The Comancheros, page 7
A quiet voice said, “Can’t we just go home?”
Quietly, Mac said, “Ma’am, we’ll do what we can, but we have to go to Amarillo first.”
*
While the battle was raging between McClellan Creek and Sweetwater Creek in the eastern panhandle, Captain Wilson, Jack Stilson, Wes and Susan May were enjoying their dinner in the Amarillo Inn.
At one point, the captain looked at Mrs. May. “Susan, are you sure this is something you really want to do? Be a deputy, I mean?”
She looked up. “I know it sounds a little crazy, but here’s what I have to work with.” She splayed the fingers of her left hand and started ticking them off with her index finger. “My husband’s dead, thank God. My precious daughter died a few weeks ago. My farm is burned to the ground, and even if it wasn’t, a woman still can’t own land outright, so even that could be taken away from me.”
“Yes, but—”
“I know, I could board a stage or a train and go back to St. Louis, but that just isn’t the life I want. I want to stay out here. But I’m not a good-enough seamstress to make a living doing that, and really, there’s only one other way for a woman to make a living, isn’t there? And I’m not going to do that.”
She raised one hand, then put it on the table and sighed. “No, I want to stay here, and I want to work with the law. Maybe I can stop what happened to me from happening to others. And if the mayor won’t let the sheriff hire me,” she shrugged, “then I’ll just have to do odd jobs ‘til I can pay for the clothes I bought and my gun and holster. Then I’ll move farther west. I know somewhere, some town will be willing to hire me as a deputy.”
The captain said, “Well, if it comes down to you having to do something else, maybe Manuel Ortega can hire you to help cook or wait tables or—”
Wes said, “Hell, I’d ride with you.”
She looked at him and canted her head slightly. “Well, thank you!”
Color rising into his throat and cheeks again, he looked up at the captain. “I mean, I’ll ride with anyone who can ride like she did. And in a dress on top of it! I never saw the like.” He looked at Mrs. May again. “And if you shoot half as good as you ride, I’ll stand with you too.”
She laughed. “Thank you again. Wes, is it?”
“Yes ma’am. Wes Crowley.” He pointed at Stilson. “And that somber figure is Jack Stilson. And you already know the captain. We should have some more for you to meet around the end of the day.”
Stilson nodded at the woman, then looked at Wes. “I told you, Crowley, Edwards and them won’t be back for two or three more days. And chances are, Corporal Connolly and his bunch won’t be back for a couple of days either.”
Wes laughed. “You’re chock full of it, Jack.”
The captain raised one hand. “Be that as it may,” and he looked at Susan, “I’m sure everyone will be glad to make your acquaintance once they do get back, whenever they arrive.”
She nodded at him and smiled. “Thank you, kind sir. I look forward to meeting them.”
They went on with their meal, but a few minutes later the sheriff came in.
As Mrs. May tensed, the captain looked up and around. “Care to join us, Bill?”
The sheriff held up one hand and grinned. “No, but thanks. I just stopped by to welcome my newest deputy.” He looked at Mrs. May. “Deputy May, report to the office tomorrow morning, say 8 a.m. or thereabouts.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll be there.”
*
In the northwest corner of the panhandle, Corporal Connolly mounted his horse. Frustration leaking into his voice, he said, “Well, we might as well start back.”
On the second day, he, Blake Stanton and Slate Lawson had done nothing but followed the railroad tracks. They’d ridden through Dalton and kept going until Connolly was all but certain they’d crossed into New Mexico territory. And they hadn’t seen so much as a wagon track except at the Mosquero-Plumas junction and on the various farm roads. But then, those were to be expected.
There was no way to tell what sort of wagons had used the junction or whether they’d stopped or simply crossed the tracks. And on the farm roads there were never more than two sets of tracks, one coming and one going, as evidenced by the way the wheels threw dirt.
But the corporal’s frustration and the resulting sense of dejection paid off. “I guess we’d better go slow, check for sign going south too, at least as far as the junction. Everything south of there’s been checked twice. Might as well be thorough.”
