The Winchester Run

by Ralph Compton

  “Now,” said Gerdes, “will the three of you strip, or do we do it for you?”

  “We’ll do it,” Hattie said. “We don’t have that many clothes.”

  “Stick with us, girlie,” said Gerdes, “and you won’t need many.”

  “Maybe not any,” Private Odell said.

  The three of them laughed. Taking her cue from Hattie and Rachel, Elizabeth ceased sobbing. She refused to give them that much satisfaction.

  “Haze may have a fractured, skull,” Mac said, for Haze was still unconscious.

  “Well, there ain’t much we can do,” said Red. “Movin’ around after dark could get us a case of lead poisonin’.”

  Haze groaned and, trying to get to his hands and knees, fell facedown.

  “Here,” said Buck, “let me help you roll over on your back. You can’t get up in those shackles.”

  “They took her,” Haze mumbled. “They took her again.”

  “They took Hattie and Rachel, too,” said Red.

  “You and Buck didn’t do a damned thing,” Haze said.

  “Our luck wouldn’t have been any better,” said Red. “We’d have cracked skulls like yours, or some lead in our bellies. You gettin’ your skull near busted didn’t change the situation.”

  “Well, something’s changed,” Haze growled. “Why did they take Elizabeth, Hattie, and Rachel, leavin’ Trinity? Why are they makin’ whores of the rest of the women, and not her?”

  “Haze,” said Mac, as kindly as he could, “we’re all in this together, and yelling at one another won’t help.”

  The three women didn’t return for almost an hour, and when they did, they had nothing to say. Haze shouted at Elizabeth, and she became all the more distant. Hattie and Rachel spoke to Trinity, but that was all. Going to Elizabeth, Trinity put her arms around the stricken girl, while Haze cursed them both.

  “Haze Sanderson,” Trinity hissed, “shut your mouth! Just shut up. She’s hurting, and you’re just making it worse. You cuss her one more time, and I’ll personally knock you cold.”

  Surprisingly, Haze said not another word. Rachel sat beside Buck and Hattie beside Red, none of them speaking. Lest Nelson or his men be watching her, Trinity returned to her bedroll. Elizabeth stood there looking lost, and suddenly Haze spoke.

  “Elizabeth . . .”

  She turned to him, and he could see her pale face in the moonlight.

  “Sit beside me,” said Haze.

  “Are you sure . . . you want . . . what’s left of me?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yeah,” said Haze. “I want you, whatever happens. I’ve been a damned fool.”

  Elizabeth knelt beside him, and it seemed no words were necessary.

  The next day, as the women again rode together, Hattie was able to talk to Trinity. “He didn’t let them take you,” Hattie said. “Your plan is working.”

  “I don’t know,” said Trinity. “He hasn’t even looked at me, since that first night.”

  Lieutenant Nelson set the course for the wagons to follow, a southeasterly direction that would take them somewhere between Austin and San Antonio. Nelson rode ahead of the first wagon, while his men were strung out as far as the last wagon, which had been Trinity’s. Sergeant Embler still rode the box, and at least one soldier always followed behind. Early in the afternoon, Nelson called a halt. It soon became obvious all was not well with the lieutenant. Refusing food, he took to his bedroll early. He fell into fitful sleep, and when he began talking out of his head, Sergeant Embler went to see about him.

  “He’s burning up with fever,” Embler said helplessly.

  “I’ll see to him,” said Trinity.

  It was her opportunity to ingratiate herself with Nelson in a manner that might mean far more to him than the ploy she had in mind. For what it was worth, it was he who held together this ragtag bunch of misfits, and if he died, it might diminish their chances of staying alive. She went to what had been her wagon, where the medical supplies were kept, and was immediately challenged by one of the soldiers.

  “Your lieutenant is sick,” Trinity said, “and the medicine chest is in the wagon. I’ll be needing it.”

  “Then get it,” said Private Willis, “but don’t touch nothin’ else.”

  Trinity got the medicine chest, which should have contained two full bottles of the whiskey Mac had bought at Fort Griffin. But when Trinity opened the chest, there was only one quart bottle, and it was less than half full. She approached Sergeant Embler, and he obviously didn’t want to talk to her, but Trinity was persistent.

