by R. W. Stone
I got back to the Conestoga wagon and retrieved all the clothing I had ordered. I put it in a sack and tied it to the saddle. After washing my face so I wouldn’t scare the girls, I then rode as close as I dared to the tent where they were being kept and tied my horse to a nearby tree.
I wanted to get out of town as fast as possible, but this part of the plan required stealth, not speed. I had to make sure not to alert any guards that might be roaming around the girls’ tent. I simply couldn’t afford to have one yell out and awake the others. That would be the surest way to fail that I could think of.
I crawled to within a few feet of the women’s tent and watched for a good twenty minutes. I could actually hear my own heartbeat, and it took all the patience I could muster to stay still.
At the end of my wait, I was convinced there was only one man guarding the front of the tent. That was when I hesitated. I knew from prior experience I could eliminate the sentry, but the question I faced was how extreme I needed to be.
I might be able to knock him out, but that meant a greater risk of him crying out, or simply making too much noise while struggling. Some folks take a blow better than others. Also, he might recover before we were gone.
While I could always immobilize him, there was still a chance that somehow he might get loose or be discovered. He would sound the alarm on us, and that would mean one more pissed-off outlaw following behind.
I had taken lives in war, but this wasn’t exactly the same. Or was it? I suppose it was simply a question of moral justification. Regardless, it only took me a moment to decide that the lives of those women was justification enough.
I crawled an inch at a time, trying all the while not to stare at my target. I had learned a long time ago that when you stare at someone long enough, they can sense it, even if they can’t see you. I guess that’s where the idea of a sixth sense came from. Eyes in the back of your head. True or not, I wasn’t going to risk it.
After what seemed an eternity, I sprang up behind the guard and, before he could react, clamped my left hand around his head and over his mouth. Sarge had taught me not to slit a sentry’s throat from outside, like everyone believes you should. The throat is harder than most think, and you end up sawing. Sometimes the knife sticks. It is messy, and a horrible job usually is made worse. Instead, I was taught to shove the knife blade in the neck sideways right up to the hilt and then push it away from the spine, cutting outward. It is quicker and quieter and more effective. That’s just what I did to that sentry who dropped without a sound.
I quickly cleaned the blade on his coat and sheathed it. I retrieved the bag of clothes from the saddle and returned to the tent. When I lifted the flap, I came face to face with the girl I believed to be the colonel’s niece. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. Even in the dark under very difficult circumstances, I couldn’t help but to marvel at how pretty she was. Tall and brunette with big brown eyes, she was a remarkable vision. I shook my head and recovered my sense of purpose.
“Miss Grierson?” I whispered. “I’m here to rescue you.”
She nodded and helped me through the tent. As I looked around, I noticed Eileen and Suzanne huddled at the back. Puzzled, I asked: “There were supposed to be four of you.
It was Eileen who responded. “Helen was the youngest and prettiest of us. As soon as we got here, that brute they call Royce took her away … and … used her. Badly.” She started sobbing.
Suzanne quickly finished the explanation. “The thought that it would continue apparently was too much for her, and the next morning we found her dead. She had used a piece of broken glass to slit her wrists. There was nothing we could do. After that, Hank Thompson gave orders to the men … and they haven’t touched the rest of us yet in that way … so far …” She looked like she was on the verge of breaking down as well.
“There’s no time for crying now. We have got to get you out of here pronto. Put on these clothes. I don’t care how well they fit, just get into them. Use the hat and caps and pull them down low over your hair and face. You have got to pass for men.” They all nodded, indicating that they understood.
I looked out the tent. “Sorry about this, but I have to hide the sentry. If anyone sees him, we’re finished.” I dragged the body inside the tent, rolled him under the cot, and covered it with a tarp. The Grierson girl actually grabbed one of his legs and helped me pull him in.
“Miss Grierson, can any of you drive a big wagon?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “I can. Grew up around army barracks. If it has four legs, I can ride it, and if it has wheels, I can drive it,” she said proudly. I had to hand it to her. She was one courageous lady to be so determined. I suppose it ran in the family.
“And my name is Barbara.”
“Jedidiah, but everyone calls me Badger. Now put those on. I’ll be right outside.”
As I left the tent, I literally bumped into another guard. I had falsely assumed they would not change sentries for the rest of the night. But then you know what they say about the word “assume.” It really means to make an ass out of you.
I must have startled the man, for he took a short step backward. It was the wrong move. Whenever possible, you don’t want to give the first offensive move to your opponent. It wasn’t that I was that fast or strong, but Hackworth had long ago taught me that in a fight, strength wasn’t as important as knowledge.
I know where the body’s vulnerable points are and how to take advantage of them. Since my opponent was stepping back, I rushed forward and pushed him farther backward, off-balancing his stance. With a sideways kicking sweep of my boot, I smacked his front shin so hard, he doubled over in pain, and as he leaned forward, I hit him with an upward blow to the chin with my elbow.
