The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “If Ramon still has it,” said Angelina. “And if he does not?”

  “We’ve reached a bend in the trail where we can’t see that far ahead,” said Clay. “When I talk to Ramon, we’ll go from there. Black powder, or the lack of it, ain’t our only problem. The trail drive’s two days south, and it’s got to be ready to invade that soldier camp tomorrow night.”

  “Ramon and his riders will not sleep tonight,” said Angelina, “and they must ride all day tomorrow and tomorrow night.”

  “It’s going to be hell on us all,” said Clay, “but there’s no help for it. We dared not take the trail drive any closer until we eliminated those soldiers already with it and those comin’ to look for it.”

  “I cannot forget the words of General Paradez,” said Angelina. “If Santa Anna was cold and cruel, then so much more so is this man. How is such a cruel exchange to help the poor people of Mexico?”

  “I doubt Paradez is goin’ to be around long enough to be a problem,” said Clay. “Bastard that he is, Santa Anna’s still the craftiest one of the bunch. By the time the United States gets around to a war with Mexico, they won’t have to fight General Paradez. When war comes, we’ll be fightin’ that bastard Santa Anna.”*

  They reached the herds two hours before dawn, finding only Manuel Armijo and Domingo Chavez there. As Clay had feared, Ramon and his men had gotten too late a start for the distance they had to travel and then return. They were leading horses both ways, and it was a good two hours into the new day before Ramon and the riders returned.

  “Go mebbe forty mile,” said Ramon. “No more.”

  “That was a good decision, Ramon,” said Clay. “It was all the time you could spare, and it’ll have to do. With this bunch afoot and unarmed, we’ll be dead or in Texas long before they can trouble us.”

  Clay then explained what must be done and the little time they had in which to do it. When he mentioned the black powder, Ramon’s eyes lighted.

  “Is here,” said Ramon. “Is not open.”

  He dug into their supplies and brought it out, wrapped in a slicker. It came from the factory in tin flasks or kegs, fine-grained for pistols, coarser-grained for rifles and heavier pieces. It was highly volatile, and when it let go, there was white smoke, and plenty of it. Clay hefted the keg. There ought to be plenty to suit their purpose. If there was not, the cause was lost.

  September 13, 1843. South of Matamoros, Tamaulipas.

  General Paradez soon transferred his hatred from Clay Duval to his own Sergeant Aguilla. If they ever reached a military outpost, the best Aguilla could expect would be a court-martial. If Paradez had his way, the estupido sergeant would be backed against a wall and shot. Paradez and his men had been left their canteens, and so they had water, but Aguilla’s men had none. They quickly made it plain to Paradez that their canteens had been lost due to the ignorance and negligence of Sergeant Aguilla. All of Aguilla’s men lagged behind, and as soon as they reached decent cover, eight of them deserted. Paradez said nothing, but the black looks he directed at Aguilla said much. Before the miserable day was over, Sergeant Aguilla wished he had deserted with his conscripts.

  Following their corn mush and cold coffee breakfast, Gil decided it was time to tell their ten recently arrived companions of the proposed escape. The men listened in silence.

  “There’s a possibility,” Gil concluded, “that we’ll get hurt when the roof comes down, but there’s no other way.”

  “I’d as soon die in the blast,” said one of the men, “as go back to that hole in Mexico City.”

  “Damn right,” the others agreed.

  “We’ll know when it’s coming,” said Gil, “and we can back up against the outside log walls. That should offer us some protection. Way we’re all separated by bars, the whole roofs got to go for all of us to get out. Once we’re free, there’ll be horses and guns. I look for us to have to shoot our way across the border.”

  “For that privilege,” said one, “I’ll thank God every day for the rest of my life.”

  There was a chorus of amens, and they settled down to wait for the night and the anticipated escape. For some reason they were unable to determine and never discovered, the arrogant Major Gomez Farias came into the guardhouse in the late afternoon. He was accompanied by a soldier who let him in the front door, and his escort waited there with the keys. Apparently Farias wasn’t trusted with them. He stalked down the corridor, ignoring the latest arrivals, pausing before the cell in which Gil, Van, and Long John waited. The three captives ignored him, and Farias left without a word. The soldier with the keys followed, locking the door.

