“You were right, Ramon,” said Gil. “The water came to us. Too bad the herd couldn’t understand that.”
“We got one thing in our favor,” said Van. “Thirsty as they were, they won’t run any farther than they have to, gettin’ to water. Even a fool cow’s got sense enough to stop and drink from a puddle.”
“Is so,” said Ramon.
“I wouldn’t bet any money on it,” said Gil in disgust.
“Where’s Rosa?” Van asked.
“Come,” said Ramon. “I find.”
Gil had forgotten all about Rosa. He and Van followed Ramon to a little rise that had some shelving rock midway up the slope. Partly sheltered by the rock, huddled under a square of canvas, was Rosa.
“Good place for her,” said Gil. “Ramon, tell her to stay there the rest of the night. Otherwise, she’ll end up wet and muddy, like the rest of us.”
They spent a perfectly miserable night, not wanting to roll into wet blankets, too uncertain of their location to risk a fire. At first light Van found a standing dead cedar, hacked off some limbs with a Bowie, and started a small fire.
“I won’t balk at jerked beef for breakfast,” he said, “but I’m flat goin’ to have me some strong hot coffee to go with it.”
“That’s a sentiment I can share,” said Gil. “While I make the coffee, why don’t you ride out far enough to catch a horse for Rosa? She can’t stay here alone while we beat the bushes for longhorns and horses.”
Van rode out, taking Juan Padillo and Vicente Gomez with him. They were all restless, knowing the hard task that lay ahead, wanting to get on with it. When Juan, Vicente, and Van returned, they each led two of the runaway horses. And they had some good news.
“When the rain started,” said Van, “it looks like most of the horses dropped out of the stampede, and they won’t be hard to find. But with that, our luck runs out. Them fool cows was runnin’ like they aimed to drink out of the Pacific and was three days late for the appointment. Only varmints in the world that can run through water hock deep, dyin’ of thirst.”
“That’s why we couldn’t head them last night,” said Gil. “They were so crazy for water, they’d have trampled us and our horses if we had been in their way. I expect it’ll take some hard ridin’ to round ’em up, but since they ran west, we shouldn’t have to dodge soldiers.”
Van’s prediction regarding the horses was accurate. Once the rain had begun and there was enough runoff, the horses had stopped to drink. Then, their thirst satisfied, they had begun to graze. But the riders covered half a dozen miles before they began finding longhorns. The farther west they rode, the more mountainous the country became. The slopes were thick with oak, ebony, cedar, and other hardwoods. But they made an alarming discovery. But for the accumulation from last night’s rain, there was little water.
“Norte,” said Ramon, “Chihuahua desierto.”
“I’d expect the desert to be dry,” said Gil, “but this isn’t desert. Even after a good rain—like last night—the sun will suck up the water pronto. If we spend too much time here, we’ll still be stuck with a herd of thirsty cows. That next creek—fifteen miles north of where the stampede started—was mighty low. Right now we’re more than twenty miles from it, and if we take too long, it may be dry by the time we get there.”
Gil trotted his horse alongside Rosa’s, and she had a half smile for him. She was a sight in her dusty, solid black, too-big vaquero clothes, but he had to admit she’d have been a disgrace, riding astraddle clothed only in his old shirt. He noted with approval that she handled her horse well. Her mule riding had taught her something. Reaching a shallow stream—little more than the runoff from a spring—they stopped to rest and water their horses. Suddenly Ramon came up with something that none of them had thought of.
“Soldado caballos. No find.”
It was a sobering thought. While they had located and bunched most of the horse herd, they had not come across one of the horses belonging to Captain Salazar and his men. Van put it into words.
“They lit a shuck for home, wherever that is. I’d bet a double-eagle against a plugged peso they’re on their way to some soldier camp, somewhere between us and the border.”
“Wherever they show up,” said Gil, “if they all pile in together—or within a day or two—somebody may decide to backtrack them.”
“There’s been rain since we planted that bunch of Mex killers,” said Van. “At least they can’t be tracked back to where the shoot-out took place.”
