CRAZY HORSES: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 2)

by David J. West

  An hour later, they were finally down to a rolling, sagebrush covered hillside. It was the only place in the canyon they could have possibly come down as near as Porter could tell. The river’s edge was thick with tamarisk, but Porter still found a sandy shoreline with prints went that right up to the river, there was some milling about and then all six sets of tracks went into the water.

  “They must have had the horses swim across,” said Porter.

  “That risky?” asked Quincy.

  “It’s nothing I would do if I didn’t have to.”

  “But we do have to,” said Roxy, sending her horse into the brown, flowing murk.

  “Everybody keep your eyes peeled, in case they’re waiting to ambush us in those tamarisk as we’re crossing. Roxy! Maybe you ought to let me go first!”

  She didn’t stop but waved for him to follow.

  “Hell! Cover us, Quint!” Porter raced his stallion into the river and was soon right beside Roxy. He half expected a shower of lead to come calling but it didn’t. There was nothing, but the even dull roar of the river.

  Quint and Redbone followed, splashing into the mirk.

  They were swept down a good quarter mile in the effort to cross but had no troubles beyond that.

  But there was another mystery. Once they crossed the Colorado River, the trail went cold as the grave.

  8. The Mission

  “They were right on the other side of the river, where did they go? They couldn’t have landed any farther upriver than we did but I can’t see any tracks!” Roxy shouted in exasperation. She spurred her horse to run farther down the bank.

  “Wait,” cried Porter. But, she was already a hundred yards downstream and still moving at a good clip. “You ain’t gonna find anything!” He shouted.

  “Whatchoo yelling about Port?” asked Quincy, as he came riding out of the river. Redbone followed close behind leading the pack horse.

  “Simple. There’s no tracks, right here where there should be, and Roxy is still running downstream because she hasn’t seen anything either, then the answer is obvious. Matamoros is on a boat.”

  “Aw hell! You think he’s riding the river?”

  Redbone stood ankle deep in the river, looking downstream.

  “I would.” Porter said, as he signaled them to follow him. They rode upriver a few hundred yards and on the far side of the tamarisks they found the remains of an old camp. It had seen use for some time, judging by the trash pile and smelly remnants. “They had a flatboat here and looks like at least two more men, who had been left to watch and wait.”

  “Why haven’t we heard anything about this before?”

  “Who would we have asked?”

  “Where are we gonna get a boat?”

  Porter shrugged in the saddle. “Not here. We keep moving on downriver, talk to the folks at the Mission and see if they’ve seen anybody going past. Maybe they’ll even have a ferry we can borrow, cause I sure ain’t gonna risk losing the horses.”

  Redbone flinched when Porter said Mission, but then he returned to his usual somber scowl.

  Quincy shook his head and stretched his arm out, pointing at the mighty Colorado. “That’s a hell of a gamble, Porter. What if they just went a mile downstream and got off again?”

  “Well then we’ll see their tracks, won’t we? ‘Sides, trust me, there ain’t nowhere they’re gonna land on the opposite bank. Cliffs are too high for a good stretch. We’ll find the trail even if it is in the river.”

  Roxy finally turned her mount around and was racing back toward them.

  “Look at that, she’s more fired up than Redbone,” said Quincy, under his breath to Porter. “Gotta admire a woman with so much fire in her belly.”

  Porter grunted in the affirmative.

  Roxy brought her horse to a sudden halt before them. “I don’t see any sign of them. Nothing. What do you think? A ferry?”

  “Had to be,” said Porter. “Now we gotta see about getting our own. Let’s get moving.”

  They rode together in grim silence a couple miles down through a winding canyon upon sandy, rock-strewn banks. One offshoot canyon had grassy fields and cattle grazed lazily in the cool afternoon.

  Redbone seemed surprised to see the cattle. None of this was lost on Porter, but he didn’t say anything. They rounded the bend to a wide valley. Not too far distant they saw the stone blocks of the Elk Mountain mission. It looked like a fortress.