The others agreed. For Stanton, they were on the homeward stretch. It would be nice to relax their way through at least part of the trip.
Up ahead, Lawson was also glad the corporal wasn’t in a rush to get back. He was sure they’d missed something, and he was equally certain they could find it. He eagerly put himself on point, riding fifty yards or so ahead.
Behind him, Connolly and Stanton paid little attention to the passing surface. They’d been around long enough to know not to expect gifts from Heaven. What was there was there, and what wasn’t simply wasn’t.
But as they walked their horses along and chatted about various things, it was enjoyable to look up occasionally and note how attentive the young Ranger Lawson was. Now and then he did something that reminded them of when they were that green and innocent, and they chuckled. Of course, they were careful not to get too loud. The younger Ranger’s eagerness would dull in its own time, as it had for them.
Up ahead, Lawson was certain the corporal was right. Things usually do look different when you’re going the other direction. Even the ground. Or maybe especially on the ground. And for sure the shadows would be different in the late afternoon than they had been in the morning or when the sun was high overhead. His head seemed to be on a swivel as he rode close along the west side of the tracks and carefully studied the ground on either side.
They went on that way, hour after hour, down from the northwest corner, through Dalton, and out the other side. Lawson hardly noticed they’d passed through town.
Chapter 16
When Corporal Connolly and his men were a few miles south of Dalton and the sun was nearing the horizon, he called out, “Hey, Slate.”
Lawson reined-in and looked back. “Yes sir?”
“We’ll make camp not far past the junction. Maybe a quarter-mile. There’s a good place there on the east side of the tracks.”
Lawson gave him a thumbs-up. “Yes sir,” he said, then turned his horse and went back to studying the ground in the failing light.
But maybe forty yards farther south, he stopped. He studied the ground for a long moment. Then he dismounted and walked west, cautiously.
Stanton noticed and pointed. Then he and the corporal prodded their mounts lightly and rode up to where Lawson’s horse was standing next to the tracks.
Connolly said, “You find something?”
Lawson held up one hand as he continued studying the ground and walking farther west.
A moment later, he turned around, a broad grin on his face. “Yes sir!”
Connolly looked at Stanton, then back at Lawson. “Well, what is it?”
“It’s more of a showing thing than a telling thing.” He put up one hand. “But let me come to you.”
By the time he got there, both men had dismounted.
Lawson turned and pointed, excited. “See those kind’a streaks? Doesn’t that look like someone was sweeping the ground with branches or something?”
Stanton looked, then shrugged. “I guess.”
Connolly frowned. “You might be right.”
Lawson said, “No sir, I know I’m right.” He gestured. “Come on.” He turned and retraced his path, still pointing as the other two followed. “I saw all those brush marks, so I figured if they were brushing something away, maybe that something is out here somewhere.” He walked around a stand of mesquites, then stopped and pointed again. “Wagon tracks, Corporal! Two sets. And they’re deeper comin’ in, and shallower goin’ out.” He grinned. “This is where they loaded the women. Probably the ones Ranger Crowley and them spotted down in Brownsville.”
Stanton said, “Not more recent than that?”
But Connolly shook his head. “No.” He pointed. “See how the dirt’s settled in the tracks? If they were new, the dirt would have a lot of air in it. It’d be kind’a bowed up in the middle, more powdery. Plus there are leaves and little sticks in the tracks, but laying on top, not squashed down by the wheels.” He straightened. “These are at least a few days old, and maybe older than that.” He looked at Lawson. “I think you’re right. Great catch.”
As the three men walked back to their horses, he said, “Let’s figure about how long it takes us to get to the junction so we know how far north this is. Maybe someday we can set up a surprise for ‘em.”
*
In the east, Ranger Mendoza dropped three gun belts, four revolvers, and two Winchester carbines into the back of the wagon. Mac had left the back foot or so open for that purpose.