I had learned long ago to avoid hitting someone directly in the face with an ungloved fist. A person’s face is irregular and punches to it, or worse yet to the skull, often result in broken fingers or knuckles. It happens more often than most people realize. However, the fat part of the forearm at the elbow is flat and hard as a rock. With an elbow blow, nothing breaks except the other fellow’s face. I heard his neck snap before he even hit the ground.
I dragged the body into the tent. I didn’t know whether the girls were through changing, but at this point I didn’t have time for modesty. Fortunately (or unfortunately, considering your point of view), the women had already donned the men’s clothing and were ready to go.
I went back to the horse and retrieved a couple of knives and a pistol that I gave to the girls. They already had taken the weapons from the dead men.
“Don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary,” I warned. “Anything that makes a noise will wake everyone up, and we’ll be through before we even get started. Now listen up, we’ll walk in twos. Barbara, you come with me. You two follow behind at a distance. Don’t bunch up. If anyone spots us, I don’t want it to look like we’re all together. And remember, we’ve got to make everything look natural.”
I added one more caution. “Even in the dark your … um … feminine figures might give us away, so ladies, try to lumber a little. You know, walk like a big cowboy might.” Suzanne actually chuckled for a moment. I was glad I had lightened the mood, although that hadn’t been my intention.
“We’re headed back behind the hardware store,” I whispered. “I have a wagon stashed there. Now remember, quiet and steady.”
I don’t know why I chose Barbara to go with me, except perhaps because she was Grierson’s niece. Maybe it was that she seemed to be the calmest of the three. Or maybe, and I am forced to admit to the possibility, because I thought she was the prettiest of the lot.
We untied the Appaloosa and started walking leisurely back to the hardware store. Hopefully our departure appeared leisurely, but inside I was hardly relaxed. Anything out of the ordinary now would spoil everything. Another guard arriving at the tent, a night owl who couldn�
��t sleep and decided to take a walk, or simply any unexpected noise, could spell our doom.
Thankfully, we made it uneventfully to the wagon. I tied the horse to the back of the Conestoga right next to the mule, and we all climbed aboard. I took the reins and indicated to Barbara to sit up front with me. I snapped the reins as quietly as I could, and the wagon started to move. I didn’t stop to check my watch, but it was about four or five in the morning, and the town still seemed dead to the world. That was just fine with me. We were moving as quietly as possible, but I recalled an old Scottish saying. If memory serves me, it goes something like: “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.” My personal experience was that when things “gang agley,” it’s always at the most inconvenient time.
Once we were free of the town limits, I put the whip to the team, and we rode on as fast as we could.
After a short time, Suzanne whispered from the back of the wagon. “There are men watching at the pass.”
“I know,” I replied. “But they shouldn’t be worrying about people leaving town. They’re only interested in keeping the law out of the pass. No reason to worry about those already inside.”
I hoped I sounded more convincing than I had a right to be.
“What if we’re followed?” Eileen asked.
“Have to assume we will be. It won’t stay this dark very long, and they’re bound to change the guard at your tent sooner or later. Won’t take long to realize you’re gone.”
“So, what do we do then?” Barbara asked. She was obviously very worried and with just cause. “We can’t outrun men on horseback in this thing,” she said knowingly.
“That’s where I come in,” I said, pulling the wagon to a stop.
I handed Barbara the reins and jumped down. “Just around the bend, there is a guard post. About a half hour after that and you’re in the pass. Give me about a five-minute head start and then follow. If I’m not there waiting for you then you’ll have to shoot the guard with that pistol and ride like hell with your heads down.”
“But …” Eileen started.
“No ifs, ands, or buts. I’ll be there, don’t you worry. I’m just mentioning the possibility is all.” I saddled up, touched the brim of my hat in an informal salute, and then rode ahead on the Appaloosa.
I hoped I’d encounter the same guard I’d met on the way in. If he recognized me, he might not be as suspicious. A wagon full of people, however, would surely alert him, and up close he couldn’t help but recognize the women, even in their disguises.
It would have been a simple matter to shoot the guard from a distance with my scoped Springfield, but I was afraid we were too near to the pass. A rifle shot that close would alert the sentries up in the rocks. I needed to give that wagon as much of a chance as I could to get outside the Hole-in-the-Wall before I made any noise. I’d have to take the guard out another way.
Chapter Twenty-Six
As I rounded the bend in the trail, I slowed down very deliberately. I unsnapped the strap that held my bowie knife in its sheath, which I wore on the left side of my belt. I spotted the outpost almost immediately. Once I got closer, I recognized the same guard who had been on duty when I first rode in.
“It’s just me, remember?” I said, approaching the guard. “Time to pull out. Anything interesting happening out here I might need to worry about?”
I hadn’t stopped the horse but continued slowly on while talking to him. I needed to keep him distracted.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “No, nothing going on out here. All’s …” Before he could say “quiet,” I jumped sideways off the saddle onto his back. His rifle went flying out of his hand. I pulled my Bowie knife and was about to use it when he suddenly bent over and threw me off his shoulder.
