The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “We’re not going to risk another dry camp tonight,” said Gil. “It’s late enough in the day to just bed the herds down where they are. Startin’ today, I aim to send Mariposa or Estanzio to scout ahead for at least a day’s drive. They’ll find the next water, of course, but they may be able to warn us of what may be ahead. Ramon, what do you think?”

  “Is good,” said Ramon. “Bueno.” Many times, Gil had asked his opinion, and had taken his advice. The Texans had treated him—and all the riders—like men whose knowledge was respected, and not just as hired hands. Ramon spoke rapidly in Spanish to Mariposa and Estanzio, and they nodded their understanding.

  “Estanzio go,” said Ramon. “Mariposa mañana.”

  There was still several hours of daylight, when Estanzio rode out. He could easily cover ten miles—a good day’s drive—and return before dark. Gil was ashamed he hadn’t begun this sensible practice from the first day on the trail. It was far better to bed down the herds near water, even if it meant losing part of a day. Pushing on, risking another dry camp, only invited a stampede such as they’d just experienced. Estanzio returned, reporting that he had found water within the next day’s drive. But he had other news. Disturbing news.

  “Caballos,” he said. “Soldados.” He held up both hands, the fingers spread. Then he dropped one hand. Fifteen mounted soldiers!

  “Ramon,” said Gil, “ask him how he knows they were soldados.”

  Ramon spoke rapidly, and Estanzio knelt down. With his finger he poked four holes in the soft ground, each at the corner of an imaginary square. Then he put the palms of his hands together, steepling his fingers.

  “Tienda,” he said.

  The resourceful Indian had scouted the campsite, finding the small holes where tent pins had been driven into the ground. Who but soldiers—likely the officers—would use tents?

  “Fifteen soldiers!” Van exclaimed. “What are they doing this far south?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gil. “More important, where are they going?”

  Gil turned to Estanzio and pointed north, south, east, and west. The Indian understood, and pointed to the east. The soldiers had ridden away to the east. Gil had one more question. The sun had set beyond the Sierra Madres, and Gil pointed to its afterglow. He raised one, two, and then three fingers. How many suns ago had the soldiers ridden away?

  “Uno,” said Estanzio, raising one finger.

  “We don’t know where they’re going, or why,” said Gil. “Starting tonight, we’ll be more careful. Let’s get supper out of the way, and douse the fire before dark.”

  They night-hawked as usual, in teams of four, but their concern went beyond the predators that might endanger the horses or cattle. They listened for sounds foreign to the night, such as the chink of a shod hoof against a stone, the creak of a saddle, or the jingle of a spur. But nothing disturbed the silence. The outfit had finished breakfast, and they waited for Victoria to lead out with the wagon. Estanzio and Mariposa were with the horse herd. All the riders were in position, except Van and Ramon. Gil had mounted, preparing to ride ahead of the wagon.

  “Senora Mendoza!” said Ramon, pointing.

  Victoria stood behind the wagon, waving her hat.

  “Now what?” Van wondered aloud.

  Then they saw the riders. There were four, and they paused for only a moment at the wagon. Apparently, they spoke to Victoria, and then rode on.

  “Fan out,” said Gil, “and be prepared for anything. I don’t like the look of this. They’re not soldiers, so they’ll have to be outlaws or thieves.”

  The closer they came, the more ominous they appeared. They wore the high-crowned, wide-brimmed hats, but the rest of their garb was far fancier than a working vaquero could afford. Their breeches were skintight, with silver conchos down the outer seam of the leg. Their shirts were white, with ruffles, and their jackets were trimmed with gold braid. Their saddles were silver-mounted, with trapaderos. Each man carried a rifle in his saddle boot. They were all armed with pistols, their rigs low-slung, holsters thonged down just above the knee. They reined up a dozen yards away, and the lead rider spoke in English.

  “I am Francisco Velasco,” he said, “and these are my trusted lieutenants. We are scouts for the milicia, the army of General Santa Anna. May I ask what is the purpose of this caravana, and its destination?”

  “This is the Mendoza outfit,” said Gil, “and these horses and cattle are being driven north for use of the Mexican army.”