As Corporal Edwards patted his stallion’s neck and lavished quiet praise on him, Mac and Mendoza finished tying down the tarp. Then Mac said, “Corporal Edwards, I’m gonna ride with Chris here to find those horses.”
Edwards only nodded.
Two of the horses were nearby. Mendoza found the first one grazing on clumps of yellow grass less than a quarter-mile from Corporal Edwards. That was the one whose rider Mendoza himself had shot out of the saddle.
The other two were easy enough to find too. One was reined to a thick mesquite branch. Mac heard hoof beats and spotted the other running free a few hundred yards to the north just east of the arroyo. He left the first and went after the second.
He caught up with the horse in about a quarter-mile, but just as he caught the reins, he spotted a small cloud of dust moving north. It was close to a mile away and receding fast. He turned around, led the first horse to the second and retrieved that one, then headed up out of the arroyo to the wagon.
Mendoza was waiting at the back. He looked around and grinned as Mac rode up. “If I’d known it would take that long I’d have come with you.”
“Not a big thing. Anyway, this is three out of four.”
Corporal Edwards looked up. “Four?”
Mac nodded as he dismounted and handed the reins to Mendoza. “I spotted a little cloud of dust going hell bent for leather to the north. Probably another comanchero.”
Edwards looked away. “Damn.” Then he turned, walked to the wagon and looked up at the driver. “You sure you don’t know Messina?”
The old man shook his head, his forehead and cheeks lined with worry. “No, señor. I have heard of him, but I do not know him.”
“Where’d you hear of him?”
“Señor Alvarez, el es un otro comanchero. It is he for whom I drive the women. Pero if I do not, he will harm—”
“I don’t give a damn who he’ll harm!” Edwards gestured widely. “Look at all the harm these men did today!” He pointed past the old man at the wagon. “Look at the harm he did to those families!”
The old man bowed his head. “Sí, señor, I know, pero—”
Edwards turned away. “Pero nothin’! Just drive the damn wagon!” By the time he mounted his horse, Mac and Mendoza were mounted. “Mac, you two ride behind the wagon. If he tries anything, shoot him.”
“Yes sir.”
Edwards turned his horse west. “Let’s go.” And they started for home.
*
Just before sundown that same day, Felix Agrande rode alone into Rodolfo “Niño” Alvarez’ camp northeast of Wheeler. The camp was just west of the border with Indian Territory, and a scant few miles from Red Hawk’s camp.
He dismounted and moved from tent to tent, looking for Alvarez.
The third man he encountered, Jorge Solíz, who was in charge while Alvarez was gone, laughed. “No, no. Remember? Niño is in the west. He is meeting with Paco Messina himself. He is not due back for another day or two. Maybe even three.” The man grinned and clapped Agrande on the shoulder. “You should relax, man. You look as if you have seen a ghost.” But then he frowned. “Wait. Weren’t you with the last shipment south? You and what, two or three others?”
Agrande’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, yes I was. That’s just it, Jorge! That’s what I am trying to tell you! They are gone! All the women are gone! And Ramón and Jose and Juan. All gone!”
Solíz’ frown deepened. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“The Rangers. There were Rangers. They stopped the wagon, and they killed Juan and Jose and—”
“And Ramón, I know. But why did they not kill you? How were you able to escape?”
“I—I had taken a break to relieve myself. I was only maybe a quarter-mile back when the shooting started. And I rode into battle, Jorge, but before I could get there, they were all dead. So I returned here to let señor Alvarez know. The Rangers, they—”
“How many Rangers?”
Agrande arched his eyebrows. “What?”
“How many Rangers were there?”
“Three I think, but maybe more. Almost certainly more. They were all over the place.”
“So there were four of you plus the old fool on the wagon and only three Rangers, yet everything is gone?”
“Yes, yes, gone like I said. So I returned here to tell—”
“You are a coward.” Solíz drew his revolver and shot Agrande point blank.