  “Sergeant, some of your men have drunk most of the whiskey that I needed to break Lieutenant Nelson’s fever. Unless you can get your hands on some more whiskey—and I mean quickly—your lieutenant is going to die.”

  Trinity had no idea that two quarts of whiskey—or for that matter, any amount—would make any difference to the gravely ill Lieutenant Nelson, but he was the only chance they had. Sergeant Embler seemed indecisive, with little or no control over the rest of the men, and he quickly lived up to the low opinion she had of him.

  “I got no authority to go fetch anything, includin’ whiskey,” Embler said. “It’d take an order from Lieutenant Nelson, and he ain’t in no shape to order anything.”

  “Then you’d better have somebody in mind to give the orders when he dies,” said Trinity. “If that fever doesn’t break, he’s as good as dead.”

  “Well,” Embler said, swallowing hard, “I reckon I could ride to the nearest town . . .”

  “Then you’d better get started,” said Trinity. “There’s about enough whiskey for one good dose. Get at least three quarts, and be quick about it.”

  Some of the other soldiers had heard Trinity’s ultimatum, and they looked expectantly at Sergeant Embler.

  “Corporal Irvin,” Embler said, “you’re in charge till I get back. I got to get whiskey for the lieutenant.”

  Private Stearn laughed. “Git some for the rest of us, while you’re at it.”

  “Sergeant,” said Corporal Irvin, “ain’t you forgettin’ what Lieutenant Nelson told us? He said we was to stay out of towns. Any towns.”

  “I ain’t forgot, damn it,” Embler replied, “but we got to keep Nelson alive. He’s our contact with . . .”

  His voice trailed off, for Mac, Haze, Buck, Red, and some of the teamsters were now listening. Embler seemed to remember something. He knelt beside the gravely ill Lieutenant Nelson for a moment. When he got to his feet, he spoke to them all, but his hard eyes were on Trinity.

  “I ain’t as trustin’ as the lieutenant. I got the keys to the manacles and leg irons, and I’ll see that they’re returned to Lieutenant Nelson when he ain’t out of his head with fever. I ain’t near as tolerant as Nelson, neither. I got my own ideas as to discipline, and bein’ second in command, I won’t hesitate to use ’em.”

  Embler saddled his horse and rode north, toward the Colorado. Trinity’s heart sank, for it had been her intention to take the key to the manacles and leg irons while Nelson was in the clutches of whatever ailed him. Her eyes met Mac’s, and she suspected he was feeling the same frustration. As much as she despised Lieutenant Nelson, she now saw him as their only hope, for Embler had shown no interest in any of the women.

  “My God,” said Hattie, when she and Trinity were able to talk, “if Nelson dies, we’re in real trouble. We won’t stand a chance against that coldhearted sergeant.”

  “I know,” Trinity agreed. “All of you heard what he said, but his words were intended for me. He knows I’ve tried to gain favor with Nelson, and I’d not put it past him to try and convince Nelson of that. Sometimes fate plays awful tricks on us. I’ve wished a thousand times that Nelson was dead, and now I’m fighting to keep him alive.”

  “He’s the lesser of two evils,” said Hattie. “Embler has unblinking eyes, like a snake, and despite all we’ve been through, I don’t believe I could stand his hands on me.

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Trinity said.
“I just hope he has sense enough to find some whiskey and ride back here as quickly as he can.”

  “I just hope he has sense enough not to ride into town in uniform,” said Hattie. “If he’s a deserter, it won’t help our cause if he’s arrested.”