  “There she is. I haven’t been here in quite a spell,” said Porter.

  “Wait, my brother. I need to tell you,” said Redbone.

  “What is it?”

  “We chased out the settlers here.”

  “When?” asked Porter, none too surprised at Redbone’s revelation considering his curious behavior since the river crossing.

  “One moon ago. There were disagreements between my people and those at the fort. There was shooting and some were killed.”

  “How many?” Porter asked, frowning.

  Redbone shook his head. “I don’t know. Your people left, abandoning the fort and some cattle. I thought there would be no more.”

  “Maybe they came back?” suggested Quincy.

  Redbone shrugged. “They told us they would not return.” But smoke rose from the chimney of the fort.

  “Somebody’s in there,” said Porter.

  “You think it could be Matamoros?” asked Roxy.

  Porter shook his head. “I wouldn’t think he would stop so close to Ute territory. He’s gotta know there will be repercussions for what he did. Unlessen he thought all of your clan was wiped out and he could rest a day or two?”

  Redbone’s face darkened, “He killed many of my clan.”

  “Uh huh,” Porter grunted angrily. “And how many of mine did you butcher in these parts?”

  Roxy put her hand on Port’s shoulder, “Please. This won’t help.”

  “I just want a straight answer, Blood Brother. Especially since I’m putting my own neck and these other folks on the line for you. You owe me that much.”

  Redbone shook his head. “I took cattle for my people. We took squash. When arguments came, I was not here. I know both my people and yours killed each other, until yours chose to leave. We had a great feast in celebration. This land was ours alone again.” He paused a long moment then said, “My uncle, Chief St. John, felt guilty for the feuding and he returned many cattle to yours as they were departing across the river. That is why I didn’t think to see cattle here.”

  Porter grimaced, but said, “All right. But I’ve got to have your word that you and yours will leave my people alone unless you’re defending your own lives.”

  “You ask a hard thing.”

  “You bet I do, but I can’t be turning a blind eye to your running off settlers.”

  Redbone’s gaze was hard as stone once again.

  “Your word.” Porter demanded, extending his hand.

  Redbone stared at the calloused hand a long moment. Then took it in a firm shake.

  “I still aim to get your daughter back, and settle with Matamoros once and for all. I can’t imagine he would have had any cattle, even if he had some men in reserve upriver.”

  “But?” asked Quincy.

  “We can’t take any chances. We go in ready for bear.” Porter checked his guns were fully loaded, including a shot gun. “We leave the horses here with Roxy, and the three of us creep up on the fort.”

  “Hey, I can shoot.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want you getting shot. And its best to have some back up. That’s you. With the horses,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

  The men snaked their way over some short dunes, always keeping their eyes on the fort. One advantage, as Port saw it, was that even in broad daylight there were no windows so no one could be looking out and just see them. They kept their eyes trained for any movement, any sign of a watchman upon the walls. Nothing.

  Smoke still trailed out of a chimney, denoting a cookfire. A few chickens and a few
more cattle milled about nearby. There was no longer a garden of any kind as Redbone had said, the Utes had taken everything edible that grew.

  They slowly traced their way around to the front of the fort. Its walls were twelve feet high, and it was at least five times that long. Still no sign of life alerted them as to who could be inside. The big thick doors hung open. There were a few bullet holes in the doors and traces of sand bleeding from those wounds.

  Circling around front, a few short aspen trees caught the wind and fluttered, their bright green leaves shaking back and forth. They paused, scanning in every direction for any sign of life. The smell of an apple pie baking drifted out of the open fort doors to them.

  “What if it’s a trap?” asked Quincy.

  “Then it’s a damn good one. I’ll go first,” said Porter, as he sprinted toward the wall. He put his back to it and glanced back the way he had come and beyond. Scrutinizing in case there were enemies farther out beyond the rocky slopes.

  Quincy shook his head and watched up toward the top of the wall. He expected shots to ring out, but all was still save the sound of the leaves being tossed by the wind. That apple pie sure did smell good.