“No,” said Gil, “but if the army, decides to investigate, they’ll come straight to us. Even if they can’t tie us back to their missing amigos, we’ve still got more to explain than we could handle in three lifetimes.”
“Find cow,” said Ramon. “Find cow pronto, vamoose.”
It proved easier said than done. After two days of dawn-to-dusk riding, they had gathered only 2500 of the missing longhorns.
“This purely don’t fit the pattern of a stampede,” said Van. “Half the herd won’t run themselves out, while the rest keep going.”
“No,” said Gil, “we’re overlooking something. We can’t waste any more time chasing our own tails. Mariposa, Estanzio?”
The Indian vaqueros were very much aware of the problem, for thirty of their prized Mendoza horses were still missing. Using Spanish, limited English, signs, and occasional help from Ramon, Gil told them what he wished them to do. It was then almost noon of the third day of their search.
“We’ll wait here,” said Gil, when Mariposa and Estanzio had ridden out. “They’ll ride in an ever-widening circle from the place where we found most of the longhorns. Trouble is, we’ve been goin’ at this as usual, following the path of the stampede until the brutes wear themselves out. If they’ve all run the same distance, then it makes sense that they’ll all be out of wind about the same time. That bein’ the case, they should all eventually be grazing in the same general area. But that hasn’t happened here. Why are we missing half of our herd of longhorns and thirty head of horses?”
“Banditos,” said Ramon. “Border banditos.”
Gil had heard of them. They were the Mexican equivalent of the Texas frontier’s Comancheros. These men—actually outlaws—thought of themselves as “soldiers of fortune,” and were of many nationalities. There were half-breeds, Mexicans, Spaniards, Americans, and God knew who else. They holed up in the wilds of Mexico, and were virtually unmolested. There were several reasons. First, there was hundreds of miles of inadequately patrolled border. Neither Texas or Mexico seemed capable of protecting it all simultaneously. Second, the Comancheros seemed a minor irritation compared to the other difficulties between Tejano and Mejicano. Texas law and order depended on the Texas Rangers—organized in 1835—and Sam Houston’s Republic of Texas volunteers. In Mexico it was the militia, whose effectiveness depended upon who had control of it. So while Tejano and Mejicano fought one another along the border, the Comancheros busied themselves stealing from both sides. Horses and cattle rustled in Mexico were sold to unscrupulous traders across the border. Horses and cattle stolen in Texas were disposed of in Mexico.
“We may be too late,” said Van. “If we’re up against rustlers, they could have a two-day start, on their way to the border.”
“We don’t know that’s who we’re dealing with,” said Gil. “Ramon thinks so, and it fits our situation following the stampede. We’ll wait for Mariposa and Estanzio to report. If we’ve been robbed, we’ll catch up to them.”
“Banditos!” said Rosa. “Matar!”
The hours dragged. The sun was less than two hours high when Mariposa and Estanzio returned. They dismounted, and Estanzio got right to the point.
“Find caballo, find cow,” he said.
“Where?” Gil asked.
“Arroyo,” said Estanzio. “Hombres take.”
“Many?” Gil asked.
Estanzio held up his hands, fingers spread. Then he shrugged his shoulders. They had accounted for ten men, but perhaps t
here were more. He didn’t know.
“Volver?” Gil asked. “Take us there?”
Estanzio nodded, pointing to the westering sun. Darkness wasn’t that far away.
“Plenilunio,” said Gil, pointing to the horizon where the full moon would appear.
Estanzio nodded his understanding, quickly followed by Mariposa. Their dark eyes were bright with anticipation. They had come to appreciate the ways of these Tejanos.
They killed those who needed killing, quickly and without mercy. Nobody understood that better than an Indian. At moonrise they would ride to the outlaw camp and reclaim what was theirs. The men who had taken their horses and cows would die.
