Nueces Justice

by Greathouse, Mark

  Before departing, Three Toes encountered Bear Slayer’s father. “Three Toes, I thought we were to hold Council.” It was both statement and question.

  “We will, if I return in time, Long Feathers. I must hunt some game.”

  Long Feathers caught Three Toes’ meaning. “May your hunt go well, my chief.”

  Three Toes turned his horse to follow the very obvious track left by the two young warriors. Trampled grass and broken tree branches made the trail almost too easy to follow. In their haste to make amends, the young warriors had made no attempt to cover their trail. Since Comanche relied heavily on game for their sustenance, they learned early on to be excellent trackers.

  Coyote Who Runs and Hawk Nose rode hard, but their ponies had limits. Soon enough, they were alternating between walking and riding. It took nearly half the day before they crossed into the outermost boundaries of the Corrigan farm. As they drew ever nearer to the house, they each instinctively drew arrows from their quivers. The tall grass provided a modest level of cover, and the yellowish hue of their buckskins tended to camouflage them.

  Wasn’t long before they heard voices.

  FIVE

  Only Fools Rush In

  The rocky soil had made for a tough dig, and Luke hung his shirt on a branch of the live oak. At last, he finished helping with the digging, at least as much as his injured hand would permit. It had started to bleed a bit, and he regretted risking the possibility of reopening the wounds. He might need the hand later when he caught up with Strong.

  As he began to put his shirt back on, a faint aroma wafted toward him. He thought a moment and then recognized it as buffalo dung. Strange. Buffalo had pretty much been hunted out of these parts. Longhorns and wild horses far outnumbered them. He finished buttoning his shirt, still just a tad troubled by that whiff of buffalo dung.

  Doc and the boy from town helped Elisa wrap her father and brother in the blankets. The young boy from Nuecestown was just old enough to be a bit titillated by the bit of cleavage revealed by Elisa’s dress as she bent to wrap her brother. She caught his eyes and gave him a scowl. This wasn’t the time nor place, and certainly not the situation. Besides, this boy was just that, a mere boy. His name was Dan, and he took good care of the livery stable in town. Luke Dunn, on the other hand, was a man.

  They soon laid the bodies in the graves next to Elisa’s mother under that shady live oak motte. Doc held his hat in both hands below his belly and nodded to the boy to do the same as they prepared to pray. Luke doffed his hat as well out of respect.

  The priest was about to say a few words when Luke shushed him. He stood upright, scanning the near horizon. There was that hint of buffalo dung in the air, only stronger now. He picked up his Colt rifle.

  “Keep praying, Reverend,” he whispered. “We’ve got company. Just act like we don’t know.” He put his hat back on and then slowly edged his way from the motte. As he stealthily moved away, he ensured that there were rounds in the rifle. It was fully loaded.

  He sniffed the air. Upwind, the breeze was still sending that telltale smell of buffalo dung his way. This was a habit Comanche used so as not to spook the buffalo they were hunting. It would be innocuous enough if there were buffalo around and, if there weren’t, there was the possibility of the dung being smeared on Comanche warriors hunting human prey. Thus, it served as an unnecessary camouflage.

  Luke looked over at the body of Bear Slayer. Could be that the Comanche simply wanted to retrieve his body. It didn’t take much to do the math.

  Luke scanned the tall grass. He was irritated that his hand was throbbing from shoveling. He should have let the boy do the work. Then he heard a faint rattle and stepped quickly aside to avoid a rattlesnake that had been lurking under the prairie grass beside him.

  In that moment of avoiding the snake, he heard a whoosh as an arrow whizzed by. He turned to face the direction the arrow came from to find himself face to face with Hawk Nose. The young Comanche couldn’t avoid Luke’s bullet. By this time, Coyote Who Runs had nocked an arrow, pulled back the string and was set to let it fly, when a shot from another direction blasted the bow from his hands. Luke followed with another round from the Colt rifle. Coyote Who Runs collapsed in the dust.

  Elisa emerged with her Walker Colt in hand. “He was one of them,” she said matter of factly.

