The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “I’ll go along with that all the way,” said Clay. “If these soldiers make no move before dark, we’ll know they aim to come after us tonight, or lay for us near the border. So unless they make some move between now and sundown, we’ll wait until it’s good dark, and hit ’em with another stampede. This time we’ll be right on the heels of it, our guns ready.”

  It was a plan satisfactory to each of them, better than anything they’d had up to now. Mariposa and Estanzio rode out to begin their vigil, with the next six hours perhaps to determine the fate of them all. Clay and Van took the opportunity to talk to some of the bedraggled Texans who had made the break with Gil, Van, and Long John. Gil knelt beside the blanketed Solano, touching the Indian’s forehead. While there was no sweat, there was no fever either. Suddenly Solano blinked his eyes, and they met Gil’s.

  “Fracaso,” said Solano.

  “No,” said Gil, “you’re not a failure, Solano. We’re near the border, we have the herds together, and we’re still going to Texas. You will live to go with us, amigo.”

  Solano had closed his eyes and said no more. Gil was unaware Angelina stood behind him until she spoke.

  “He believes he failed. That will hurt him more than his wounds.”

  Gil got to his feet and turned to face her.

  “I reckon it will,” he said, “but this whole thing seemed near impossible, even if everything had gone right. Luck’s been with us; I just hope it holds a little while longer.”

  “Thank you for your kindness to Solano,” she said. “It is because of you that we took the risk of seeing to his wounds this morning. You are a strong man, Gil Austin. I am proud you are a friend to Clay and to Solano. It is my wish that you will become a friend to me.”

  She turned away and he watched her go. She was an enigma, in her own way as strong as any of them, and living proof of what Gil had long believed. Clay Duval was the luckiest man alive.

  They all watched the westering sun, each hoping they wouldn’t see Mariposa or Estanzio until purple shadows marked the coming of the night. By the hour their chances improved, and miraculously, so did Solano. The early attention to his wounds, his being bundled in blankets, and the potent, highly alcoholic pulque, had made a difference. He had developed no fever.

  “I know it ain’t possible,” said Clay, “but I just wish he was able to stay in his saddle instead of bein’ tied belly down across it. His wounds will break loose and bleed again.”

  They began breaking camp an hour before sundown. When Mariposa and Estanzio returned, they would be ready to move out. The horse herd had been bunched at the south end of the canyon. The longhorns would lead the drive, and eventually the stampede. They put off tying Solano across his saddle until the last minute. Then Mariposa and Estanzio rode in, and it was time to move out.

  “No ride belly down,” said Solano. His pride had suffered enough; he was drawing the line. His eyes were wide open and he still had no fever.

  “He’s got sand,” said Long John. “Let’m straddle the hoss like a man. Can’t hurt him no worse’n bein’ roped acrost the saddle.”

  “That’s gospel,” said Van, “if he don’t fall.”

  “No fall,” said Solano. “No fall.”

  Clay and Gil released him from the blankets in which he’d been wrapped. Solano rolled over and hoisted himself to his knees. Angelina tried to get to him, to help him, but Clay held her back. Solano had to do it himself. Taking hold of the offside stirrup, he tried to get to his feet. Three times he tried, and three times he failed. But on the fourth attempt he made it. For a while he only stood there, and when he could delay no longer, he then managed to get his right foot in the offside stirrup. Then, with his right hand gripping the horn, he tried to mount. Time after time he tried and failed. Any man there would have helped him, but they knew better. It was a struggle that only Solano could win. His bronze face paled and beads of sweat dripped off his chin. Finally, still lacking the strength, but making up the difference in raw nerve, he cleared the horse’s rump with his left leg. Gripping the horn with his right hand, he settled himself in the saddle. He sat there breathing hard, sweating harder, but there was an unmistakable look of triumph in his dark eyes.

  “Let’s move ’em out!” shouted Gil.

  The longhorns had grazed all day and had drunk their fill. Again they were taking the trail in the twilight, but it no longer seemed strange to them. Gil, Clay, and Ramon led the herd. Even as the horse herd brought up the rear of the drive, Mariposa and Estanzio remained with it. Solano rode with them, ramrod straight in the saddle, whatever the cost. At his request, he had his own rifle in the boot. Because of his wound, Clay had refused to allow him to buckle on his gun rig and pistol.

