“I do believe that the resultant surprise and rapidity of our attack, as well as the fact that they will be without effective leadership, while I will be in command of our forces, will result in a veritable slaughter of their men, followed by an unconditional surrender.”
* * *
At that very moment, the citizens of Cottonwood Springs, unaware of the fate that awaited them, were going about their normal routine. At the stage depot one of the hostlers was putting a six-horse team into harness for the trip to Lordsburg. Inside the depot the ticketing agent, driver, and four passengers waited. As there was no money being transferred, there would be no shotgun guard making the trip.
In an empty lot between Walker’s Grocery Store and Waggy’s Café, four young boys were playing marbles. Nearby, three little girls were skipping rope to the rhythm of a nursery rhyme they were chanting. “Peas porridge hot, Peas porridge cold, Peas porridge in the pot nine days old.”
Just down the street from the rope-jumping little girls, close enough to hear them, Mayor Rodney Gilbert was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of the Cottonwood Springs Hotel. He was holding council with City Marshal Asa Powell.
“What do you think about this feller who has put out some flyers saying as how we ain’t a part of the United States no more?” Marshal Powell asked.
Mayor Gilbert chuckled. “It didn’t work for Jeff Davis, ’n he had almost a million men with ’im. I don’t see it working for this man Schofield, either.”
“I reckon not,” Powell said. “You got to give the man credit for havin’ some gumption, though.”
A few men and women were strolling along the boardwalks on either side of Malone Street, bound on personal errands. Not one person in the town was aware of Schofield’s Legion, a veritable army camped on either side of the town, poised to attack.
* * *
It had been almost forty–five minutes since Schofield repositioned General Peterson to the other side of town, when Private Lemon came riding up. “Sir, General Peterson says he’s ready whenever you are.”
“Very good, Lemon, take your position with the troops,” Schofield ordered. Drawing his pistol, he pointed it straight up, then pulled the trigger, hesitated for a couple of seconds, then pulled it two more times. After that he counted down aloud, from ten and immediately shouted, “By company front, charge!”
With pistols in hand, the men of Schofield’s Legion rode at a gallop toward the peaceful little town that lay before them. The fact that there were groups of armed men approaching at a gallop from both ends of town so shocked the citizens of the town that many stood immobile, unable to react in anyway.
Marshal Powell, who was the only one armed as the two armies swept into town, stepped out onto the edge of the hotel porch and fired. One of the attackers was hit and tumbled from his horse, but the courageous marshal went down under a hail of gunfire. Mayor Gilbert picked up the marshal’s pistol with the intention of returning fire, but he was cut down before he could even pull the trigger.
By the time the two armies merged, the street and boardwalks were littered with bodies. In the empty lot where the children had been playing, one of the little girls and two of the young boys lay dead. A man came running out of a business, waving a white towel over his head.
“Cease fire, cease fire!” Schofield shouted and the town grew quiet. A rather significant cloud of gun smoke drifted down the street, partially obscuring the view and burning everyone’s nostrils.
“Please, no more killing! We surrender!” The call for mercy came from the man who was holding the towel.
“Are you the mayor?” Schofield asked.
“No.”
“I will accept the surrender of the town only from the mayor.”
“He can’t surrender because he’s dead. You killed ’im,” The townsman holding the white flag pointed to the bodies of the mayor and the city marshal.
“Very well. I will accept the surrender from you,” Schofield agreed. “You are now free to gather the bodies and arrange for their burials.”
An unexpected gunshot interrupted the dialogue. On the opposite side of the street someone lay facedown with a pistol in his hand.
“Who shot that man?” Schofield demanded.
“I did, Prime Director,” First Sergeant Cobb replied. “He was pointin’ a gun at you.”
“Good job, First Sergeant.” Schofield turned his attention back to the man holding the white flag. “What is your name, sir?”
“Toomey. George Toomey.”
“Mr. Toomey, I am Prime Director Ebenezer Schofield. Perhaps you have seen some of the flyers I recently caused to be published.”
“Yes, I saw them.”
“Then, as you know who I am, you also must know that I have absolute power over everyone in the sovereign state of Tierra de Desierto. And because I have that authority, I hereby appoint you as acting mayor of the town of Cottonwood Springs. Your first duty is to make certain nobody else attempts to shoot us.” Schofield held up a finger to make a point. “From this point forward, if we see anyone with a gun, we will kill him and five more of your citizens, who we will select at random. Included in the five that we kill will be at least one woman and one child.”
“What?” Toomey asked with a gasp. “Why would you kill the innocent?”
“It is called incentive,” Schofield replied. “Having such a specter hanging over your heads will give you incentive to see to it that nobody else tries anything so foolish. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes,” Toomey said.
“When you speak with me, you will call me Prime Director,” Schofield demanded.
“Yes, Prime Director,” Toomey corrected.
As the men of Schofield’s Legion watched the citizens recover their dead, Schofield looked around town until he found the most substantial-looking house.
“This,” he said, taking in the house with a wave of his hand, “will be my headquarters. First Sergeant Cobb?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take two men with you, go into the house, and turn out anyone that you find.”
