The Winchester Run

by Ralph Compton

  “Her arm’s broken, I think,” Hattie said.

  “I’ve set plenty of busted bones,” said Port Guthrie. “I’ll have a look at it. Why don’t you give her a big dose of laudanum first? It’ll not be so hard on her, if she can sleep through it.”

  The arm was broken, and Guthrie set it. As he was binding the splints in place, Lieutenant Nelson approached. Aware of their anger and disgust, he spoke.

  “There is always a penalty for disobeying orders. My men did as they were told. If you wish to blame someone, then you are welcome to blame me.”

  “We are blaming you,” said Mac through clenched teeth.

  Nelson turned away without responding.

  “I never wanted much,” Haze growled, “but I want that bastard graveyard dead.”

  Elizabeth slept through the night, and when the wagons were again ready to take the trail, she had to be helped into her saddle. She eyed Lieutenant Nelson with undisguised hatred. With the exception of Mac Tunstall and Port Guthrie, they were all disappointed, angry, and frustrated. Mac and Port eyed one another, but said nothing. This day and one more. Then on the third day they would make what well might be their final move to free themselves and reclaim their wagons . . .

  Austin, Texas. December 15, 1873.

  Captain Vance, the officer at the ordnance depot, had just received a puzzling answer to a telegram he had sent to the ordnance depot at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Lieutenant Schorp, his second in command, had brought him the wire, and waited while he read it.

  Arms shipment in question should not have gone by way of Fort Griffin.

  “According to the telegram we received from Captain Stockton at Fort Griffin,” said Lieutenant Schorp, “the wagons left there heading south on November 21. That’s twenty-four days ago, sir.”

  “I know, Lieutenant,” Captain Vance replied. “If they followed the Colorado, they’ve had more than enough time to get here. There are entirely too many unanswered questions to suit me. Why did these teamsters and their outriders elect to come by way of Fort Griffin, when it was considerably out of their way? When they eventually left there, why did Captain Stockton, the post commander, take it upon himself to telegraph us? Probably the most important question, however, is where are those wagons now?”

  “We can rule out the Comanches,” said Lieutenant Schorp. “We’ve had no reports on Quanah Parker and the Comanches since they crossed the Red into Indian Territory. There are outlaws and renegades, of course.”

  “If there was going to be trouble from outlaws and renegades,” Captain Vance replied, “I’d have looked for that before they ever crossed the Red into Texas. Hijacking wagons with a shipment of this magnitude wouldn’t make sense unless the arms were to be taken out of the country. That would involve a sailing ship, and getting the wagons secretly to some point along the coast.”

  “Perhaps that’s where they’re headed,” said Lieutenant Schorp. “Frankly, I’m surprised that ordnance at Fort Leavenworth didn’t question the fact that those wagons obviously had not reached Austin. If they had, why would you have inquired about them having gone by way of Fort Griffin?”

  “I don’t know what they’re thinking at Leavenworth, or if they’re thinking at all,” Captain Vance said. “What I am thinking is that if our suspicions are valid, and those arms have fallen into enemy hands, we should be attempting to locate and recover those very important wagons.”

  “But sir,” said Lieutenant Schorp, “of all the military involved, we’re the least able to make such a move. There’s only a sergeant, a corporal, two privates, you, and myself.”

  “I am aware of that, Lieutenant,” Captain Vance replied, “and if the army were to even consider such a maneuver, a patrol would be sent from Fort Griffin. If what we suspect is true, the men from Fort Griffin would never reach the wagons in time. If we’re to attempt to save that arms shipment, we’ll have to call on some friends who are not bound by red tape so common to the military.”

  “And who are those friends, sir?”

  “The Texas Rangers,” said Captain Vance. “There’s a Ranger outpost at Houston. If I can convince the Rangers here that enemies of the United States may be about to steal six wagonloads of advanced weapons . . .”

  “Rangers from the Houston outpost can be alerted by telegraph, heading off the arms and the thieves.”