  Luke was surprised. “You’re a brave young lady, Elisa Corrigan. And a helluva good shot.” He reckoned she’d likely saved his life. To cover the uneasy feeling that gave him, he bent down to be certain the Comanche were dead.

  ***

  The sound of his complimentary words and his physical nearness, coupled with the reality of what had just happened, made Elisa a little giddy. Her heart fluttered a bit as she watched Luke bend down to be certain the Comanche were dead. She could see his muscles flex under his shirt.

  With the gunfire, everyone came running. They came to a sudden halt as they entered the clearing and saw the dead Comanche.

  About that time, the happenings of the day were finally combining to create emotions that apparently began to work their way into Elisa’s thoughts. She shook involuntarily and tears welled up as she began to cry, for the first time since her father’s and Rob’s deaths.

  ***

  Luke, standing closest to her, was caught completely off guard as she threw herself sobbing into his chest. He looked over at Doc with an expression of helplessness. Elisa’s sobs only lasted a couple of minutes, but it seemed like forever for Luke. Besides, she was just a young girl, and he thought it unseemly to have her clinging so tightly to him. It aroused feelings he wasn’t prepared to handle, especially in this situation. The men all slowly made their way back to the graves with Elisa walking beside Luke, her hand draped over his good arm.

  The brief little funeral done, Luke and Doc saw to dragging the Comanche bodies off into the brush. Luke had enough of digging, so wouldn’t be doing any burying of these heathen. He tried to be as respectful as possible, even though they were heathens by his or most any measure. His Irish upbringing, heavily influenced by his father’s strong Catholic beliefs, had taught him respect for the dead, regardless of their sins. Disposal completed, Luke fetched his horse, retrieved the saddle from the wagon, and threw it on the big grey. Soon enough, he was ready to go chase after Bart Strong.

  “Will you be coming back this way, Luke?” Elisa asked softly.

  “I expect so, Elisa…from time to time,” he said.

  “I’d be looking forward to that, Luke.” She turned to the doctor. “Thanks for your help, Doc.”

  “You’re gonna come stay in town, Elisa.” Doc rightly figured that keeping up the farm would be a huge challenge for a sixteen-year-old girl with a little brother barely standing above waist-high to a grasshopper.

  “I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna make a go of it, Doc,” she told him.

  ***

  Doc remained concerned. He was a sort of conscience for Nuecestown. Colonel Kinney had lured him to Corpus Christi a couple of years back. As the city was growing, it needed a doctor to look after the sick and injured. The one thing Kinney hadn’t counted on was that Doc was often passed out drunk. He needed someone more reliable. He had a heart-to-heart talk with Doc and persuaded him to move up to Nuecestown to be available for travelers using the ferry. Kinney then promptly brought in another doctor.

  Doc understood, but he couldn’t help himself. He was addicted to the booze and helpless to stop drinking. He tried several times, but something would invariably come up and he’d find himself back into the bottle. Often, he’d go off the wagon when thoughts of his wife were triggered. He’d loved her more than anything in the world and blamed himself for her passing. His health was starting to fail, thanks mostly to demon whiskey. Still, the folks in Nuecestown loved Doc and appreciated his sage advice and talent for curing the sick and injured, even when he was inebriated.

  ***

  Luke was up in his saddle. He made an imposing figure on the big grey stallion.
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  “Horse have a name, Luke?” Elisa asked him.

  “I call him horse, but some have called him Ghost. Others call him Shadow.” He gave an aw-shucks grin. “I hope you do well here, Elisa. I’ll stop by and check on you next time I’m up in these parts.”

  It was as close as Elisa was going to get to a promise to return for her.

  Luke turned the horse, and walked him off into the late afternoon sun.

  ***

  Three Toes watched from a distance. The girl and the man had killed three of his warriors. It wouldn’t do for a mere girl to kill Comanche, but the Texas Ranger was big medicine. Should he follow the Ranger? Should he wait and then come back to see to the fate of the girl? Should he go back for reinforcements? Dealing with the girl would have to wait and getting reinforcements would delay his following the Ranger’s trail. He decided to pursue the Ranger.