  He took a deep breath and ran at the wall beside Porter, expecting a sniper would shoot him once he saw there were more men coming. But, silence met his ears.

  Redbone made the sprint next, faster than both civilized men. His rifle was ready, but there was no sign of anything amiss.

  Still watching every conceivable direction, they slowly made their way through breach. Porter was first, then Quincy and finally Redbone, watching behind them as they moved like one body inside.

  They heard whistling and a young blonde woman came through the doors on the side of the fort. She had a line stretched for laundry and began hanging clothing to dry.

  Porter recognized her as one of several he had rescued from Matamoros only a week ago.

  He whistled to her.

  She turned in shock and fear then in grateful surprise. “Mr. Rockwell! Am I glad to see you! I never got to thank you enough.”

  “Ma’am,” Porter said, tipping his hat. He had no idea what her name was. “Looks like you and yours made it here all right then?”

  “Well, it wasn’t without difficulty, but we made it here a few days ago.”

  “Anybody else here? I only just heard the Mission got abandoned.”

  “Was abandoned,” corrected a man from a side door. He was a big black man, wearing buckskins and a bent ten-gallon hat. He had a long Sharps rifle leaning on the doorframe at his side, but he was holding a plate with a slice of pie. “You must be Orrin Porter Rockwell, heard a lot about you just lately. I’m Bill Granstaff. Some folks call me Negro Bill and some others call me Nigger Bill.”

  “Do they now?” asked Quincy, with a smirk.

  “Some,” said Bill, with a laugh. “Some say a whole lot worse.”

  “Ahem,” came another male voice from behind him. This was a very tall man wearing a beaver hat. He had a scruffy face and a bushy, black mustache.

  “And that’s Frenchie. We both settled in here a couple weeks ago. Seemed a shame to not use it, since the place was abandoned.”

  “Oui,” said Frenchie.

  “Then these sweet little ladies happened by, said you told them to come here?” Bill gestured with his fork. Then took another bite of pie.

  “I did. Course at the time I was hip-deep in trouble with the slaver, Matamoros, and some other pukes.”

  Bill squinted, like he thought he had caught Porter in a lie, but nodded saying, “I suppose I understand. Just the three of you?”

  Porter shook his head. “No, a friend has our horses. We weren’t sure what to expect since my friend, Redbone here, said the settlers were chased out recently.”

  “The Chief Redbone?” Bill laughed. “Didn’t he help chase ‘em off?” Porter frowned but didn’t say anything and Bill continued anyway. “My, you do have an interesting collection of friends, yes sir,” Bill extended a hand toward Quincy. “And who are you?”

  They shook hands. “I’m Quincy Cuthbert Jackson. I was with the—,”

  “Save it,” said Bill, breaking the shake. “We’re all just doing the best we can out here, titles don’t mean a thing.”

  Porter could see that burned Quincy, he was awful proud of serving with distinction in the Union Army, the Buffalo soldiers and just lately helping take down the Cotterell Gang and the Thorn/Mort outfit, even if he couldn’t brag about that last part.

  “Who else you got out there?” asked Bill.

  “Roxy Lejeune. Redbone, why don’t you have her come on in with the horses?” said Porter. Redbone vanished.

  “A woman? You do have an interesting posse, now don’t you?”

  “Posse?” asked Porter.

  “And what makes everything so ‘interesting’?” asked Quincy.

  Porter put a hand on Quincy, since he knew he was getting riled. “This ain’t an official posse sure, but we are after someone.”

  “Matamoros?” asked Bill.

  “That’s right. Speaking of which, you seen him come by here lately?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did. That guy is a jackass. He rounded the bend in the river earlier today. Him and a couple of his Mexicans, hollered at us from their flat boat and even took a couple of pot-shots at us. He had a few Apache with him too. We returned the same, but nothing come if it. They kept floating downriver. Me and Frenchie even followed ‘em down a spell just to be sure they didn’t land and double back on us. But they didn’t, they just a kept on a keeping on.”