  “Perhaps,” Captain Vance said, “but more important, I want the Rangers to ride the coast from Galveston to Corpus Christi Bay, looking for a ship at anchor offshore. Such a vessel close in won’t be immune to search and seizure. Better yet, if there is such a ship lying in wait for those stolen arms, it’ll be reason enough to arrange a welcoming committee on shore for those arriving wagons.”

  Ranger Bodie West got to his feet when Captain Vance entered the small office.

  “Howdy, Cap,” said West. “I ain’t seen you in a while.”

  “It’s been a while since I had to ask for help.”

  West laughed.

  “I’m sorry,” Captain Vance said. “I didn’t mean that exactly like it sounded.”

  “It’s all right,” said West. “We understand one another. I’m just glad the Union sent some gents to Texas that didn’t want to fight the war all over again. Tell me what’s diggin’ the gut hooks* in you, and I’ll help if I can.”

  Without even bothering to sit down, Captain Vance told West the little that he knew for certain and of the considerable he suspected regarding the long-overdue arms shipment.

  “I believe you have cause for concern,” West said, after a moment’s consideration. “I realize that in Washington the thinking is that this country and Mexico are at peace, and that’s probably true if you don’t go beyond the bureaucrats in Mexico City. But there are criminal elements in Mexico who would gladly enter into a conspiracy to steal a shipment of arms such as you describe. These are outlaws who are at odds with the Mexican government, so it’s entirely possible they would be forced to move so massive a quantity of stolen goods by sea. Now what do you want me individually, or the Rangers collectively, to do?”

  “It’ll make fools of us both, if I’m wrong,” said Captain Vance, “but I’d like Rangers from the outpost in Houston to ride from Galveston Bay to Corpus Christi Bay, looking for a suspicious craft anchored offshore. Finding one would vindicate my suspicions and perhaps generate enough credibility to stop this thievery.”

  “It could also get you reprimanded for exceeding your authority,” West replied. “Do you not think that by now the army has begun its own investigation, trying to determine what’s become of those six wagons and their invaluable cargo?”

  “Yes,” said Captain Vance, “I am certain they have. I became involved in this because I received a telegram from Captain Stockton, at Fort Griffin, telling me the wagons had just left there, heading south. I have no idea why Stockton relayed this information to me, unless he was aware that the freight line in Kansas City hadn’t intended for the wagons to pass through Fort Griffin. I telegraphed the ordnance people at Fort Leavenworth, expecting them to authorize me to investigate from this end, and all they told me was that those wagons weren’t supposed to travel through Fort Griffin.”

  “Without comin’ right out and sayin’ it,” West replied, “you were told to back off.”

  “A by-the-book soldier would have taken it that way,” said Captain Vance.

  Bodie West laughed. “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Captain Vance replied, “because I believe if we’re going to save those arms, we don’t have much time. Needless to say, I’d appreciate this being kept confidential. If I’m dead wrong, maybe I can back off short of being busted down to buck private, or cashiered out of the service entirely.”

  “I’ll keep the lid on for you, Cap, where the Rangers are concerned,” said West. “If it turns out you’re right, where do you aim to go from there?”

  “I’m going to exceed the hell out of my authority,” Captain Vance said, “and establish a force of
men to greet the thieves who have stolen those arms.”

  “I reckon I can help you there,” said West. “The worst the army can do is tell me to mind my own damn business in the future.”

  “Like hell they will,” Captain Vance said. “If we pull this off and you help me save these Winchester wagons, I’ll see that you’re commended by the president of these United States.”

  * Spurs.

  CHAPTER 19

  Texas Ranger Bodie West didn’t hesitate after Captain Vance left the office. West took a pencil and a tablet and composed a telegram to the Ranger outpost at Houston. Unsatisfied with his first effort, he ripped out the sheet and started over. While some Rangers were unsympathetic to the trials of Union soldiers in Texas, Bodie West had learned that most of them—like Captain Vance—were decent men, performing difficult duties under trying circumstances. When West had the telegram composed to his satisfaction, he had it sent to one of the Rangers he knew at Houston. But something troubled him. While Captain Vance was attempting to head off the thieves he believed had taken the six wagons and their government cargo, what would become of the men who had undertaken the hazardous journey with the wagons? West rode to a boarding house where two other Rangers—Wells and Marks—shared a room.

