by Marian Wells
Slowly Amos went back to dig in the heap of garbage. For the first time in months, as Matthew stared at the black back, he prayed. God, I can’t avoid it, can I? I am tired, sick of all this, and it’s just beginning. Is there ever a right way in a mess like this? I wish I knew.
The man stood up beside him. His eyes were gleaming spots in the surrounding darkness. Wearily Matthew said, “Yes?”
“They’s sick. I sure need some quinine.”
“They? What are they doing in Texas?”
“Same as the others.” Matthew stared at him, nearly daring him to say the words. “Following the star.”
He sighed, “Come third watch; I’ll have it.”
“They’s gotta go now.” Without answering Matthew turned away. His lips twisted painfully as he headed for his tent. He visualized the horror on his mother’s face if she were to know where her bottle of quinine was headed.
When he returned to the bushes, Matthew held out the bottle and then drew it back. “Better show me where they are.” Amos hesitated, glancing at the bottle and then at Matthew. It was easy to guess his troubled thoughts, but Matthew waited.
When the dark shadow moved away, Matthew followed. His tired mind still juggled the words the Negro had said. He badly wanted to ask their destination, to warn them how impossible it was to go in wartime.
Down around the embankment, in the moist, spongy ground, there was a cave. Matthew saw the line of bright eyes watching him. “No wonder you need quinine,” he muttered. Crouching down in their midst he said, “You gotta stay away from the river as much as possible. How you going to cross the Mississippi?”
Amos answered, “Won’t until it’s little enough to hop.”
“So you’re going straight north. I’d heard of the route.”
A voice spoke out of the shadows. “You know Duncan?”
“He’s my brother-in-law. What do you know about him?”
“Word gets around. Ain’t none of us who don’t know the names of those to trust.”
Matthew spoke hesitantly, nearly afraid of his words. “It’s a long way, no matter which route you take. Best you head for Minnesota, but that means a hard walk. I can give you names, but with the fighting going on, I don’t know what the situation will be.” He paused, adding, “In wartime, they shoot.” In the silence Matthew addressed the man who seemed to be the leader. “You read?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here’s a paper with names and directions on it.” He turned away, then paused. “Go with God.” As Matthew slipped away into the darkness, he heard the faint shuffling of movement behind him. They will escape, he thought. But I can never escape the horrors of this war—or my part in it.
Chapter 4
“Like fleas on a shaggy dog’s back,” Matthew muttered. From his vantage point astride his horse, it seemed the troops were spread all across Texas.
Since leaving Fort Lancaster, they had been steadily heading northwest. Day after day they rode, crossing the lowlands, green and rich with farms and forest, before moving into the high arid desert.
Matthew watched the brown cloud of dust hanging over their route and shouted to the man beside him, “Nothing like I’ve ever seen before. With all the soil so poor it floats in the air, I doubt it’s worth fighting for.”
The fellow grumbled, “When we get to Fort Bliss, you be sure you tell Baylor that. Well, at least we see the country.”
Matthew settled back into his own thoughts. “Sergeant Thomas,” the mocking voice addressed him. Matthew glanced up at the rider.
“Herm Wadle, did you get a promotion?”
“Naw, but I should. Any fella from Mississippi who can choke down his hardtack buttered with dust deserves being made general without delay.”
“I’ll recommend you for the promotion,” Matthew grinned, adding, “I understand South Carolina could use a few good men right now.”
“What you heard I ain’t?”
Carefully Matthew closed his lips over his slanted view of the war news. He considered the man beside him and said, “Well, I suppose you’ve heard all about Fort Sumter, so that’s old.”
Herm drew his horse even with Matthew. “Bet I heard one you didn’t.” He leaned close. “Secretary of War, Floyd, and Secretary of the Navy, Toucey, did dirty deeds.” He chuckled before he added, “Wonder who’s behind it? Anyways, the gentlemen in question have been robbin’ the North. Toucey stripped ever’ vessel he could get his hands on. Those he didn’t strip have just sailed right outta sight. Then Floyd’s found to be emptying arms and ammunition outta the North. Heard Floyd took ever’ arsenal he could get his hands on, and shipped the goods south.”