14
With Mariposa and Estanzio leading the way, they rode out under a full moon. There was no wind. Nothing disturbed the silence except the sound of their passing and the occasional distant cry of a coyote. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the unseen trail the Indian riders followed led to the northwest. They traveled at a walk, lest some sound betray their coming. In the still of the night, an iron-shod hoof against stone might be heard for half a mile. Insignificant sounds, such as the creak of a saddle, seemed inordinately loud in the night. As he rode, Gil considered their options. He had no definite plan. He knew only that there were at least ten of the outlaws and that they were holed up in a canyon. Such a hideout would have been chosen with an eye for defense, its secondary purpose being that it offered a convenient enclosure for rustled cattle and horses. Gil believed their only safe approach would be at night, even if they must wait until first light to make their move.
Estanzio, in the lead, raised his hand. The Indian vaqueros dismounted, signal enough for the rest of the outfit to do likewise. There was no talk, and none necessary. Somewhere ahead, there was the peaceful murmur of a creek. Estanzio and Mariposa took a few steps forward and paused. Gil and any he should choose to accompany him were to follow. Gil touched Ramon’s arm, then raised his hand in silent command to the rest of the outfit. He and Ramon followed Estanzio and Mariposa. Gil had decisions to make, but first he must know what the situation demanded. Then he would decide if they should make their move tonight or if they should wait until dawn. The creek they followed was an excellent water source, and he was expecting to find the outlaw camp well-fortified. Even before Estanzio raised his hand, Gil had picked up the faint odor of tobacco smoke. There was at least one sentry, and he had given away his presence in the most obvious manner. Gil and Ramon waited, as Mariposa and Estanzio faded into the shadowy darkness beneath the trees that overhung the creek. Stars winked silver against the purple velvet sky, and Gil judged by the big dipper that midnight wasn’t more than an hour away. He suspected the watch would change then. With Mariposa and Estanzio out there in the night, armed with deadly, silent Bowie knives, they might lessen the odds before the gang knew of their presence. Estanzio suddenly appeared, motioning for Gil and Ramon to advance. They climbed through a rail fence and followed Estanzio to the sentry position, a hundred yards into the canyon. Pale moonlight reflected off the barrel of a rifle that leaned against an upthrust of rock upon which the sentry had sat. Estanzio passed the blade of the Bowie under his chin in a simulated slash far more eloquent than words. Then he pointed toward the north end of the canyon.
“Mariposa go,” he said. “Him wait, we come.”
Gil raised his hand, palm out. It was a sign for Estanzio to remain where he was. Gil and Ramon then made their way out of the canyon and returned to where the rest of the outfit waited.
“Two sentries,” Gil told them quietly. “One at each end of the canyon. Estanzio disposed of this one, and Mariposa’s gone after the other. I look for them to change watches at midnight. I aim to have Estanzio and Mariposa waiting for these new sentries. That’ll take four of the gang out of the fight before it begins.”
“It’ll begin,” said Van, “when them first two sentries don’t go back to camp.”
“Maybe,” said Gil, “but there’s a chance the rest of them will be sleeping. You’re right, we could end up settling this in the dark, but to better the odds, I’ll risk it. We’re going to conceal ourselves in the canyon now, as near the camp as we can. Once these relief men leave the camp, Estanzio and Mariposa will take them out of the fight, just as they did the first two. Even if the rest of the gang is wide-awake, we should be able to move in and get the drop before we’re discovered. Juan, you stay with the horses, and Rosa, you stay here with him. Hog-tie her, Juan, if she gets too ornery.”
For Rosa’s benefit, Juan repeated Gil’s instructions in Spanish. Gil led out, the others following single file. Reaching the place where the first sentry had been hidden, they found they didn’t have to go to Mariposa. He had returned, having discovered something Gil needed to know.
“Cabana,” said Mariposa quietly. “Bandito cabana.”
So the outlaws were holed up in a cabin! That changed the picture completely. While they could still ambush the relief sentries, those within the cabin would fight. What of the sentry at the other end of the canyon?
“Centinela?” Gil asked in a whisper.
“Muerto,” said Mariposa.