  “Oh, God,” Marks said, when he opened the door, “it’s West, and he wants something more than our company.”

  “Yeah,” Wells agreed, “he never tracks us down where we live unless he’s looking for a few days off. How long this time, Bodie?”

  “Muy bueno amigos,” said West humbly, “you misjudge me.”

  “Like hell,” Marks scoffed. “Where are you goin’? How long you aim to be gone? Is this Ranger business, or do you have the hots for some señorita in Laredo?”

  “It’s not really Ranger business,” said West, “but it’s not quite personal, either. I aim to ride up the Rio Colorado a ways on an errand for Captain Vance.”

  “By God,” Wells said, “when you cash in, instead of lettin’ you into heaven, Saint Pete will deck you out in Union blue and shuffle you off to Washington.”

  Marks laughed, enjoying the fun. “Can’t you just see that monument, old Bodie twelve feet high, in solid marble?”

  “Damn it,” said West, becoming irritated, “are you goin’ to cover for me or not?”

  “Don’t we always?” Wells said. “What in tarnation ever give you the idea we wasn’t?”

  The next morning at first light, Bodie West rode north-west, following the Colorado. He was virtually certain that if the wagons had traveled south, it was for the purpose of reaching the river. The river flowed directly through Austin and was a reliable source of water. While West considered Captain Vance’s suspicion regarding a sailing ship a possible means of taking the stolen weapons out of the country, it wasn’t the only consideration. It was entirely possible that the thieves had connections in Mexico, and would simply take the wagons across the border at the most convenient point. Suppose the wagons, instead of being taken toward the distant coast and a sailing ship, had crossed the Rio Colorado and had continued south, toward the border?

  “Hoss,” said West, “it’ll take us a mite longer, followin’ the river, but we got to find what direction those wagons took after reachin’ the Rio Colorado.”

  South Texas. December 13, 1873.

  Supper was over, and Mac’s outfit had distanced itself from Lieutenant Nelson and his men. There was little conversation, each of them occupied by the same grim thoughts. Port Guthrie finally spoke.

  “Three months since we left Kansas City. I’m wonderin’ why the army ain’t started a search for us. I can’t see ’em takin’ a loss such as this, without at least tryin’ to recover it.”

  “Neither can I,” Mac admitted, “but the army’s god-awful slow in starting any kind of investigation. If they’ve made any moves, I reckon they started in Kansas City.”

  “All cut, dried, and boiled down,” said Buck, “that means by the time they get to the truth of things, they won’t be in time to be of any help to us.”

  “That’s it,” Mac admitted. “Their common sense never catches up to their good intentions.”

  “Well, I don’t aim to go on like this,” said Haze. “Hell, we’re still in irons without a plan of escape. I’d as soon be dead. I’m goin’ over yonder and punch Nelson in the mouth and let him shoot me.”

  “No,” Red said, “you’re goin’ to ride this out another couple of days. The rest of us don’t give up until Mac does, and I don’t believe he has.”

  “No,” said Mac, “and I don’t intend to give up. Something’s got to happen. We’ll get a fighting chance. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Port Guthrie was careful not to look at Mac. He was only too well aware that much of Mac’s plan depended upon him. He had never been called upon to break an axle before, and he pondered a means of accomplishing it that would seem accidental.

  “Two more days,” Lafe Beard said, “and we’ll be three months out of Kansas City.”

  “Stop remindin’ us,” said Gourd Snively. “Hell, I druv a wagon all the way from Kansas City to the Yellowstone, an’ it didn’t take this long. We was held up three times on the Bozeman, fightin’ the Sioux.”

  Smokey Foster laughed. “I remember that, Gourd. That’s when you and three other hombres circled your wagons and kilt every Sioux in the war party except Crazy Horse. He had to ride for his life, with the four of you chasin’ him like hell wouldn’t have it.”

  “That was the easy part, gettin’ rid of Crazy Horse and the Sioux,” Port Guthrie said, a twinkle in his eyes. “It’s a heap harder than you’d imagine, circlin’ four wagons.”