  He planned to use a strategy his people had found very effective. Rather than risk a head-on confrontation, he’d steal the Ranger’s horse at night, leaving him vulnerable to attack. The Comanche planned to simply follow Luke’s trail and wait until nightfall. Might take a day or two, but time was on his side. There was certainly plenty of cover in the tall grass, and he needed to hang a couple of hours or so behind. He noted that the Ranger apparently was tracking someone. It might do to see whether he could satisfy his vengeance on two or more white men.

  ***

  Luke headed southwest, from whence he’d been attacked. Soon enough, he realized that the area had been deluged with rain the night before. There’d likely be no clues to track, so he decided to head toward a mail station to the south.

  SIX

  Tracking Human Prey

  Three Toes watched Luke ride out of sight. Soon enough, the girl and the man rode away on the wagon, back toward Nuecestown.

  The chief gathered Coyote Who Runs’ and Hawk Nose’s ponies and rode into the clearing where his warriors had fallen; they weren’t there. He hadn’t seen Luke and Doc move the bodies, so had to do a little tracking to find where they’d been deposited. The drag marks in the dust made it fairly easy. Soon enough, he came upon them.

  He was appreciative of Luke’s attempt to lay the bodies out respectfully. It wasn’t the Comanche way, but the white man’s care was duly noted. Because of this, he might only kill him, sparing him any torture.

  Three Toes thought about tribal custom. Traditionally, he’d wrap the dead warriors’ bodies in blankets, place them on horses behind riders, and then ride in search of a burial place like a secure cave. After burial, the bodies would be covered with stones. The riders would return to the encampment, where the tribe would burn all the deceased warriors’ possessions. He sighed. There simply was no time. He’d have to satisfy the spirits by covering the bodies right where they lay, uttering songs and incantations appropriate to the spirits of the dead, and be on his way. Three Toes would pay his respects later to Long Feathers and others of the tribe.

  It took Three Toes more than an hour to cover the bodies of Bear Slayer, Coyote Who Runs, and Hawk Nose and to offer chants to the spirits. He knew that the Texas Ranger on the Ghost horse would not be too hard to track.

  Soon enough, he reconnoitered the area and picked up Luke’s trail. The horse and rider left an easy track in the sandy soil, though the hoof prints didn’t form well, given the nature of sand. In a few days, the tracks would be gone, either blown or washed away.

  ***

  Strong bid farewell to Zeke and Carlotta. He pointed the roan east, knowing that he’d ride on a few miles out before turning south. He gave some thought to heading north toward Nuecestown, but decided that would be a bit too bold, even for someone as trail-smart and confident as himself. No, he’d go south toward Brownsville a bit and then take a turn toward Laredo. Maybe he’d feel up to taking his chances in Mexico. “Porque no?”

  The roan seemed to be traveling just fine with no hint of whatever ailed him the day before. Zeke had been good enough to replace two of the roan’s shoes. Strong didn’t expect he’d have any difficulty so long as he kept a steady pace. There’d be some rough patches of landscape ahead, and he couldn’t afford to have his horse fail him.

  He found himself occasionally looking over his shoulder, scanning the horizon for the Texas Ranger, though he knew the lawman was at least a day behind.

  Strong would look for a place suitable to set an ambush. He needed a high place with a field of vision affording a view across a wide vista to perhaps three or four hundred yards. Ideally, he’d be sheltered enough to build a small fire and fix a bit of coffee. Carlotta had been good enough to pack him a bit of jerky, so he wouldn’t be hungry. In any case, he was anxious to seize the tactical advantage and once again become the hunter rather than the hunted. He reveled at the thought of adding a well-known Texas Ranger to his list of kills. This was how legends were made on the frontier. He might even get into one of those little magazines the hucksters were selling.

  ***

  Other than stopping for a quick cat nap, Luke had moved under the light of the moon. It was nearly bright enough to be mistaken for daylight. About all he could hear were the thuds and clops of his horse’s hooves and an occasional hoot owl. Far as he could tell, he was pretty much alone. Early in the afternoon, he caught sight of smoke rising from Zeke and Carlotta’s mail station. He rightly figured the station would be a logical place for Strong to stop. Blessedly, Luke’s hand had stopped throbbing.