  “What was that all about?” Long John wondered aloud.

  “Who knows?” said Gil. “Maybe he’s wondering if capturing a pair of Tejanos is going, to compensate for losing fourteen soldiers.”

  “If we’re his hole card,” said Van, “that’s all the more reason for us to bust out.”

  Clay and Angelina rode with the longhorns, while Solano joined Estanzio and Mariposa. Upon orders from Clay, they were pushing the horse herd so hard that the longhorns were having trouble keeping the pace. The drag riders had their work cut out for them. The cows, with a shorter stride, constantly fell behind. Clay was there, popping dusty flanks with a doubled lariat.

  “Let’s keep ’em bunched,” he shouted.

  Although the twenty-four mounts taken from the soldiers trailed with the horse herd, the animals wore their saddles. Each saddle had a rifle in the boot, and most of them had a gun rig with holstered pistol thonged to the saddle horn.

  “First water we come to,” Clay had told Ramon, “we’ll let ’em graze and drink an hour or two. As I recollect, we’ll reach a good creek in the early afternoon. We want them to drink long and deep; I doubt they’ll water or graze again until they’re on the other side of the Rio Grande.”

  The sun was still two hours high when they reached the water Clay had in mind. The riders ate their evening meal, allowing the horses and longhorns to water and graze. The cattle didn’t want to take the trail again at sundown, and the riders had to force them along. Some of the flank and drag bunch decided to quit the herd and return to the good water and graze. But the riders headed them. Bawling their objection, they ran to catch up to their less troublesome companions.

  “No like trail in night,” said Ramon.

  “Just this once,” said Clay, “they’ll make an exception, if we have to swat their behinds every step of the way to Matamoros.”

  And that was pretty much what they had to do. By starlight and light of the rising moon, they should have made good time, but the longhorns became ornery. Heavy dew made the grass especially inviting. Once the cattle concluded they weren’t going to bed down for the night, they slowed, trying to feed on the dew-drenched grass. They fell farther and farther behind the horse herd.

  “Damn,” groaned Clay, “Paradez and his soldiers will reach Matamoros afoot ahead of these fool cows.”

  “We have come far,” said Angelina.

  “Not far enough,” said Clay. “We’re still maybe fifteen miles away, and that’s a good day’s drive, even when the herd’s trailin’ decent.”

  “I know you promised midnight,” said Angelina, “but as long as we move in the darkness, we can still take them by surprise. Can’t we?”

  “Yeah,” said Clay, “if it’s still dark when we finally get there. It’s maybe two hours away from midnight; if we can’t make our move by four o’clock, we’re done.”

  “We get there,” said Ramon. “You ride, tell Senor Gil.”

  “Go,” said Angelina. “You promised them you would be there at midnight. Do not destroy their hope. Tell them we are coming. I will remain with the herd.”

  To her surprise, Clay Duval leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then without a word he rode out, heading north. In his saddlebags he carried four equal charges of black powder, each securely bound in half a woolen saddle blanket. Each charge had a woolen “fuse” that would be consumed qui
ckly, but two were much longer. These he would set first, allowing him to get to the second pair, and hopefully they would all let go together. He wished he could go ahead and set the charges, but he dared not. The night air with its heavy dew might foul the powder.

  Clay reached the outpost well before the appointed time, and left his horse at a great enough distance that it wouldn’t attract or be attracted by horses somewhere on the outpost. He paused while he was still far from the cluster of log structures, looking and listening. The only light was a dim glow from the front window of the post commander’s living quarters. While it was unusual for such an outpost to have no sentries, it was in his favor. Let them feel secure; it made them all the more vulnerable. This night their carelessness was going to cost them. He took the same route Solano had taken, going around and well beyond the log building that housed the commanding officer.

  This roundabout approach led him to the guardhouse from the rear, keeping him within its shadow. He then moved around the log structure against the wall, allowing the roof overhang to drop its shadow over him. Even to one standing behind a darkened window of the soldiers’ barracks and looking across the assembly ground, he was virtually invisible. Some of the outside chinking had weathered away, allowing him a foothold between some of the logs. With one foot in place, he used the other to boost himself off the ground, catching one of the bars with his hand. He could hang there as long as he had to, in the shadow of the roof overhang.