  “Por Dios,” said Velasco, “such generosity. There are thousands of cows. Every soldado will have a vaca of his own. And what of the horses?”

  The other three riders chuckled at their leader’s humor. Gil said no more. He thought he knew what was coming.

  “We have need of extra mounts,” said Velasco, with a straight face. “You have many, and since they are for the use of the milicia, I think we will take some of them with us. You may tell General Santa Anna you released them upon my order.”

  “We have no proof you are scouts for Santa Anna.”

  “You have my word,” said Velasco, his good humor vanishing.

  “And you have mine,” said Gil. “Make a move toward those horses, a man of you, and you will die.”

  “It is you who will die,” snarled Velasco. “You have made the big mistake, senor.”

  “You’ll be making a bigger one,” said Gil, “if you don’t ride out of here. Pronto!”

  Velasco wheeled his horse and rode away, his three companions following. They rode past Victoria’s wagon without stopping.

  “They’re no more scouts for Santa Anna than we are,” said Van. “Didn’t seem to bother them that a pair of Tejanos are working for the Mendoza outfit.”

  “Bandiojes,” said Ramon. “Pistoleros.”

  “That’s exactly what they are,” said Gil. “Bandits and gunmen. They knew almighty well we wouldn’t buy their story. They were here to size us up, to take our measure.”

  “Noche,” said Ramon. “Estampida.”

  “That’s it, Ramon,” said Gil. “Maybe not tonight, but some night soon they’ll stampede the horses. Or try to.”

  “With a trail herd this big,” said Van, “they know there has to be at least a dozen of us. We outnumber them three to one.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” said Gil. “These four coyotes are part of the fifteen whose tracks Estanzio found yesterday. Two of the four who just rode out had bedrolls and canvas rolls behind their saddles. That’s the tents that led Estanzio to believe they were soldiers. When they come after us, there’ll be more of them. They’ll bring the whole pack.”

  “Por Dios,” said Ramon. “Veradero.”

  “If they’re comin’ to call,” said Van, “the least we can do is arrange a welcome.”

  “Count on it,” said Gil. “Startin’ tonight, we’re going to be ready for this bunch of coyotes. They’re goin’ to find themselves on the receiving end of a good old Texas ambush.”

  “Is good,” said Ramon. “Bueno.”

  “They won’t come tonight,” said Van. “There’ll be a moon.”

  “Maybe not,” said Gil, “and maybe they’ll count on us thinkin’ that way. So we can’t gamble. We’ll be ready.”

  “Guardia?” Ramon asked.

  “Four night hawks until midnight,” said Gil, “and eight from midnight to dawn. When we sleep, we won’t shuck anything but our hats. See that all horses are saddled and picketed close by, but well away from the horse herd and the cattle. If everything goes to hell and there’s a stampede, let every man have his mount close enough to grab the reins.”

  Victoria’s curiosity got the best of her. She left the wagon where it was and returned on foot.

  “Who were they and what did they want?” she asked.

  “Thieves and killers, claiming to be scouts for Santa Anna,” said Gil. “They wanted horses. These four are part of a band of fifteen. Estanzio found their tracks yesterday. They may try to grab the horses by stampeding the herd.
Don’t picket your wagon teams at night. Hobble them, and keep them well away from the other horses.”

  Her face paled but she said no more. She turned away and returned to the wagon.

  “Move ’em out!” shouted Gil, waving his hat.

  They easily covered the distance to the creek Estanzio had reported the day before. It was the best day they’d had. Ramon sent Mariposa to scout ahead, so they’d know where the next water was.

  “Mariposa estar a la mirade pistoleros,” said Ramon.

  “Bueno, Ramon,” said Gil. “Bueno.”

  It had been a good move, sending Estanzio or Mariposa on a daily scouting mission. Now Ramon was making them more aware of the importance of reporting potential dangers. Such as the whereabouts of the band of thieves Gil expected to return. Mariposa returned, but without sighting the thieves or their trail. He had found water, but they must drive farther to reach it.

  “Ramon,” said Gil, “starting tonight, I want you to pick three riders and take the first watch. The rest of us will take it from midnight to dawn. That’s when I expect trouble, and I want Van and me right on top of it.”

  “Pedro Fagano, Vicente Gomez, and Juan Padillo,” said Ramon.

