The Dragoons 3

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The western group of attackers seemed surprised by the move, but they pressed on. Three scattered shots could be heard popping out over the pounding of hooves. The bullets went wide of their mark as Grant and Eruditus pushed on.

  Grant leaned forward in the saddle, gripping the Colt as he closed in. He picked out one man in front of the others and headed straight for him. When the pursuers fanned out a bit as they drew closer, Grant stuck to his target. A couple of minutes later, they closed in and he raised the pistol. Aiming as best he could at the bandido’s chest, he pulled the trigger. The fellow flipped over the back of his saddle.

  Eruditus, close behind, swung up his pistol and blasted at another horseman close by. Yelling in angry pain, the rider swayed in his saddle as he turned away from the fight.

  Grant’s impromptu attack gained them the advantage of putting more distance between themselves and the attackers. He took a quick look to the rear to see the riders coming to a stop to turn around.

  Eruditus stuck the fired, useless single-shot pistol back in its holster as he rode on after Grant. They swept down a draw and back up onto level ground. Nothing lay ahead of them but open country, studded by cacti and other desert plants. Even reaching the international border at Arizona gave no guarantee of escape in what was really a no man’s land.

  Grant let Eruditus draw up beside him as they continued on their way. Another rearward glance showed that both groups of pursuers had now joined together and once again drew closer in that wild ride across the barren terrain.

  Another few minutes of galloping brought a shadowy view of the Culebra Mountains on the horizon. They were an unreachable sanctuary, hours away at a distance their horses could never reach before being overtaken.

  As they continued their flight, Grant fell back a ways to allow Eruditus to use his superior knowledge of the countryside to lead them on. The officer gave the pursuers as much attention as he dared. Even quick sightings made him aware that the bandidos seemed well-organized as they kept to their formation in a tightly controlled group. Their disciplined and coordinated conduct stuck in his mind as the chase went on. But at that particular time, all he could concentrate on was escape rather than mulling over any impressions given by their antagonists.

  Another quarter of an hour showed that Grant’s horse and faithful old Plutarch were slowing. Both animals, valiant and strong, gasped in the dry heat, long strings of thick saliva now running from their mouths.

  Eruditus pulled closer to Grant shouting, “Another mile or two and we shall be run to ground like cornered foxes!”

  “Any good defense positions in the area?” Grant yelled back.

  “Nothing!” Eruditus bellowed.

  Grant stood in the stirrups and looked in vain for even a slight depression. But the desert was like a table top—flat, open, and terribly empty.

  Then his horse stumbled and went down.

  Grant went over the animal’s neck and hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum of the fall. Aching and bruised, he scrambled rapidly to his feet and rushed back to the fallen horse. As he pulled his long gun—a Hall breech-loading carbine—from the saddle boot he was aware that Eruditus had come to a stop, wheeled around and galloped back to him.

  “Don’t be foolish!” he shouted. “I can delay them here.”

  Now holding his rifled musket, Eruditus dismounted and joined him. “I thought we declared we were friends, Grant Drummond.”

  “So we did,” Grant said. “But for the love of God! That doesn’t mean we both must die!”

  Eruditus laughed without humor. “Now why don’t I have an appropriate, dramatic quote in Latin for this situation?”

  “Probably because no one has ever survived a circumstance similar to this one in order to utter some brilliant aphorism,” Grant said.

  “I believe you are right,” Eruditus said. The noise of their pursuers galloping and shooting quickly drew closer. “We shall have to discuss this later.”

  “There will be no later’ for us, my friend Eruditus,” Grant said. “Get the horses down!”

  They pulled on the reins of their well-trained mounts, getting the animals to lie down on the hot ground. As they took refuge behind the living cover, bullets kicked up small geysers of sand.

  Twelve

  Captain Grant Drummond, as an officer who shunned staff duties, had acquired plenty of fighting experience during thirteen years of army service. His exposure to combat had run the gamut from carefully planned and orchestrated battles to the free-for-all hell of spontaneous ambushes and clashes. The harsh lessons learned in those life-and-death situations came to the fore as the attackers closed in on him and Eruditus Fletcher.