  “We’re maybe ten miles from the border,” said Gil, “so that means we’re seven miles south of the soldier camp. When we’re close enough to start the stampede, Mariposa and Estanzio will bring the horses on up near the longhorns. Then Mariposa will sing his cougar song, and if we know what’s good for us, we’ll get out from in front of this herd.”

  “I like this,” said Clay, “runnin’ a stampede right through that soldier camp. They’ll be so almighty busy dodgin’ them horns and hooves, they won’t think of grabbin’ a gun.”

  “I hope that’s how it is,” said Gil. “There’s still more of them, and if we stop to fight, some of us will die. Shoot only if you’re forced to. We’re not out to see how many Mex soldiers we can kill. All we want is to cross that border into Texas.”

  It was important that the longhorns be kept bunched, since they would lead the stampede. Gil had placed most of the riders directly behind the longhorn herd, because that was where they’d be the most needed. Following the cougar cry, the horse herd wouldn’t need any prodding. Gil had Rosa behind the horse herd with the Indian riders, because that’s where he would be. Once the stampede was under way, the drag—behind the horse herd—would become the most vulnerable position. A soldier getting his hands on a gun was unlikely to even get a shot, except at the drag riders. Once the herd began to run, Gil, Clay, and Ramon would ride out of its path and fall back. The three of them would be with the drag, behind the horse herd, before the stampede hit the soldier camp. There, the three of them could keep an eye on Rosa, as well as the wounded Solano. Once the stampede crossed the Rio Grande, without considering Solano, there would be five riders to discourage pursuit.

  Van and Long John were ahead of the horse herd, directly behind the longhorns. If the longhorns were kept running hard, they would wreak enough havoc among the soldiers that the horse herd—and the riders following—should pass unmolested. If it all worked according to plan, they ought to cross the border without losing a rider. Clay had insisted that Angelina remain with Van and Long John, between the horse herd and the longhorns. It was already dark, too early for the moon, and the stars seemed dim and far away.

  “We’re close,” said Gil. “Get ready for the cougar.”

  He kicked his horse into a gallop, followed by Ramon and Clay. They must distance themselves from the longhorn leaders, so that they had time to ride free of the stampeding herd. Gil had forgotten just how real, how devastating, Mariposa’s cougar squall was. When it came, even with him expecting it, cold chills galloped up his spine. The lead steers, bawling in terror, lit out like the devil himself was two jumps behind, snorting fire and brimstone. Gil, Clay, and Ramon rode beyond the running herd, and it fanned out into a horned, hooved avalanche half a mile wide. Right behind it came the horse herd. Gil, Clay, and Ramon fell in behind the last horses. Rosa rode her “bueno mulo” alongside Solano’s horse, as Gil had told her to. While the riders watched Rosa, they could also watch Solano without his being aware of it. Gil, Clay, and Ramon dropped back to join Mariposa and Estanzio, putting Solano and Rosa safely between them and the horse herd. The cougar scream fresh in their memories, the horses galloped madly, seeking to escape.

  Major Juan Davila and his thirty-one men had been on border patrol for a month, and had
been on their way to the Matamoros outpost when they encountered Major Gomez Farias and his thirty-five soldiers. Farias had explained the situation facing them, and had found Major Davila more amused than sympathetic.

  “Infierno,” said Davila, “since you have been unable to capture or kill these few gringos, we will help you. But not today, not tonight. We have ridden more than three hundred miles, and we are weary. What is the hurry? We are between the gringos and the border, no? We shall take them at our leisure, when we have rested.”

  Farias had said nothing, but he was furious. Must he do everything? Only his watchfulness, his rifle, had prevented their horses being stampeded. He had organized the pursuit, getting his men to the border ahead of the fleeing gringos and their herds. Once it was dark, without endangering himself or his men, he had planned to ambush the gringos. He had vowed that he would yet, with or without the help of Davila and his soldiers. But when he approached his own men, they refused to follow him! Were they not as good as Major Davila and his men? They too would wait until the dawn. Taking his rifle, Farias left the camp, walking toward the south. He felt restless, frustrated, and wished to be alone. When he first became aware of the alien sound, it might have been the far off roar of an approaching storm. But it was a sound Farias had heard before, and he knew what it was. By the Blessed Virgin, the gringo herd was running, getting closer, even as he listened!