Two men were out of it, and perhaps they could take two more without endangering themselves. Gil wanted a look at that cabin. He wanted to know where and how it stood in relation to the canyon walls, and whether or not there was more than one way into and out of it. He took Van, Ramon, Estanzio, and Mariposa with him. The canyon seemed full of cattle and horses. They walked more than a mile before they finally saw the gray hulk of the cabin. Gil could see grazing horses and cattle far beyond the cabin, so the canyon probably wasn’t a blind one. The cabin crouched against the east wall of the canyon. Why had it been built at this particular place? Gil thought he knew. Every rat hole had some means of escape. They might surround the cabin, only to have the outlaws appear on the canyon rim with rifles. Many an ambush had been reversed, becoming a death trap for the instigators because they had overlooked or ignored just one important factor. Van was having similar thoughts. The others crept close to hear, when he began to whisper.
“They’re bound to have some way in and out of there, besides that front door. Even if we set the place afire, we could lose ’em.”
“I know,” whispered Gil. “Once we pick off the relief sentries, we need some means of getting the others out of that cabin, where we can get to them.”
“Cougar come,” said Ramon, “banditos come. Save horse, save cow.”
“That’d bring ’em out barefooted and in their long johns,” said Van, “but where’s the cougar? You know of one that’ll trot through here, squall a time or two, and then vamoose?”
“Mariposa,” Ramon chuckled quietly.
“Him speak like cougar,” Estanzio added. “Scare hell from out hombre, horse, cow.”
“Mariposa,” said Gil, “in a little while, you’re goin’ to be a cougar. First, let’s take out these two sentries that’ll be goin’ to take over for the pair that’s been permanently relieved. Mariposa, you and Estanzio are our cuchillo hombres.* The rest of us will stay with the horses. When you’ve taken care of these new sentries, one of you come and get us. Then we’ll all surround the cabin, and Mariposa can sing to these banditos in his best cougar voice.”
Mariposa and Estanzio faded into the night. Gil, Van, and Ramon then returned to the south end of the canyon, joined the rest of their waiting riders, and they all made their way back to the horses. The next move belonged to the Indian vaqueros.
Within the canyon, the door of the outlaw cabin swung open on leather hinges. A pair of shadows emerged, buttoning their shirts and stomping their feet into their boots.
“This is some hell of a bother,” grumbled one of the men, “gettin’ up in the middle of the night, listenin’ to cows an’ bosses chompin’ grass till daylight. All the months we been here, we ain’t seen a soul.”
“Don’t bitch to me, Frenchy,” said a second voice. “This is Quade’s idea, an’ he’s got his reasons. Them two t
housand longhorns an’ that bunch of blooded bosses ain’t mavericks. They’re a big chunk of somebody’s stampeded herd. Quade aims to be damn sure they all been give up fer lost ’fore we move ’em out.”
“Tonio, you’re near ’bout as slow as Quade, sometimes. We could of took the trail two days ago, run these critters over the border, an’ had the gold in our pockets, without nobody bein’ the wiser.”
“Frenchy, that’s why Quade’s the boss an’ you ain’t. Quade reckons the outfit that lost them hosses an’ cows ain’t about to give up that easy. If they come lookin’ fer us here, we’re dug in solid. But what happens if they could of come after us on the open range, with all these hosses an’ cows on our hands? Men on good hosses can cover five times more ground than a trail herd. Them riders would of trailed us, laid an ambush, an’ purely shot the hell out of us. Keep yer yap shut an’ listen to Quade, an’ you’ll live a mite longer. You want the north end er the south end?”
“North,” said Frenchy. “Ain’t got as far to walk.”
“Lazy, no-account bastard,” muttered Tonio under his breath.
The full moon hung low on the horizon; soon it would be gone. The unwary outlaws made their way to opposite ends of the lonely canyon, unafraid of the lengthening shadows about them. They didn’t know, nor would they ever know that two of those elusive shadows were armed with Bowie knives….
The Bandera Trail Page 18