  But Sergeant Jake Embler was smarter than that. Before he reached the Colorado, he dismounted and changed into the Levi’s and flannel shirt taken from his saddlebags. Still he was ill at ease, for his lust for gambling had often taken him to the saloons of Austin and San Antonio. There was a better than average chance he would be recognized, and since the lot of them had been absent without leave from the outpost at San Antonio for two weeks, the charge would now undoubtedly be desertion. Lieutenant Nelson had lured him into this scheme to steal wagons loaded with the new army issue and sell them through black market profiteers outside the United States. While he respected Nelson’s business sense, he was less than enthusiastic about the man’s womanizing. Business and pleasure didn’t mix, and it was a common thing for a woman to use her favors to influence a man. The redheaded wench with the wagon was playing just such a game with Lieutenant Nelson. Jake Embler was certain of it. Otherwise, why was she trying so hard to keep Nelson alive? Embler, however, was satisfied that he had foiled her plans by taking the key to the manacles and leg irons. The loyalty of the enlisted men whom he had subverted didn’t bother him, for they had burned their bridges and could ill afford to jump ship now. If nothing else, the ready availability of the women would keep them there for a while. Embler had become aware of Lieutenant Nelson’s infatuation with the red-headed woman when Nelson had forbidden the rest of the men to take her. Now, he thought with satisfaction, while Nelson was out of his head with fever, they could have their way with her. By the time the good lieutenant recovered—if he did—the scheming woman would be pretty well used up.

  The soldiers who had remained with the wagons were becoming restless. Corporal Irvin had been elevated to a position of leadership only by virtue of his rank, because he had no real experience. Since he barely outranked the privates and was in trouble every bit as deeply as they, the rest of the men had little respect for Corporal Irvin. Privates Puckett, Haynes, McCarty, Stearn, Willis, Gerdes, Odell, Konda, and Collins openly planned a romp with the women, as soon as darkness concealed their evil deeds.

  “Remember,” Corporal Irvin cautioned, “Lieutenant Nelson warned against bothering the woman with the red hair.”

  Puckett laughed. “I plumb forgot all about that, and since he ain’t around to remind me, I reckon I’ll have my first dance with her.”

  “Yeah,” said Haynes, “they sure ain’t nothin’ else to do, here in this godforsaken part of the world. I thought that shirttail town in Minnesota, where my daddy drank himself to death, was dead, but it was an absolute beehive compared to this.”

  “I have a feeling this is going to be a night straight out of hell,” Red said, having overheard the plans of their captors.

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” said Mac. “I need to talk to Hattie, and see what Trinity has in mind. We lost our chance when Embler took the key with him that would have freed us from these irons.”

  “I’ll send her your way,” Red replied, “when you’re alone.”

  Hattie knelt down beside Mac, and he could see the worry in her eyes.

  “I don’t like Trinity fussing over Nelson,” said Mac. “How much worse off will we be, if the varmint dies? He’s the head of this thing, and without him, it might unravel.”

  “Trinity’s heard talk,” Hattie said. “Selling us into whorehouses and you men to the mines is Lieutenant Nelson’s idea. The rest of them favor shooting us all. She still believes she can lure Nelson into a position where she can free all of you from the irons.”

  “She also knows I can get my hands on a loaded Winchester,” said Mac. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Yes,” Hattie said, “and she believes you would kill some of them, but she knows you could never kill them all before they would kill you. She’s going after the key to the irons so all of you can be free. If you can reach that loaded Winchester, you can find cover and draw their fire, while the rest of the men storm the wagons where the weapons are.”

  “I reckon she’s heard the talk, then,” said Mac. “With Embler gone and Nelson out of his head, they’re plannin’ an orgy. Trinity, Elizabeth, Rachel, and you are goin’ to be the guests of honor. Or should I say dishonor?”

  Hattie sighed. “We all know what’s coming, but we believe it’s the only way to save some of you. You can’t defend yourselves in irons. Trinity says please don’t hate us.”

  “We can never do that,” Mac said. “If there was any way, I’d elevate all of you to sainthood.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Trinity forced Lieutenant Nelson to drink what whiskey remained in the one bottle, but if he didn’t have additional doses at regular intervals, the first wouldn’t matter. There was little to do except listen to the crude comments of the soldiers and the occasional words uttered by the delirious Lieutenant Nelson.

  Jake Embler rode warily as he approached Austin. Here were the ordnance people who would be expecting the wagons with their new-issue weapons. It was still early enough in the day that some of the saloons weren’t yet open, and in those that were, there was seldom more than a bartender. Embler chose an out-of-the-way joint called the Broken Spoke where he didn’t recognize the barkeep, and the man couldn’t have cared less who Embler was. He bought three quarts of cheap whiskey. If rotgut couldn’t burn the fever out of Nelson, then the lieutenant was just a dead peckerwood, Embler decided. He was about to mount his horse, when a soldier came down the boardwalk. Master Sergeant Townsend was the last man in the world Jake Embler wanted to see, for Townsend was in charge of the very platoon from which Embler and most of his friends had deserted! The men recognized one another immediately.