A few minutes later two women, one of whom was a Mexican, and two young children were herded out of the house.
“Who is your husband?” he asked.
“Rodney Gilbert. He is the mayor,” the older of the two women said defiantly.
“You have my condolences, ma’am,” Schofield said.
“Condolences?”
“Your husband was a brave man. He died attempting to defend his town.”
“Dead? Rodney is dead?”
“I’m afraid he is. Now, I will be taking your house. Have you anywhere else to go? Do you have any other relatives in town?”
Mrs. Gilbert was crying so that she couldn’t answer.
“Her mother lives here,” the Mexican woman said.
“What is your name?” Schofield asked.
“I am Frederica Arino, maid to the mayor and Mrs. Gilbert.”
“Well, Frederica, I want you to get Mrs. Gilbert and the children safely moved, then come back here.” Schofield smiled, almost leeringly, at the exceptionally attractive young woman. “From now on, you will be working for me.”
Chapter Seven
Schofield and his army had moved through the New Mexico Bootheel in an unstoppable juggernaut. After capturing and occupying Hachita and Cottonwood Springs, the next target was La Tenja.
Sitting astride a large white horse, Schofield, like the others, was wearing a uniform. However, his was the most glorious of them all.
Beside him sat General Julian Peterson, nearly as splendidly dressed. Behind them were fifty more uniformed men, including a captain, two lieutenants, and four sergeants.
“What are your instructions, Prime Director?” General Peterson asked.
“Be ruthless in the attack,” Schofield ordered. “There must be none left behind who are capable of leading a revolt against us.”
The sleepy little town was totally unaware that on
a slight rise but one mile from town, a small army of men, mounted and well-armed, were about to attack. The townspeople went about their business as they did every day. Ike Rafferty was sweeping off his porch prior to opening his general store, and down at Fred Miller’s Freight Company, a wagon was being loaded. Carpenters were getting ready to resume work on a house for the newlyweds, Ted and Emma Morris, and water was being heated behind the Mighty-Clean Laundry. Ed Hanover was moving bags of feed from inside the store to the outside so that they would be more visible to the customers, and Sid Goren was repairing the sign for the La Tenja Hotel. One end was hanging lower than the other.
On the night before, some impertinent boys had thrown mud clods onto the sign in front of the St. Francis Catholic Church, which was the very first building at the extreme north end of the town. Father Hernandez, armed with a bucket of soapy water and a cloth, was cleaning it, when he heard a sound like a low, rumbling thunder. Turning toward the sound he was shocked to see a large number of uniformed men galloping toward the town. Riding abreast of each other, as soon as they hit Tanner Street, they spread all the way across the road from one side to the other.
“Here, you men!” Father Hernandez called, stepping out with his arms raised. “You can’t come galloping into a town like this!”
His dark garb and collar notwithstanding, at least three of the riders fired at the priest. He went down with a blood-soaked cassock, dead before the last rider passed him by.
As Schofield’s Legion swept into the town, the thunder of the hoofbeats awakened everyone, some from their slumber and others from their inattention. To the sound of the galloping horses was added the throaty shouts of the soldiers, then the sound of gunfire as all began firing indiscriminately.
Ike Rafferty was killed first, then Vernon Jones and Ben Carter, who were loading the freight wagon. Ed Hanover ducked down behind the sacks of feed, and Sid Goren ran back into the hotel.
New sounds were added to the cacophony as the men of the town shouted in alarm, and the women of the town screamed in terror.
Schofield’s men began to ransack homes, shoot civilians, loot stores, and set fire to buildings. Some of the townspeople had managed to grab guns, but they were too few and too late, as most were killed before they could even get a shot off.
As the day went on, terror spread throughout the town, with panicked citizens fleeing into nearby ravines, hiding in cellars or cornfields, and attempting to escape. By noon almost fifty percent of the male population had been killed, and half the buildings, private homes and businesses, had been burned. Schofield took over the lone hotel of the town, establishing his temporary headquarters in the hotel dining room.
“Captain Bond,” Schofield called as he cleaned off a table then turned it lengthwise and sat behind it so that it became more of a desk than a dining table.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Take some men with you and locate the mayor of this town. If he has been killed, find the vice-mayor, or the highest-ranking city official still alive.”
“Yes, sir,” Bond replied, gathering five men to help him in his quest.
“Lieutenant Mack, Lieutenant Fillion, take two men each and go through every building in town to collect any weapons that you may find. Then order everyone, be they man, woman, or child, out into the street. I want to address the entire town.”
After the three officers left to carry out their assignments, the four sergeants were charged with posting guards around the hotel, and Schofield invited General Peterson to have lunch with him.
“We have but one town remaining,” Schofield said over the meal the hotel provided.
“Antelope Wells,” General Peterson replied. “It will be the greatest challenge. It is larger than all the other towns combined.”
“And the mayor of the town, Charles McGregor, was an officer in the Black Watch,” Schofield said.
“Black Watch? What is that?” General Peterson asked.
“It is a Scottish regiment in the British army. Quite a storied regiment, I might add.”
