There's two less to deal with," Jack said, "and they won't have those oxen cut loose and the wagons out of the way in less than an hour."
It allowed them very little time, and they were no closer to freeing the girls now than before.
Mac seated himself on a log and stared into nothingness. What could they do now? What chance did they have?
Jack's face was a picture of discouragement. Removing his hat he stared into the crown. He looked over at Dal, leaning against a tree.
"Maybe in the sand-hills," Dal said finally. "At least we have an idea where they are going."
Mac got to his feet. "If only that ship doesn't get here. We need time! Time!"
"And that's the one thing we haven't got," Jack said bitterly.
"Tonight," Mac said, "we've got to do something tonight."
Chapter Nine.
Kate Connery was thinking. Dal was out there. The stories of his death were obviously untrue. Mac was with him, and from a hasty glimpse she had at the stampede she was quite sure the other man was that worthless uncle of Dal's. Well, maybe worthless was too strong a word. Yet what could three men do?
They would need help, and if Jesse could get away he could be helping rather than lying on his back and waiting for whatever might happen.
Gretchen and Dulcie would do what they could, which was not much, and besides, she did not want them to draw the anger of their captors. Whatever she did she would do of her own free will, and she was prepared to take the consequences.
Cordelia Atherton ... she could be depended upon. She was quick, decisive, and unafraid.
"
Cordy." She spoke in a low, conversational tone, but not in a whisper that might draw attention. "We've got to help."
"I've been thinking that."
"They will want to free us, so we must try to foresee what they may do and how we can help."
"There isn't much they can do."
"I know the Travens. They will never stop until we are free or they are dead."
The men were struggling, trying to get the dead ox free from the wagon. The animal was heavy, and it lay under nearly four feet of water, which did not help. The second ox, which was not yet dead, was kicking and threshing around in the water, hampering their efforts.
Colonel Ashford returned, riding up to the bank. With several others he had ridden ahead to scout the trail just before the attack. He sat his horse, watching the men clearing the dead ox from the yoke and trying to drag it free.
"Get both of them out on the bank and butcher them," he said. "We will need the meat."
"We lost two men," somebody said. "Farrow's gone, and so is Johnson."
Ashford swore under his breath. Two good men, and Farrow had been a solid, dependable man, not like some of those who followed him.
"Butler," he said, "take two men and bury them. On the bank somewhere. Keep their guns and catch up their horses. We'll need them."
"What use will horses be on a ship?" Frank asked.
"We aren't on a ship yet," Ashford replied brusquely. By the time they got the two oxen from the water and butchered them, more than two hours had been lost. The air had grown heavy, and it was very hot. In the distance there was a roll of thunder.
Kate rested her elbows on her knees and stared out of the back end of the wagon. Happy Jack Traven! That was the uncle, and he was not really worthless, simply a man who liked trouble or seemed to. Unless she was mistaken, there would be a storm, and a storm offered opportunities. But first she had to think. At all costs they must not be put aboard a ship. Once they were at sea, the Travens would have no chance.
It might have been the idea of the storm, but it was more than likely the ship and Dal's uncle Jack, that made her think of her own uncle.
the Shadow Riders (1982) Page 6