  “Clay?” Gil’s cautious voice inquired.

  Before he could respond, a shot, like a clap of thunder, shattered the stillness of the night. The slug struck the wall just inches from Clay’s head, and he dropped to the ground only seconds before a second and third lead slug slammed into the wall beneath the barred window. Still within the shadow of the overhang, Clay moved swiftly back the way he had come. By the time he reached the rear of the guardhouse, there was an excited babble of voices from beyond the assembly ground. The moon had been shrouded by a mass of clouds. A half-grown oak near one rear corner of the guardhouse was strong enough to suit Clay’s purpose. He shimmied up the tree to the guardhouse roof, thankful for the moccasins Solano had provided in Mexico City. Once on the roof, he crept along it until he was near the front of the building. He then crawled to the very peak of the roof, and lying on his belly, hung his head over the ridge. Three men were crossing the assembly ground, one of them carrying a lighted lantern.

  “That old fool Major Farias,” said one of the men, but not loud enough that Farias might hear.

  “Si,” said a companion. “He is an old woman, firing at shadows. I wish there be no track, that the capitán might see him for the borrico that he is.”

  As they drew near the log building, Clay could no longer see them. But he could hear them and their fiendish laughter.

  “Is no track,” said one. “Espectro!”

  That drew others, and Clay could see them in the dim starlight, coming across the assembly ground. One of the late arrivals was Major Farias himself. Clay didn’t know him, but one of the soldiers said his name, and it silenced the others.

  “The linterna, please,” said Farias. “Return to your quarters at once.”

  It wasn’t a request, but a command, and again some of the soldiers came into Clay’s view as they retreated to the assembly ground. Farias had taken their lantern.

  “El capitán comes,” somebody hissed. The post commander had arrived.

  “Por Dios, Major Farias, is this your idea of a joke, firing your weapon in the deep of the night?”

  “It is no joke, Captain Diaz. I saw something—somebody—near this window of the guardhouse.”

  “It is well you have brought the light,” said Diaz. “We will look for tracks.”

  There was a long silence. Captain Diaz broke it.

  “Major Farias, first you see a trail drive that has vanished, taking a third of your command with it. Now you are firing at espectros that leave no tracks.”

  “There was a man!” shouted Farias.

  One of the soldiers who still loitered on the assembly ground laughed.

  “To your quarters!” shouted Diaz. “If you are perdido cameras with so little to do, I will inspect your quarters at dawn. Go and prepare!”

  The Diaz wrath was sufficient, and they departed.

  “Major Farias,” snapped Diaz, “there are no tracks. As post commander, I am ordering you to return to your quarters. Major, if you again fire at some figment of your imagination, I swear by the blessed virgin I will confiscate your weapon!”

  Major Farias, still carrying the lighted lantern, made his way across the assembly ground and passed beyond the soldiers’ barracks. Clay breathed easier. Captain Diaz was going to be disturbed again before the dawn, and the next time he would have a firsthand look at those elusive longhorns that kept haunting Major Farias.

  Inside the guardhouse there was total silence until Long John spoke.

  “Damn it,” he said dejectedly, “thar goes our rescue.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Gil. “You heard what went on out there. They found no tracks, so they’ll be more secure than ever, convinced it’s just old Farias seein’ things. But we’ll have to wait until they settle down. Long as it’s dark, we can still make our move, still take ’em by surprise.”

  It seemed hours before Gil again heard the awaited signal. Quickly he climbed up on the bench.

  “Solano’s moccasins.” Clay chuckled quietly. “I may never wear boots again.”

  Quickly he told Gil about the keg of powder and the problem with getting the herd there in time.

  “I’ll have Solano scatter their horses,” said Clay. “When you hear the stampede comin’, get ready for the blast. We’ll have the horses somewhere behind this jail. They’ll be back a ways, because of the blast, hobbled with slip knots, close enough for you to reach ’em quick. Mount up and fall in behind the stampede; I aim to run ’em all the way across the border. The horse herd will follow the longhorns, and some of our riders will be on their tails, keepin’ ’em bunched. This is it, amigo. I’m ridin’ back to the herd. You’ll hear us coming. Be ready.”