  Reacting to the danger with a combination of knowledge and instinct, the officer issued terse orders as if he were taking a squadron of dragoons into battle rather than facing overwhelming odds with but one companion. As he spoke to Eruditus, Grant kept an eye on the foe, “Take my carbine, if you please.”

  Eruditus, holding onto his own musket, followed the instructions. “You have a defense worked out, my friend?” he asked as he also watched the horsemen drawing rapidly nearer. “Or perhaps some tactical plan has leaped into your mind.” Then he added, “I most sincerely hope.”

  “It has,” Grant said. “Fire the long guns at opportune targets beyond pistol range. As they come in closer, you reload. As you prepare for your next volley, I’ll bring my Colts to bear with two or three shots.”

  “So our strategy is that I shall handle them afar, and you when they draw close,” Eruditus said. “An excellent plan, I must say! Its simplicity belies the intelligence behind it.”

  “I think we should do a bit less talking and more acting, if you please,” Grant said politely.

  “Your point is well taken,” Eruditus said.

  Grant continued to watch the horsemen coming at them. “I expect they will try a ride-by at first before actually attempting to charge into us.”

  By the time their brief conversation ended, there was no time for anything but action. Eruditus aimed his musket over his horse Plutarch into the now close-packed formation of attackers. He fired, and could see one fall to disappear into the dust kicked up by the horses’ hooves. A second shot sent one of the attacker’s mounts crashing to the ground. The older man immediately turned to the task of reloading.

  Now Grant waited a few moments to let them draw in a bit closer. Kneeling behind his mount, the captain raised the revolver and fired two evenly spaced shots as they swept past. One more attacker slammed into the desert floor. “Get ready, Eruditus! They’ll be charging directly into us the next time!”

  Eruditus, with both long guns loaded, held his trusty musket. “Sum paratus et maneto—ready and waiting!”

  “I see you have your Latin back,” Grant remarked as he did his own reloading of the revolver cylinder.

  “It may seem incredible, but many times, physical danger inspires the intellect,” Eruditus said. Laughing loudly in desperate humor, he added, “We need a death song like the Indians have. A nice, dark ditty!”

  Grant also laughed uproariously in the nervous excitement he felt. “Sorry! I haven’t time to compose one at the moment.” The combined exultation of anger and fear brought robust emotions to the surface as the two men faced what would be their last battle.

  “You realize, of course, that we are both mad!” Eruditus observed.

  “I’ve always found that a bit of insanity helps in situations like this,” Grant said with a vicious grin.

  “We are not only mad, we are doomed!” Eruditus said. Grant laughed. “We are mad, doomed, and damned!”

  “Amen!” Eruditus echoed.

  The riders galloped far beyond the two defenders before coming to a halt. It was obvious as they milled around that they were forming up for a coordinated attack.

  Grant watched the conduct of the attackers. “I swear to God!” he exclaimed. “Those are soldiers. They must be.”

  “Either that or well-dril
led bandits, hey?” Eruditus remarked.

  “I don’t suppose we’ll ever be able to find out,” Grant said.

  Eruditus reached down and patted Plutarch’s shoulder. “Patience, old fellow. Soon you’ll be in equine paradise where there are no such things as saddles, bridles, or the violence of men.”

  “Just lush meadows,” Grant added. “And mares in a permanent state of heat.”

  “I wonder what awaits us in the afterlife,” Eruditus mused. “Oh, never mind. We shall soon know.” He glanced at his companion. “Unless you are considering surrender, friend Grant.”

  “To be quickly executed?” Grant asked.

  “Perhaps slowly rather than quickly,” Eruditus remarked. “Either way, I think not, friend Eruditus.”

  “I agree one hundred percent,” Eruditus said. He pulled one of his single-shot pistols from his belt and handed it to Grant. “Take this one and I shall keep the other. When the final moment comes, we can decide whether to take down another of the attackers or put a ball into our own brains. Bandidos can be as cruel to captives as Apaches.”

  “Thank you, friend Eruditus,” Grant said taking the single-shot pistol.

  A movement by the horsemen caught Erudites’ attention. “Here come the blackguards!” he exclaimed.

  The attackers swept forward in well-formed ranks. Now Grant and Eruditus could see that four of the men in the front had lances.

  “By God!” Grant exclaimed. “Those sons of bitches are sure as hell soldiers not bandidos! Look at their formation! All they lack are uniforms and banners.”