  “How early today?”

  “Midday. But, I sure don’t think they stopped. They seemed in an awful hurry. That’s on account of you all on their heels I take it.”

  “That’d be the size of it,” said Porter.

  “Well, why don’t you get something to eat? Then I suppose you can move on after them in the morning,” offered Bill.

  “Much obliged. You got a ferry maybe we could borrow?”

  Bill’s face went from friendly to irritated in a flash. “Borrow? Let’s just call a spade a spade, huh? Nobody is bringing no ferry back up that river, no how, no sir.”

  “Fine. You got a ferry to sell?”

  “I’ve got one, but I ain’t about to sell it. I need it when I ferry my cows across the river for their grazing. I can’t get enough grass on this side. I take ‘em over there and then back here every few days so there is time for each small patch to grow back. But uh-uh, I ain’t selling.”

  “Easy brother,” said Quincy. “It’s important that we bring those men to justice.”

  “Who are you again? Just some lapdog, Uncle Tom? They deputize you and you think you’re something special now?”

  “Hey!”

  “That’s what I thought, just another Uncle Tom doing the work of the white man. Well, not out here you ain’t. We got to look after ourselves out here, Tom.”

  Quincy cocked his head in a grin, and suddenly lashed out at Bill. The two exchanged hard blows as Porter and Frenchie moved to separate them.

  Frenchie muttered, “Non, non, mon ami.”

  They got the two men to back away from each other, even if they were still staring daggers and breathing heavy.

  “This ain’t gonna help anyone,” said Porter.

  “Oui,” agreed Frenchie.

  “Look Bill, you got any other alternative you can offer me? I need to get after Matamoros. He’s kidnapped some children, not unlike what he attempted with,” Porter realized he still didn’t know the blond girl or her mother’s names, “them.”

  The woman smiled at Porter and said, “I’m Mae Taggart. And I wanted to thank you again.”

  Her daughter, who had been hanging laundry, gave the prettiest smile and said, “I’m Emily, these are my sisters Tana, Jean, and Flora.”

  Porter tipped his hat, “Ma’am. Misses.”

  Quincy jerked free of Porter and strode out the fort doors. Roxy, who had just entered with the
horses, saw Quincy seething and promptly followed him.

  “Your man has got a temper,” said Bill.

  “You riled him.”

  “Entendons nous.”

  “We are getting along, Frenchie. I just ain’t agreeing to giving them my ferry so they can do a fool chase after a killer they won’t ever catch, or if they do, he’ll kill them, and I’ll still be out a ferry!”

  Porter grimaced. “I can pay you for the damn ferry.”

  “What good is that gonna do me on my day to day business out here? Huh? I take care of myself, I take care of my cows and thanks to you telling them to come here, now I’m taking care of five white ladies. Hell, if someone less discriminating in his friends than you were to show up, I’d probably get hung for this.”

  Mae looked away and Emily blushed. “We probably ought to be getting moving along. We haven’t meant to cause you any distress, Mr. Granstaff.”

  Bill wiped at his forehead, “I’m sorry for what I said, you ladies are not inconveniencing me. I’m just worried about what other folks might say. I don’t ever want to get chased out of this valley. It’s my home now and forever I hope.”

  “Oh Bill, we really haven’t meant to be a bother.”

  Bill put up his hands like she had the drop on him. “No, no. It’s been my pleasure having some lovely female company around.”

  “Bill,” interrupted Porter. “I can pay you a lot for the ferry, a lot. How about for the next time that you do head on over to some kind of civilization, or Hell, even if you barter with someone else that is just passing through.”

  Bill frowned. “How about we think about it tonight over a bottle of that whiskey you have clinking in those saddle bags?”

  Now it was Porter’s turn to frown. He didn’t want to give up any of his Valley-Tan for what he was afraid could turn into a long journey. But he knew he had to make sacrifices if he was going to expect anybody else too. “I can open one up for tonight and we can talk about more for a trade.”