  Clay circled back to his horse. A second lamp burned in another window of the log structure that was the post commander’s office and living quarters. From there, if anybody chose to look, they could see the saddled horses and riders that would be stationed in the clearing behind the guardhouse. Even hobbled, it wouldn’t be easy holding the horses with a stampede thundering past on two sides. And if that wasn’t enough, within seconds the roof would be blown off the guardhouse!

  In the guardhouse, nobody slept. For a while, after the sound of the shots, their spirits had sagged. Then had come the exchange between Captain Diaz and Major Farias. Every prisoner had known enough Spanish to understand and appreciate the conversation between the Mexican officers. Not only had the shots missed, their “target” had left no tracks! Based on what Clay had told him, Gil had some final advice for his companions.

  “The horses will be right behind this building, hobbled so they can’t run. Once the roof blows, don’t waste any time. If any man gets trapped and needs help, sing out. Once you’re free, hit the saddle and follow the stampede. No firing, unless you have to defend yourselves. Save all your ammunition for the border. There’ll be close to five thousand longhorn cows coming through here on the run. Once you’re in the saddle, try to catch up to the herd. If we can keep the longhorns bunched, and the horse herd right on their heels, we can run down anything or anybody standing between us and the border. This is our chance, our only chance, for freedom. Come morning, I aim to watch the sun rise from the other side of the Rio Grande!”

  Clay pushed his horse, anxious to reach the trail drive. He knew he’d been gone long enough for them to suspect there had been trouble. This was their last hand in a high stakes game, and they had to fill an inside straight. Clay met Solano riding well ahead of the horse herd. The Indian was not one to worry, taking things as they came, and C
lay suspected Angelina had likely sent Solano to look for him. It bothered him some, her wielding so much influence over Solano, but how could he complain? Had it not been for their unlikely alliance, he might still be in a Mexican prison. Not too far behind Solano, he met Angelina.

  “I had begun to worry,” she said.

  “There was a ruckus,” said Clay, “and I had to keep out of sight for a while, before I could talk to Gil. They’re ready, waitin’ for us. Before I go to set the charges, we’ll spend a little time decidin’ what each of us is to do. Once all this begins, it’ll move like a prairie fire. We’ll have to stay ahead of it, or some of us won’t live to see Texas.”

  “I will not hide from the danger,” she said. “Tell me what I must do, but do not try to protect me. If I am worthy of your Texas frontier, then I must fight for it. I will do what must be done, and I can shoot.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute,” he said, “and you’re going to have as much a part in this as any of us. Soon as we can get with Ramon, we’ll make some definite plans.”

  They reached the longhorn herd, to find it trailing well, although it was still considerably behind the horse herd. When they met Ramon, Clay, Solano, and Angelina turned their horses so that they rode with him ahead of the herd.

  “Amigos,” said Clay, “we got some serious talkin’ to do. Ramon, when I blow the roof off that guardhouse, I want you, Angelina, Solano, Estanzio, and Mariposa there with the horses. We’ll need thirteen horses for the men we’re goin’ to set free. Add to that one horse for each of us, and there’ll be a total of nineteen. I aim to hobble the horses, so they can’t break loose and join the stampede, but when the roof blows, you’ll have your hands full trying to calm them. All of you may be in some danger, because the area behind the guardhouse is wide open and less than a hundred yards from the commanding officer’s quarters. You’ll have some protection during the stampede, because the herd should split and pass on each side of the guardhouse, one leg of it passing between you and the commanding officer’s place. But we’ll have only a few minutes until the worst of the stampede is past, and that may not be enough time to free the men from the guardhouse. Some of them may still be trapped if the roof fails to break up. Have your lariats ready, and pull down some walls if you have to. If the stampede passes before we’re done, we may have to shoot our way out. So if the stampede moves too fast, or we move too slow, we may have forty men from the soldiers’ barracks throwin’ lead at us. We must make every minute count; if we don’t, this could be hell with the lid off, and some of us will die. Comprender, Ramon? Solano?”