  They all laughed, Gourd Snively along with them. They desperately needed something to lift their sagging spirits. With nothing better to do, they retired to their blankets. With no moon, they could move quietly within a prescribed area without drawing the attention of the sentries. Trinity dragged her blankets near Mac’s, so they might talk.

  “I can’t sleep,” Trinity said. “I’ll never sleep again until we free ourselves and go on to Austin.”

  “Keep it soft,” Mac cautioned. “They’re downwind from us. The last thing I want them thinking is that we’re planning something.”

  “But we’re not planning anything, are we?”

  “Yes,” said Mac, “I have a plan, and I don’t want you to so much as breathe a word to any of the others. I mean to nobody. Understand?”

  “I understand,” Trinity said, “but why not tell the others? They need something to lift their spirits.”

  “That’s the last damn thing we need,” said Mac. “I want everybody looking as down and as hopeless as possible. The minute we stop looking worried and scared, that’s when Nelson and his bunch begin keeping a closer watch on us, and our last hope of escape goes up in smoke. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I do,” Trinity said.

  “Good,” said Mac. “Now can you go on looking as beaten and as forlorn as everybody else?”

  “I’ll try,” Trinity said. “This is not something that’s going to get one of you shot or beaten half to death, is it?”

  “No,” said Mac, “and that’s all I can tell you.”

  “Thank you for telling me that much.”

  Privates Puckett, Haynes, and McCarty were on sentry duty watching the mules and horses. Their conversation dealt with what they had just learned from Sergeant Embler.

  “That’s what the sarge said,” Puckett insisted. “Once we get these wagons off our hands, we can all have a go at these women.”

  “I’ll believe that when it happens,” said Haynes. “Embler’s just tellin’ us that so’s we’ll keep our noses to the grindstone.”

  “I heard the same thing,” McCarty said. “We’re gettin’ two or three days’ use of them females, and that includes the high-toned redhead that thinks she’s too good for us.”

  “She won’t be good for nobody, when we’re done with her,” Haynes said. “Hell, we could of
been havin’ ’em ever since we took over these wagons, if Nelson had just let us gun down the men.”

  “Maybe he knows what he’s doin’,” said Puckett. “Why shoot a man, when you can get paid for sellin’ him into the mines? I’d like to see this highfalutin bunch bustin’ their backs diggin’ silver for the Mexes.”

  “Not me,” McCarty said. “I never want to see ’em again. I aim to take my share of the money and go to California.”

  “Some of the others—Irvin and Collins—are talkin’ about us all sticking together, even after ridding ourselves of the wagons,” said Puckett.

  “Let Irvin and Collins stick together, then,” McCarty said. “It’ll be that much easier for the army to track ’em down as deserters.”

  “Damn it,” Embler shouted, “them of you there among the horses and mules are too noisy. Hold it down.”

  “Aw, stuff it,” said Puckett, but not loud enough for Embler to hear.

  Mac and his outfit spent a restless night. They arose at first light, and as usual, the women started the fires and prepared breakfast. The horses and mules had all been led in close enough for all the sentries to eat without having to watch the animals. The trouble started when the quick-tempered Sergeant Embler almost dropped his tin cup, just as Hattie was filling it with coffee. Fumbling for the cup, Embler struck the coffeepot in such a way that Hattie spilled its scalding contents down the front of Embler’s trousers. Shouting in pain and fury, Embler drew his Colt and was about to slug Hattie with it, when Rachel swung a heavy skillet. It slammed into the back of Embler’s head, and as he fell, the Colt roared. The slug burned a furrow along the flank of one of the mules, and the animal screamed in pain. It then lit out in a dead run toward the south, taking with it all its companions and the frightened horses.

  “Head those mules!” Lieutenant Nelson shouted.

  “Head ’em, hell,” said Private Puckett. “They’re gone.”

  And so they were. Lieutenant Nelson looked first at the fallen Sergeant Embler and then at Hattie, who still held the offending coffeepot. Rachel stood beside her, defiantly holding the heavy iron skillet.