  “Embler, you deserting bastard,” Townsend shouted.

  Townsend went for his gun, but Embler had ducked behind his horse and fired from beneath the animal’s belly. The slug struck Townsend in the chest and he stumbled through the batwing doors of the Broken Spoke saloon. He died there on the floor, and the barkeep was shouting for the law before Jake Embler was in the saddle. Embler rode north, out of town. He dared not immediately ride south, for there was half a day of daylight remaining. Somehow he must conceal his trail, losing any pursuit before riding south. It was ironic, he thought, that he was returning with whiskey that might save Lieutenant Nelson’s life. If Nelson knew or even suspected that Embler had killed a man in Austin, the lieutenant would raise holy hell. All the more reason why Embler must elude any pursuers. What the lieutenant didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Reaching a stream that veered south, Embler trotted his horse in the water for half a dozen miles. It was the long way home, for he still must ride forty miles westward to reach the wagons.

  Anxiously Trinity watched the sun begin its downward journey toward the western horizon. She believed Embler had been gone long enough to have ridden to town and long since returned, but she had to consider the possibility he had been recognized and arrested by the military. While the rest of the soldiers were in no way negligent in the guarding of their prisoners, they constantly eyed the direction from which they expected Sergeant Embler to return.

  “Damn them,” said Hattie viciously, “they’re hoping he doesn’t come back.”

  “I’m counting on him returning,” Trinity replied. “I don’t even want to think of what might happen if he doesn’t. If Nelson dies, and for some reason Embler doesn’t come back, we’ll be in the hands of men who only want us dead.”

  “I don’t think Sergeant Embler cares, one way or the other,” said Hattie, “but I think he’s depending on Lieutenant Nelson to dispose of these wagonloads of guns. But even if Embler comes back with the whiskey, we can’t be sure Nelson will live, because we have no idea what’s wrong with him.”

  “Whatever’s ailing him, he has a fighting chance if we can break that
fever,” Trinity said. “You’d better talk to Rachel and Elizabeth, and try to prepare them for tonight.”

  “They’re both as prepared as they’re going to get,” said Hattie. “Elizabeth’s gone from being shamed and hurt to as mad as hell. She vows she won’t cry again, no matter what they do to her.”

  Sergeant Embler reined up on a rise, where he could see his backtrail. The November sun had sucked up the moisture from the most recent rain, and even one horseman would stir up some dust. Embler grunted with satisfaction, for there was no sign of pursuit. He’d have avoided the shooting in town, had it been possible, but he decided it might have been for the best. Master Sergeant Townsend had always given him a hard way to go, and this might have been Embler’s only opportunity to even the score. Besides, he reflected, had he avoided killing Townsend, the man would have reported having seen Embler in town. That would have been all the evidence the military needed that Embler—and probably those who had deserted with him—were still in the area. Having allowed his horse to rest, Embler mounted and rode on, confident that he hadn’t been trailed.

  “Let’s go ahead and start supper,” Hattie suggested. “It’ll give us all something to do besides wring our hands.”

  “I’m not wringing my hands anymore,” said Elizabeth. “This experience has taught me something. Hate will destroy fear.”

  They were halfway through the preparation of supper when Sergeant Jake Embler rode in. He spoke not a word, but passed the sack with three quarts of whiskey to Trinity.

  “Hattie,” Trinity said, “you’ll have to help me get some of this whiskey down him. He may become violent.”

  Several of the other soldiers had approached. Anticipating their interest and the reason for it, Embler turned on them.

  “That whiskey’s for the lieutenant,” said Embler. “I’ll gut-shoot the first one of you that lays a hand on it.”

  With sour looks, they returned to their posts near Trinity’s wagon, where the outfit’s weapons were. With Hattie’s help, Trinity poured half a bottle of the whiskey down the feverish Lieutenant Nelson. He coughed, choked, and cursed.