  It was significant that Ramon had not chosen Mariposa or Estanzio. As Gil had said, if there was trouble, it would most likely come in the dark, silent hours of the morning, when men slept the hardest and perceived the least. It was a time when the Indian skills of Mariposa and Estanzio would be most needed.

  Ramon had nothing to report when they changed watches at midnight. It was a good camp, with plenty of water and graze. The horses and longhorns were silent. Because it was so peaceful, the night seemed to drag on forever. Gil had a breakfast fire going at first light.

  “There’ll be a longer drive ahead of us today,” he said. “Let’s eat and move out.”

  During the day’s drive, they encountered no problems. But before they reached the creek where they would bed down for the night, Estanzio rode out. He would have farther to ride in his search for water. There was a cloud bank to the west. Beyond it, the sun had gone to rest early, leaving the Sierra Madres in shadow. There was a faraway rumble of thunder.

  “Just what we need,” said Van. “A storm, followed by a stampede.”

  “Perhaps mañana,” said Ramon, shaking his head.

  “Storm, or stampede?” Gil asked, with a grin. “Can’t we just have one or the other?”

  The first half of the night was peaceful. There was no moon, and the big dipper showed it to be near two o’clock. Van leaned back in his saddle, one leg hooked around the horn.

  “I realize you’ve never been wrong in your life, big brother, but this is goin’ to be the first time. I don’t believe they’re comin’. I think—”

  He got no farther. There was the patter of hoofs and the nicker of a frightened horse. They kicked their horses into a run, but they were already too late. The galloping horse had passed through the horse herd and was among the longhorns. There was no rider. The running horse trailed a lariat, dragging the hide of a freshly killed cougar. There was the cougar scent and the smell of blood, and it had the effect of touching flame to a keg of powder. If the Devil himself had taken a hand, the timing couldn’t have been more diabolically perfect. The Mendoza horses surged to their feet in a nickering frenzy, just as the horse dragging the cougar hide galloped into the herd of longhorns. They were off and running, just in time for the horse herd to mingle with them. It wasn’t a stampede, but an explosion, something out of a cowboy’s nightmare. There was no pattern, no direction. The herds split seven ways from Sunday, and nothing would stop them till they ran out their fear. Slowly the riders came together in the aftermath of the disaster.

  “My God,” Van groaned, “we won’t live enough years to round up all these brutes.”

  “I don’t aim to hunt for a one of ’em,” said Gil through gritted teeth, “until we round up that bunch of yellow-bellied coyotes responsible for this. And if they’re hidin’ behind Santa Anna, then maybe I’ll end this scrap with Mexico myself!”

  “They won’t get much of a jump on us,” said Van. “They can’t round up horses in the dark.”

  They found the horse that had dragged the cougar hide. The unfortunate animal had been gored and then trampled. Mariposa and Estanzio rode up, followed by Bola and Juan Padillo. Gil’s anger faded, and he became concerned for his riders.

  “Sing out,” he cried, “if you can hear me. Is any man afoot, or hurt?”

  Every man answered when his name was called, and they came together, following the sound of his voice.

  “Everybody roll in your blankets,” said Gil, “and get what sleep you can. Be ready to ride at first light. Bring your lariats, your rifles, and all the shells that you have. The horses and cows will have to wait; we’re goin’ on a coyote hunt.”

  Gil rode to the Mendoza wagon. In the distance he could see the huge gray shapes of the Conestoga horses. Evidently she had taken his advice and had hobbled her teams. When he rode up, she was standing behind the wagon, only the pale oval of her face visible in the shadows.

  “What has happened?” she asked.

  “Stampede. A bad one. We’ll be here awhile.”

  “How long?” she asked.

  “A week, if we’re lucky.”

  He said no more, nor did he wait for further response from her. Wheeling his horse, he rode back to see if there was anything left of their camp. Everything seemed in place. The packhorses were gone, of course, but they wouldn’t be needed, he thought grimly, until that bunch of rustlers had been made to pay. His head on his saddle, unable to sleep, he waited impatiently for first light. Finally he got up, put on his hat, and started a breakfast fire. Van raised his eyebrows.