Matthew looked at Herm’s deliberately doleful expression and carefully bit his tongue. Recalling his last day in Mississippi made the hair on the back of Matthew’s neck rise in alarm as he remembered the gleam of the knife in the hand of the ruffian in Natchez. “I guess they win some, lose some,” he muttered with a shrug.
Herm rode off. Matthew watched him go and reflected on the wary look in the man’s eyes. So, maybe a friend isn’t a friend, sometimes. And maybe the Confederate Army isn’t comfortable with me.
The troops continued across the state of Texas, mile after dry mile. The time rolled up to June, and Fort Bliss appeared on the horizon, as desert dry as San Antonio had been humid and green.
Here the Rio Grande River cut south through Texas, her course lined with greenery. From a distance even Matthew had to admit the river looked like a heaven-sent oasis. But on his first opportunity to view the river from its bank, Matthew studied its wide expanse of shallow muddy water and muttered, “That water’s not deep enough to wet the hooves of my mare. How do they expect to run a fort off it?”
The soldier standing beside him said, “’Tis nearly July. You should see it in the spring. That’s why the fort isn’t built any closer.”
Within a week of their arrival at Fort Bliss, the rumble of activity escalated into a stream of excitement. Matthew felt the excitement on the day he watched the activity on the parade ground. The news had spread. “Baylor’s leading us into battle. We’re marching north.”
Matthew turned to see Tim, who had brought the news. “How much more north is there in Texas?” Matthew asked.
“Not a speck,” the officer beside Tim said. “You wantin’ to know what’s going on? Baylor’s called out the troops for three this afternoon. Be on the grounds and you’ll hear all about it.” He grinned at Matthew, carefully spit a stream of tobacco juice, and walked away.
That afternoon, with Herm on one side of him and Tim on the other, Matthew listened to Lieutenant Colonel Baylor outline his plans. Pacing the parade grounds with his hands clasped behind him, Baylor said, “We have reached the point of embarking on our principal objective. Our fort lies just south of the border of New Mexico Territory. In the name of the Confederacy, we will march straight north, claiming the federal forts as we go. I do not anticipate any great difficulty. New Mexico is known for its gentle people and divided loyalties. Men, no doubt by now you have surveyed your ranks and realize there are four hundred and fifty of us to take the territory.
“In the eyes of the New Mexicans, we will appear to be four hundred and fifty Goliaths. Now, this is the plan. We will march north and cross the mountains eastward to Fort Craig, which will be our principal target. We plan to occupy it immediately.
“There are several other insignificant forts lying in our path, namely Forts Breckinridge and Buchanan. Also Fort Fillmore. They will probably afford us a battle and we will approach cautiously. Men, prepare your arms. See to it that your mounts and your equipment are in the best condition possible. We will leave at daybreak.” With a sharp salute from his first lieutenant, Baylor nodded and dismissed the troops.
On the first evening of their march, Herm settled back against his saddle and complained, “We got cheated. Them first two forts, Breckinridge and Buchanan, won’t even fight. By the time we get there, even their dust will have
settled.”
“You’re mighty eager to fight,” Tim said as he stirred his mess over the meager fire.
“Could be,” Herm muttered. “Could be the way I’ve been raised. Can’t say the place is worth a fight; might be why they took off.”
Tim slanted a glance at Matthew. “You on picket tonight?”
“No, I drew tomorrow night.”
Tim was silent for a moment. He glanced at Herm and said, “Me too. I understand we’ll be close to Fort Fillmore then. Might be a tricky watch.”
Herm picked up his saddle and strolled away from the fire. With a troubled frown Tim watched him go. “That fellow bothers me. At the most unexpected times I find him underfoot, listening.”
Matthew chuckled, “I don’t think you need worry about Herm. He’s too easygoing to be a talebearer.”
“Might be you trust your fellowman more’n you ought,” Tim said with a troubled glance at Matthew.