“But surely, Prime Director, his experience doesn’t compare to yours. You commanded the Second Division of the Fifth Corps and fought in some of the most significant battles of the war. How could McGregor possibly match that?”
“General, one of the most important lessons I learned in the war was to never underestimate your enemy.”
“Yes, sir. That’s true.”
“Once the town of Antelope Wells falls under our control, the birth process of Tierra del Desierto will be complete. Then we will build our new nation so that we may take our position on the world stage.”
“Starting a new country like this is funny, when you think about it,” General Peterson said.
“Oh? And what, exactly, General Peterson, do you find funny about establishing a new country?”
“Well, sir, it’s just that you and I are seceding from the United States to start a new nation. The last time someone tried this, it resulted in a war, and you and I fought to keep it from happening.”
“Indeed there was a war, but then it was nearly half the country that seceded. I seriously doubt that President Arthur will be able to convince Americans to go to war to prevent half a million acres of desert from breaking away from the rest of the country. And don’t forget, New Mexico isn’t even a state.”
“Prime Director Schofield?” Captain Bond said, stepping tentatively into the dining room.
“Yes, Captain?”
“I found him, sir. He was hiding in the basement of his house.”
“You found who?”
“Why, the mayor of the town,” Captain Bond said. “His name is Pete Cravens, ’n he’s waitin’ out front.”
“Very well, Captain, show the mayor in.”
A moment later a small, thin man with no more than a few strands of hair combed across a bald head was brought into the room by two of Schofield’s soldiers.
“Stand there,” one of the accompanying soldiers said gruffly.
The mayor, clearly frightened, stood where he was directed and slid his wire-rim glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.
“Here, here, men, this man is the mayor. We must treat him with some dignity and respect. Your Honor, I am Prime Director Ebenezer Schofield, ruler of the emerging nation of Tierra de Desierto.”
“Land of the Desert? What nation is that?”
“It is what once was the Bootheel of New Mexico. This town, your town, is right in the middle of Tierra del Desierto and because two of the most important roads cross here, La Tenja is the second most important town in the new nation. You should feel honored that you are the mayor of such an important place. I will expect much of you.”
“You mean, you aren’t going to kill me?” Mayor Cravens asked in a voice that squeaked of fear.
“Why, no, my good man,” Schofield replied with a broad smile. “Why would I do that?”
“When you and your men arrived . . . all the shooting, all the killing, I just, uh . . . thought that you were going to kill everybody.”
“Yes, well, I’m sorry about that. But the birth of any new country is often painful and bloody. This show of force was necessary for it is imperative for all to understand that I and my legionnaires are recognized as the absolute and final authority. Tell me, Mayor Cravens, do you anticipate any armed resistance from your citizens to my annexation of your town?”
“No sir. To tell the truth, I don’t even know how many of male citizens I have left who could even handle a gun,” Mayor Cravens said.
“Well then that means I’ll not be worrying about any insurrection against my authority,” Schofield said. He held up a finger.
“Mr. Prime Director, the town has gathered in the street,” Lieutenant Mack said.
“Very good. I’ll go speak with them. It is about time the citizens of this community recognize that there is a new authority.”
When Schofield stepped out in front of the hotel, he saw a pile of weapons, rifles, pistols, and s
hotguns lying on the porch of the hotel. He also saw what was left of the little town. A great many of the buildings had been burned to the ground, and at least a dozen blackened bodies scattered among the buildings that still stood facing the street. Smoke curled from the burned buildings, and the air was foul with the stench of not only burnt wood but burned flesh and hair.
There were nearly two hundred people standing fearfully out in the street waiting for him. The women and children outnumbered the men by a rather significant amount, and even fewer men were between the ages of eighteen and forty. At least twenty of Schofield’s soldiers were standing around them, glaring at the citizens of the town as if daring any of them to make any sort of hostile move.
Hostility of any sort was the last thing on the mind of the docile gathering.
Schofield began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prime Director Ebenezer Schofield. From this point forward your fate and the fate of everyone within the confines of the annexed land will be in my hands.
“I am leaving as my regent the man you know as your mayor, Pete Cravens. I want you to understand that from this moment on anything Mayor Pete Cravens says may be construed as having come from me.”
Schofield turned toward the mayor.“And, Mayor Cravens, you will not issue any orders, beyond the normal business of administering the town, without my approval. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Cravens replied, trying hard to stay in the good graces of the men who had destroyed more than half of his town.
“Now, my first directive to you good people is to rebuild your town. You have the opportunity to make it newer and better than it ever was before. Why, I’ve no doubt but that you could make this town the showplace of the new nation.”
“What new nation?” The person who asked the question was a man who appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies.
Schofield nodded at one of his sergeants, and the sergeant walked over to the questioner and knocked him down. There was a gasp of shock and fear from the others.
“Any further questions will be directed to your mayor,” Schofield said. “Now, you are dismissed to begin rebuilding your town. Oh, and don’t try to leave. I will keep men posted at every exit of the town with orders to shoot to kill anyone who attempts to escape.”
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