  Farias ran, knowing he could never reach the camp ahead of the thundering herd. The wind had changed, coming from the south, and when he looked back, dust stung his eyes. Farias ran on, and when he again looked fearfully behind him, he could see them coming. They were a black, moving mass, seeming to stretch from one horizon to the other! Farias could not outrun them, and when he came to an upthrust clump of rocks, he dropped gratefully behind them. He fired in the air, trying to warn the doomed camp, doubting they were aware of the oncoming wave of destruction. Finally, somewhere ahead, he heard a few scattered shots and shouts. But their pitiful attempts to turn the stampede were in vain, and it thundered on, their shots, shouts, and screams only adding to the momentum. Somewhere there would be gringo riders, and Farias cocked his rifle. The longhorns had passed, and he was surrounded by horses. Suddenly there were riders, and he fired. But his shot was returned, and the slug slammed into his throat. Time stopped, and he fell on his face, his life spilling into the sand….

  When the lead sang past Gil’s head, he drew and fired at the muzzle flash, and the rifle spoke no more. His horse shied away from scattered, still-glowing embers that had been a fire, and from the battered, ugly things that had once been men. In the dim starlight, Gil could see trampled saddles, blankets, and pieces of clothing. The horse herd had begun to tire and to slow, its terror subsiding. Mariposa loosed another cougar cry, and the drag riders had to gallop their horses to keep up. The longhorns had begun to lag, but the cougar seemed in hot pursuit, driving new life into their pounding hooves. The lead steers hit the Rio Grande on the run.

  “Hieeeyah!” shouted Van Austin. “Hieeeyah! Run you longhorn bastards, run! We’re on the Bandera Trail, ridin’ home!”

  Gil and Clay raised a shout of their own when their horses splashed into the shallow river that was the border between Mexico and the Republic of Texas. When the herds again slowed, Gil and Clay popped some flanks with doubled lariats. They wanted none of the herd wandering back across the river during the night, or even close to it. The Mexicans might be furious enough to seek revenge. The longhorns were tired and more than ready to call it a night. Clay, Gil, and Ramon galloped their horses ahead of the leaders and started them milling. Angelina and the riders who had followed the longhorn stampede rode up, followed by Rosa on her mule. The Indian trio had remained with the horse herd.

  “We’re home,” said Gil. “If anybody’s hurt, sing out.” They were silent.

  “I am going to ride back and see about Solano,” said Angelina.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Clay.

  “We gonna stay here fer the night,” Long John asked, “er push on?”

  “There’ll be a poor moon,” said Gil, “and it’ll rise late. Besides, the horses and longhorns are give out, so we’ll stay here until first light. I don’t want these horses and cows even close to the Rio Grande, so we’ll need some night hawks. I’ll take charge of the first watch, and Ramon, you take the second. We’ll change the watch at two o’clock. Ramon will need three riders, and I’ll need three. Volunteers accepted.”

  “I’ll take first watch,” said Van.

  “Reckon I will too,” said Long John.

  “Me,” cried Rosa. “I no sleepy.”

  Ramon got his volunteers for the second watch, and when Clay and Angelina returned, they had a favorable report on Solano. The Indian seemed no worse for the ride, and still had no fever. Mariposa, Estanzio, and Solano bedded down near the horse herd, and there wasn’t a sound out of the longhorns. Circling the herd on her mule, Rosa wore them all out with excited chatter.

  “I ain’t never seen it so quiet,” said Long John, “but fer the kid.”

  “Enjoy it while you can,” said Gil. “Texas has its share of rustlers and renegade Indians.”

  “After all them Mex soldiers,” said Long John, “I could damn near make friends wi’ the rustlers an’ renegade Injuns. But not yer bastard neighbors. I ain’t gon’ be s’prised at nothin’ they done whilst ye was gone.”