The New Mexico nights were warm and dry. That first night on the field, while the men spread their bedrolls on the bare ground, Herm complained, “What about the night critters? I hear these rattlesnakes like company at night.”
“‘Taint no worse than at home, ’cept water moccasins aren’t fond of warm blankets,” came the amused voice from across the fire pit.
During the night Matthew awakened to every movement of the picket’s boots. Staring at the moon until sleep would come again, his imagination supplied pictures to go with tomorrow’s plans. He tried to visualize pointing his rifle at a man, pulling the trigger.
Perspiration broke out on Matthew’s face and he rolled over. Tim was watching him. He spoke softly. “They’re saying we’ll see action tomorrow, for sure.”
“I hope the enemy is inclined to run,” Matthew rumbled quietly, “I’m a pretty good shot with a rifle, and I don’t like putting lead into a fellowman.”
At noon the following day, when they stopped to water the horses and rest, Baylor addressed the group. “Men, we’ll reach Fort Fillmore about the time they’re blowing out the lamps. Here’s my plan. We’ll hold back until nightfall. Let ’em get into that first deep sleep, and then we can make camp.”
Baylor’s prediction was correct. When he called a halt late that afternoon, the setting sun pressed against the backs of the men, while the final rays touched the crude adobe fort on the eastern horizon.
He spoke softly. “We’ll wait here. I’ll call off the names of the men who’ll handle the mounts; there’s water and feed a mile behind us. After dark we’ll move in closer. Then it’s cold grub and sleep for all except the pickets. Meanwhile, Thomas and Daly, take up your watch. Get as close as possible and report back midway through first watch.”
Matthew saluted and picked up his rifle. He headed up the slope with Tim behind him. From their position the land sloped downward, gently running toward the river bottom. Scrub cedar and piñon covered the rocky hills, affording suitable coverage for the troops.
Tim stopped beside him. “Matthew, let’s work our way along that ridge; we should be close enough to spit in the river.”
Matthew nodded and watched Tim load his rifle. They exchanged a glance and turned to move through the trees on the backside of the slope.
There was still light enough to see the details of the fort when Tim and Matthew picked their position and settled in to watch. The air was cooling rapidly and the night sounds became amplified. When they heard a call, Tim stood up and murmured, “Coming from the fort. Sounds to me like it’s a woman. Sure enough—look, Matthew.”
“I can see something that appears to be a bright skirt,” Matthew murmured. Looking at Tim, he said, “Do you suppose there’s families down there?”
Tim poked his arm. “Look at that.” Leaning forward, the two watched the line of tiny figures streaming toward the bright patch. “Young’uns, sure as I live,” Tim murmured.
“Sure is; the men must have their families with them,” Matthew said slowly. “Tim, that’s a real problem. Baylor’s intention is to fire on a fort full of men too sleepy and befuddled to defend themselves.”
He saw the sick expression in Tim’s eyes. “Tim, let’s hope to God that the commander of this post has his wits about him.”
“Guess we’ll know that come nightfall when the pickets are placed. What’ll we do if there’s only a sentinel?”
There was a crunch in the underbrush. Matthew slipped back into cover and waited. Tim saw Colonel Baylor and stood up. “Sir!” Matthew stepped out and saluted.
Baylor demanded, “What’s going on?”
“Not a thing, sir,” Tim murmured. “There’s families down below. We watched their mamas call them in. Seems—”
Hastily Matthew added, “The fort looks harmless. I’d imagine we could ask for surrender right now, without a shot being fired.”
Baylor’s jaw tightened. After a moment of silence, he answered with cold, level words, “We’ll stick to our original plan. Just before daybreak we’ll move in. This is too good to miss.” He turned on his heel and left the hillside.
Slowly Tim said, “Matthew, you make a lousy soldier. Didn’t they tell you that officers don’t like enlisted men telling them how to run the war?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Matthew muttered miserably. “It was those little tykes down there. Tim, it’s bad enough to scare them, but the way Baylor has it figured out, someone’s going to get hurt. It could be their mamas or papas. It could be them.”
Roughly Tim said, “Sit down and eat your cold beans. We’ve a long night ahead.”