I hit the ground hard but rolled over and jumped back up onto my feet in time to see the man pull his own knife. He was a big man but thin and obviously agile. He held his knife close to his side like he knew how to use it. I hate knife fights. They’re always messy, and most times both adversaries end up cut to pieces.
I tried to remember in a split second everything Sergeant Hackworth had taught me about knife fighting over the years. The army’s philosophy has always been to attack the opponent’s closest body part with your knife. They stick out an arm, you cut the arm. If they lean their neck in, you slice the neck. Sergeant Hackworth, however, had a different theory, one that was taught to him while he was in the Far East. He called it the ABC’s of a knife fight.
In this fighting style, A equals airway. The first thing you do is stab or slice an airway, whether that be throat or into the rib cage. In other words, make the opponent lose the ability to breathe. In the second phase, B stands for bleeding. Here, you attack the body’s main blood vessels, such as the ones in the throat or the big arteries inside the thighs. Finally, C stands for attacking the opponent’s consciousness—going for a knockout blow to silence the man. Done properly, these three moves can all be accomplished in only a second or two by a well-trained knife fighter.
Some of the braves I have known from the Plains tribes had an alternative way of fighting that translates to “defanging the snake.” Their theory is that if the hand can’t hold the knife, the knife is worthless. They hold their weapon close to the body and try to maintain their distance so as to avoid being grabbed, blocked, or knocked down.
The idea of defanging is to wait for the attacker to expose his knife so you can quickly slash his wrist, or perhaps, if your knife is big enough, to hack off his hand or forearm. Regardless of the system used, knife fighting is messy, scary, and downright dangerous.
In this kind of a fight, balance is everything, and although Sarge didn’t advocate kicking high against someone holding a knife (he always said it was a good way to get your leg slashed to pieces), he taught me that a swift, low, hard kick to the ankle or shin, or a stomp to the opponent’s foot with your boot heel, is usually enough to stun him.
That outpost guard actually smirked at me. He held his knife well, but his balance was way off. Maybe he thought his longer reach and height were enough of an advantage to allow him to take me on easily, but, just as Sergeant Hackworth had demonstrated so impressively years ago with that young recruit when we first met, fighting isn’t about strength or size. It is about knowledge, experience, and focused intensity.
I faced that guard straight on, faked an upward arm movement, and proceeded to smash his leading shin with a quick, side-swiping low kick using the inside of my boot. It is a blow much like the kind children use to kick a rubber ball sideways. I could actually hear his shinbone break.
Anyone who’s every stubbed a shin on a bedpost knows how incredibly painful it is. As the man was dropping down in agony, I shoved my bowie knife up into his rib cage and then sliced on through. After I pulled it free, I squatted down and drove it forward to slice his inner thigh. I pulled the knife back and finally dropped the butt of my knife down on the back of his head.
The man died immediately, but from which part of my attack, I didn’t know. Not counting the kick, my whole attack had taken less than three seconds. It took me longer to clean the blade and to control the reflex that almost caused me to vomit. Like I said, I hate fighting with a blade.
The wagon pulled up with the women. They looked down at me as I stood next to the body. I didn’t know exactly how to react, so I simply said: “Sorry. Couldn’t be helped.”
Eileen, who I had taken for the more sensitive of the three, looked at me with sympathy and said: “No need on our account. We’re all army brats of one sort or another.”
I couldn’t help but smile back.
“So what now?” Barbara asked.
“I’m riding back toward town,” I explained.
“What in heaven’s name for?” Suzanne exclaimed. The fear and worry were obvious in her voice.
“They’ll be coming for us for sure by now
, and I have to make sure they don’t reach you. There’s not enough time to explain everything, so you’ll have to trust me. In the meantime, keep riding as fast as you can until you get to where the pass begins. From there, slow down, and then ride on nice and easy. Keep your heads down, and don’t let any sentries get a good look. Remember, they’re all on the north slope. That’ll be on your left side. Don’t want to let them catch on that you’re females.” I added quickly: “Then, when you hear a big noise, stop and wait for me. I hope I’ll catch up to you before you actually enter the pass. If more than ten minutes pass after you hear that sound then ride on through as fast as you can, and keep heading back the same way they brought you in. When you get to the miner’s shack, head due south, and eventually you’ll get to safety.”
“What sound? What will it be like?” Eileen asked.
“Oh, trust me. You’ll know. Now get going. Remember, if I’m not back after ten minutes from the time you’ve stopped, get going, and ride like all the demons from hell are on your tail.” And they probably will be, I thought to myself.
I swung up into the saddle and rode as fast as I could back to that narrow bend in the trail we had just passed. In a little under five minutes, I arrived, and as I dismounted, I drew my Springfield Trapdoor from its saddle scabbard.
I fully cocked the rifle’s hammer and raised the breech up to make sure there was a cartridge in the chamber. After snapping the trapdoor cover closed, I pulled out my telescopic scope and quickly attached it. I then lay down behind a small boulder and waited.
So far there was nothing unusual to be seen, so I slowly moved the rifle around until I found a small target off to the side about a hundred yards away. It was a discarded kerosene lantern, half buried in the dirt. I used it to sight in the rifle.