  “You run out on us, Long John,” said Van as ominously as he could. “We get home and fine the place burnt to the ground, what do you aim to do about it?”

  “Gut-shoot them that done it,” said Long John, dead serious, “er git me a cuchillo an’ whack off some pieces o’ their carcass they’d purely hate t’ lose.”

  “Which pieces?” Rosa asked, becoming interested.

  “Rosa,” said Gil, “this does not concern you.”

  “Do so!” said Rosa. “He malo bastardo Tejano. Bueno hombre.”

  Van and Long John slapped their thighs and howled with laughter.

  “Pappy,” said Van, when he could speak, “you purely got your work cut out for you!”

  “Smart little senorita,” said Long John, flattered by Rosa’s unflattering appraisal. “Jus’ gimme a chancet, an’ I’ll take on them renegade Injuns, rustlers, an’ yer bastard neighbors t’ boot.”

  Come the dawn, they were in for a surprise. Their stampede had picked up another thirty head of horses.

  “If we’d stayed a mite longer,” Van crowed, “every soldier in Mexico would of been afoot.”

  “Thank God we were able to quit the game while we were ahead,” said Gil. “With the Austin luck, if we’d stayed longer, we’d have been backed against a wall, shot dead, and left for buzzard bait. I hope I can go the rest of my life without seeing a Mexican soldier.”

  “Soldado bastardos,” said Rosa. “Kill, feed to busardos.”

  “Amen,” said Long John reverently. “Girl, if ye was two er three year older, I’d grab ye an’ run off t’ Californy.”

  25

  September 15, 1843. The Republic of Texas, south of San Antonio.

  Gil rose at first light, but he had something he wished to do before the drive took the trail north to the Bandera range. He waited until breakfast was done before he spoke.

  “You gents that busted out of the prison in Mexico City are free to ride,” he said. “You’re welcome to the horses you’re riding, the saddles, rifles, and belt rigs, all courtesy of the Mexican army. I reckon you all have kin that don’t know if you’re alive or dead, and was I you, I’d be on my way to set their minds at ease.”

  “Whar be ye from originally?” asked one of the men.

  “Missouri,” said Gil.

  “No more,” said the other. “Yer a Texan, and a man to ride the river with. God bless ye!”

  There were shouts of agreement from the others. They lined up, every man, to shake the hands of everybody in the outfit. Even young Rosa. They lingered longest with Clay and Angelina, and when they rode out,
their Texas yells startled some of the grazing longhorns.

  “Most of them,” said Clay, “I didn’t even learn their names, but now that they’re ridin’ out, I kinda hate to see ’em go.”

  “The frontier’s as unpredictable as it is violent,” said Gil. You may ride other trails with those hombres, where a friend with a fast gun is all that’s standin’ between you and a pine box.”

  “Now,” said Van, with a look at Long John, “I reckon there’s nothin’ for us to do ’cept ride on to our Bandera range and see what kind of mood our bastard neighbors are in.”

  “Them Mex soldiers took m’ cuchillo,” said Long John. “Need t’ git me another’n b’fore we show yer neighbors how the cow et the cabbage.”

  “Si,” said Rosa. “Whack off pieces of carcass.”

  Only Gil understood why Van and Long John thought Rosa’s words were so hilariously funny.

  “We ought to shy away from San Antone,” said Clay, “and come in to the Bandera range from the west.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Gil. “We can reach our range without crossing any of the other grants. Once we’ve spread these horses and longhorns out over seventy-seven thousand acres, nobody’s going to know exactly how many we have.”

  “Damn good idee,” said Long John. “Be jus’ like yer neighbors t’ take ’em a share, ’thout even askin’.”

  They moved out in a northwesterly direction under a sky the hue of blue bonnets, and they saw nobody. Gil called a halt an hour before sundown, and they bedded down the herds. They started the cook fire, taking their ease in a manner that hadn’t been possible for long months.

  “I have never seen the sky so blue, or so much of it,” said Angelina. “It seems to go on forever. It is like another world here.”

  “Si,” said Rosa. “No soldados.”