The man stumbled backward, clawing at his abdomen, his eyes wide and gaping. “You—you shot me! But I returned to—”
Solíz revolver bucked again and another bullet plowed into Agrande’s abdomen an inch from the first.
Agrande fell to his back, his arms at his sides. He stared up at Solíz. “But I returned, Jorge.” And then he saw nothing.
Chapter 17
Toward the end of the next day, people on the boardwalks in Amarillo stopped and stared as Corporal Edwards preceded a tarp-covered buckboard into town. Driving the wagon was an elderly Mexican man, covered with dust and with a worried look on his face. Three saddled horses were tied to the back of the wagon, and Rangers McFadden and Mendoza followed several yards behind.
Down the way, a citizen gaped, then ran into the sheriff’s office to let the sheriff know something was going on.
Wes was on his way into the headquarters, and he called for the captain and Stilson to come out.
But as the three men stepped out of the office, Corporal Edwards only nodded, then pointed down the street.
The captain, Stilson and Wes started in that direction.
The procession stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, where Bill Potter himself had just come out.
Still mounted, Edwards said, “Sheriff, there are ten women in this wagon. Seems we interrupted a comanchero shipment. Could your folks maybe see to their welfare for a few days?”
“Certainly. Certainly. Ten women, you say?”
“Yes sir, under the tarp. And some guns. We’ll collect those and the horses later. And if you’d put the driver in a cell, I’d appreciate it. We’ll talk with him later. Right now I need to go report to the captain.”
But as he reined his horse around, the captain stopped on the boardwalk, flanked by Wes and Stilson. “Did I hear you say there are ten women in that wagon?”
“Yes sir. I reckon the sheriff’ll take care of ‘em for the time bein’ until we can come up with a plan. The driver says he don’t know Messina, but he’s workin’ for a man named Alvarez.”
The captain nodded and raised one hand. “For now, you men put your horses away, then come see me in the office. We’ll sort it out quickly and you can get some rest.”
Edwards nodded. “Yes sir.” Then he looked around for Mac and Mendoza. “Livery stable.” And the three men rode in that direction.
*
After Sheriff Potter got a few men started untying the tarp, he took the old man from the bench seat and guided him into the office. When the man was secure in a cell, he stepped back out into the main room.
Deputy May was sitting at a second desk looking at posters. She glanced up. “Sheriff? What’s going on?”
The sheriff looked at her for a moment, then said, “Perfect. Deputy, how would you like to watch over ten young women who were taken by the comancheros?”
She stood. “Yes sir. Anything I can do.”
He pointed toward the door. “They’re outside in a wagon at the moment. There’s an old unused barn just past the livery stable. I suggest you take them down there. That can be their temporary quarters while we get things figured out. Then talk to some of the store owners and people on the street. See what they’re willing to donate. Those women probably lost everything.” He paused. “Well, I don’t have to tell you.”
“No sir. I’ll take care of it.” She put on her hat and walked out.
The tarp had been flung back off the wagon.
She could only stare. She counted them. Ten women, like the sheriff said, but three of them were so young they barely qualified. She held up her hands as she approached the wagon. “I’m Deputy Susan May. I’ll be watching over you for a few days. Right now we’re going to take you to a barn. I’ll find bedding and so forth, and that will be home until we can get things figured out. All right?”
All of the women nodded.
One of the younger ones said, “You’re a deputy?”
Susan nodded and smiled. “Yes, yes I am. And all of this is going to be all right. I promise. Just trust me.” Then she stepped up on the seat of the wagon, whipped the horses lightly with the reins, and started the wagon down the street toward the old barn.
When all the women were unloaded, she looked around. “I need a couple of volunteers.”
The young woman who’d spoken before raised her hand, and another woman stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
“Can you drive the wagon?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Just follow me. We’re gonna go see what we can get for bedding and so on.” She glanced around. “The rest of you, please stay inside for now and make yourselves as comfortable as you can. We’ll be back shortly.”