  “I know it’s still dark,” said Gil, “but the hell with it. If a pilgrim sees this fire and wants trouble, he’s come to the right place. When it’s light enough, I aim to be on the trail of that bunch of thieving bastards.”

  Nobody had slept. They wolfed down bacon, flapjacks and coffee, knowing it might be their only meal until justice was done. Then, with Mariposa and Estanzio reading sign, they rode out.

  “This ain’t goin’ to be easy,” said Van. “The Mendoza herd is shod. How do we follow the tracks of the rustlers’ horses? Which is which?”

  “I’m leaving that to Estanzio and Mariposa,” said Gil. “The way they all scattered, I doubt we’ll find more than two or three running together. I’d say we’ll ride in a widening circle until we cross a trail we can identify.”

  Suddenly, Estanzio and Mariposa reined up and dismounted, kneeling to study a particular track. Gil and Ramon dismounted, joining them. On the outside edge of the print in question, there was a clear impression of a bent nail.

  “Not a Mendoza horse,” said Gil.

  Estanzio shook his head. The Indian riders had personally inspected the hoofs of the horses before leaving the ranch. While a bent nail might cause no harm, it was shoddy work, something neither Indian rider would have tolerated. They now had a hoofprint that could be readily identified among all the others. When they found this one rider, they would find at least some of the others. In good light, the sharp-eyed Indians could read sign at a trot. Occasionally they lost the trail, doubling back to the last identifiable print and taking a new direction. Mariposa reined up and swung out of the saddle to study another hoofprint. This one had a corner of the inside caulk broken off the shoe, leaving a track as distinct as that with the bent nail.

  “This is some important information,” said Gil. “We’re trailing six horses, and two of them are the rustlers’ mounts. That means this bunch has split up, working in twos and threes. We’ll account for as many as we can, before the gang comes together again.”

  “We can just keep our distance,” said Van, “and these two jaybirds will lead us to the others.”

  “Think, brother,” said Gil. “You want to fight the whole gang at once, and maybe get some of us killed?”

&nb
sp; “I reckon not,” said Van, “but it’ll take longer, trackin’ them down two or three at a time.”

  “We’ll take these two,” said Gil, “and then we’ll worry about the others. Remember, we have Mariposa and Estanzio tracking for us, and these horses are like family to them.”

  Mariposa and Estanzio reined up for a moment, keening the wind like a pair of hunting wolves. There was a faint odor of dust in the air; their quarry was near. The Indians kicked their horses into a run, with the rest of the outfit following. They topped a ridge, and near the crest of the next one they saw the two riders they had been trailing. Each man had a pair of Mendoza blacks on lead ropes.

  “Ride ’em down!” shouted Gil. “They’ll have to free the horses, and when they do, some of you grab those lead ropes. The rest of us can grab these coyotes.”

  Their pursuers gaining, the fleeing riders dropped the lead ropes and ran for their lives. Mariposa, Estanzio, Domingo, and Pedro went after the freed Mendoza horses. Gil, Van, Ramon, and Bola were closing in on the rustlers. Gil and Van were in the lead, and shook out their lariats. Gil dropped his loop over one man’s shoulders while Van roped the other. Ramon and Bola caught both horses. They would be needed. Gil and Van dismounted, Colts drawn, as the rustlers got to their feet. Ramon and Bola had returned with the two horses.

  “Ramon, you and Bola take their guns,” said Gil, “and then take some thongs and tie their hands behind their backs.”

  When the men had been securely bound, Gil and Van brought their horses.

  “Mount up!” Gil said to the bound men.

  But they were unable to mount, and had to be helped. There was plenty of scrub oak, head-high pine, and cedar, but they had to search for a tree substantial enough to suit their needs. Each condemned man had a thirteen-knot noose tied under his left ear. Gil looped the free end of one rope around his saddle horn, while Van did likewise with the other. Slowly, the riders progressed across the ridge, and near the foot of it found the tree they were seeking. Mariposa, Estanzio, Domingo, and Pedro had caught up to them, leading the Mendoza horses. Gil threw the loose end of his rope over an oak limb, and Van did the same. They then pulled the loose ends taut and tied them securely to the trunk of the oak. Then Gil spoke to the pair of rustlers.