  As he drew closer, it struck him that there was an awful lot of smoke for a chimney fire. He quickened his pace. Soon enough, the station came into view. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The station itself had been burned to the ground, though the stable and corral still stood. The horses were nowhere to be seen. They must have been totally surprised. He rode past Zeke’s rifle laying in the dirt. The hammer was still pulled back. He’d never even fired the thing.

  Passing the stable, he finally caught sight of Zeke staked out spread-eagled in front of the burned-out station. He’d been scalped and his private parts cut off and stuck in his mouth. This was what Comanche did. Luke wondered where Carlotta might be. Hopefully, she wasn’t kidnapped. He hoped against hope that they’d spared her. He dismounted and hitched the stallion to the rail that still stood in front of the station. He heard a noise from the stable. As he approached, a chicken ran out across his path, clucking madly. He heard the noise again, almost a groan, then a whimper of pain. He took a cautious step into the stable.

  Carlotta was in the corner, hanging by her tied-up hands from one of the stall support beams. She’d been stripped. Her eyes looked vacantly at Luke, but she didn’t see him. They’d cut off her nose and likely raped her repeatedly. From the look of the station and number of arrows, Luke figured there were at least a dozen of the heathen Comanche.

  Carlotta moaned. It was barely audible. Luke moved across to her. He cut the rope suspending her from the beam and let her down gently. He left her to get his canteen. As he approached his horse, a gunshot shattered the air. He ran back to Carlotta, but she was dead. One of Zeke’s pistols had been close enough for her to grab it and finish what the Comanche had failed to do.

  Luke dutifully picked up one of the shovels, went out to a nearby motte, and began digging. He was having his fill of digging graves, and his hand was throbbing again. The graves would necessarily have to be shallow.

  Luke finished burying Zeke and Carlotta. There wasn’t much of anything else he could do. When he eventually got back to Nuecestown or Brownsville or Laredo, whichever came first, he’d let the mail folks know they were short one station.

  Luke had a sense of being followed, but had no idea by whom. He climbed back up onto the big grey and stood tall in the stirrups a moment, scanning the horizon. Nothing moved. He saw Strong’s track heading east, but figured that was a ruse to throw him off the trail. Common sense pointed west.

  He knew that if he continued south, he’d soon be in King Ranch country. This was the huge spread that Captain Richard King h
ad founded. Nobody messed with King’s vaqueros, so he suspected that Strong would likely turn from a southern track. More importantly, for Strong, there’d be more cover if he headed west.

  Luke set his reckoning on Laredo. Between the mail station and the Laredo settlement, the prairie was even more sparse of any tree cover. The only settlement was in San Diego, and the road from there to Laredo was pretty good. He felt it likely that Strong might rest there, but not linger long. With only a couple of dozen families comprising San Diego, it wasn’t really a place where someone on the run could hide. Other than arroyos and occasional live oak and mesquite mottes, there would be good line of sight for hunter and hunted. Overall, the elevations would rise as he traveled further from Corpus Christi and the Gulf.

  He’d have to be extra careful. He had already experienced Strong’s shooting expertise at a couple of hundred yards. Now his challenge would be picking up Strong’s trail. He looked around the station for clues, and his practiced eyes soon spied a couple of horseshoes that seemed out of place. It was as though they hadn’t been put away. It was a fair bet that Strong’s horse was sporting some new iron on its hooves.

  Luke’s hand had swelled a bit from the shoveling. It made the bandages tighter, so he took a moment to change his dressings, as Doc had recommended, before moving on.

  ***

  Three Toes was downwind several miles behind and heard the gunshot. He doubted that the Ranger had found his quarry just yet, but recalled that one of the white man’s mail stations was along the trail they were following.

  When he caught up to the Ranger, the Comanche watched Luke bury Zeke and Carlotta. From the blood and the absence of horses, it was clear that his people had struck effectively. He held back quietly and waited for Luke to leave.

  Three Toes finally got close enough that he could see Luke’s hat as he began to follow a trail leading west of the station. The Indian pulled up in a nearby dry creek bed behind a live oak motte to allow Luke to get some distance on him. It wouldn’t do to be discovered this early.