The last cow had voiced her complaint and the only sound was from the peepers along the river. Matthew and Tim passed each other on their stealthy lap along the ridge. Tim murmured, “Close enough to pitch a stone in their dooryard.”
“Might be a good idea. Right now seems something is necessary.” Tim kept on his course around the ridge.
When they passed again, Tim said, “Can’t alarm them. It’s against orders. They shoot fellas for such in wartime.”
On the next lap Matthew asked, “Do they shoot fellas for not pulling the trigger when there’s a little child in his sights?”
Later Matthew said, “Not going to be moonlight much longer.”
Tim turned. Roughly he said, “All right, let’s go. Better stack the rifles here. And don’t walk so fast; we have all night, nearly.”
Matthew led the way, muttering, “See if you can spot the sentinel; we can talk to him.”
“No, he’ll shoot at these uniforms. But there he is.” Tim pointed and for a moment they watched the leisurely pacing of the man with the rifle.
When he turned and paced to the far end of the adobe wall, Matthew said, “Now!” Quickly they passed through the open gates and pressed against the wall. A dog approached. He sniffed their boots and wagged his tail. Matthew sighed with relief. Leaning close to Tim, he said, “I’m heading for that cabin. You keep the dog happy.”
Matthew pounded on the door, waited and pounded again. A thick voice answered and the door was pulled open. Quickly Matthew slipped through. “Sir, don’t show a light. I’m wearing a Confederate uniform and it’s imperative to keep quiet.”
There was a muttered oath and the man’s hand fastened around Matthew’s arm. “Take it easy,” Matthew murmured. “I’m with Colonel Baylor’s regiment, up from Fort Bliss. We’ve been watching you since sundown. His plan is to attack at daybreak. Now you know, let me and my buddy get back up the hill. We’ll hold our fire until you’re out in force.”
The shadowy form rumbled, “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”
“I guess you have to trust me. Think of any reason I’d warn you this way?”
In a moment the man released Matthew’s arm. “Guess I’m not premature in thanking you. How’d you get past the sentinel?”
“Walked. He doesn’t know we’re here. My buddy is keeping the dog company.”
The man sighed. “Think you can get out the same way?”
“Yes. That’s necess
ary if we’re to make it back up the hill before the fireworks start.”
The rumble came again. “You’re on your own, buddy. Hope you make it.”
The dog had tired of Tim’s presence. Matthew could see him heading toward the corral. Tim stepped out of the shadows and murmured, “Sentinel’s on the other side. Let’s go.”
The first light of dawn showed the line of gray uniforms. Matthew saw Baylor’s white grin and heard him shout, “Charge!” The horses streamed down the slope.
Halfway to the fort, the adobe walls erupted with gunfire. Matthew and Tim held back and watched Baylor’s forces hesitate, break, and stream toward the river. Dryly Tim said, “Guess we didn’t take Fort Fillmore after all.”
Chapter 5
Amy Gerrett leaned her head against the cold windowpane and tried to see down the road. She was humming a flat, miserable tune as she looked at the humps of rough road and piles of mine tailings that made up Oro City.
In the silent cabin she turned to look at the old clock ticking out in a relentless fashion. “Lost my partner, what’ll I do? Skip to my lou, my darling.” She finished her song with a sigh and added, “Oh, Daniel, hurry home!”
As an added measure, she lifted her face and cried, “Oh, Lord, won’t you please make him hurry home?” Amy’s request ended in a shaky giggle as she got to her feet, adding, “And I said that like there weren’t all those verses about waiting on the Lord.”
Impatience carried her back to the window, but she needed to dab at the tears in her eyes before she could see. Under the dim shouts of the miners, the thump of the stamp mill, and the clunk of empty wagons going down the hill, she heard a crunch in the crushed stone of the path.
Eagerly Amy peered through the scrap of a window. A dark figure was coming up the road toward the cabin. Amy’s heart leaped as she pressed against the window to see clearly. Then with a disappointed gulp, she muttered, “That’s not Daniel coming; it’s the nosy old lady from down the gulch.”