  With no time for comment, Eruditus took aim at one and fired. The man jerked as the musket ball slammed into his body, but he managed to keep to the saddle and to pull his horse to one side although he dropped his lance. Now, using Grant’s carbine, the older man waited a couple of seconds then fired again. He cursed as he missed and, ignoring the thundering hell bearing down on them, turned to his reloading chores.

  Grant picked out one of the lancers. He waited, holding his breath, as the riders roared at them. At the last moment, he aimed the Colt and squeezed the trigger three times. The closeness and density of the attackers made it impossible to miss. Two men went down, the latter a lancer whose weapon struck point face into the earth a few yards away as the man pitched over his horse’s head.

  The closeness of the attackers’ horses disturbed Plutarch and Grant’s army mount to the point they forgot their training. Neighing in excitement and fear, they lurched to standing positions. Both men grasped desperately at the reins, but the animals galloped out to join the horsemen before their owners could react. But within moments, other instincts took over and the two animals turned north toward the dragoon camp still far away. The homing instinct was strong enough in their limited equine intellects to overcome the raw fear they felt.

  “We have been deserted!” Eruditus exclaimed.

  “At least those poor beasts will survive,” Grant said.

  As the attackers regrouped for another assault, the army officer took advantage of the brief lull. He ran out and retrieved the lance. He went out a few more yards and grabbed the second belonging to the man Eruditus had wounded. Running fast, he returned to their defensive position.

  Eruditus had just finished shoving powder and ball down the musket barrel. As he tamped it down with a ramrod, he said, “I am sure you have a reason for picking up those weapons, Grant. Just what do you plan on doing with them?”

  “Waterloo,” Grant answered breathless from his run. “British square—French cavalry.”

  Eruditus cocked the hammer and placed a cap in place. “Not much of an explanation, old friend, but I shall trust to your reasoning.”

  Shouts from the riders preceded the next attack. Eruditus, with the carbine ready waited for them to come back close enough to fire. At the right moment, he let loose a shot that sent another rider sprawling to the sand.

  “Well done!” Grant shouted.

  Eruditus’s second firing, done with the carbine, unseated the third lancer. “That’s more like it!” he shouted as he grabbed his powder horn.

  Grant, now firing, got the fourth and last lancer, but his other shots missed as the thundering group of attackers again passed by. He glanced over at Eruditus. “How stands your powder and ball, my friend?”

  “I fear that particular well is going dry,” Eruditus said. “I can only fire each weapon twice more.”

  “My predicament too,” Grant said. “I count that we’ve killed seven and wounded two. I’ve finally managed to gauge their strength.”

  “I would say our defense has been quite good so far,” Eruditus said.

  “But not good enough,” Grant remarked.

  “Again, I must agree with you. There are a dozen of the rotters left,” Eruditus said. “I, too, have been keeping score. Even if all our remaining shots counted, there would still be eight survivors to dispatch us to Valhalla. We cannot win.”

  “I did not see a victory to begin with,” Grant said. “We are outnumbered, cut off, and without much cover. The only thing that has been working for us is their misplaced bravery so common in Mexican soldiers. Whoever is commanding them is more exuberant than prudent. He is wasting the lives of good troopers. I saw a lot of that during the war.”

  “I’ve always felt the Mexican people deserved better leaders than they have been burdened with,” Eruditus said.

  “That goes double in their army,” Grant said. “I believe these particular troops belong to our old and dear friend General De La Nobleza. There is no other military command in this region.”

  “I am inclined to agree, though with sadness and reluctance,” Eruditus said.

  “That means we could never surrender and expect honorable treatment even if they are not bandits,” Grant said.

  “Of course not,” Eruditus said. “We would be immediately executed to cover up General De La Nobleza and his scalphunters’ illegal excursions into Arizona.” He looked outward. “No time for further conversation, Grant. They are coming at us once again!”

  The shouted commands in Spanish could barely be heard in the gusts now whipping across the desert. The Mexicans charged forward in another coordinated attack, their ranks properly aligned.

  Eruditus aimed carefully and squeezed off a shot. He gritted his teeth as he missed and grabbed the carbine. It helped that they were closer and he managed to drop another as the horsemen closed in. Grant followed with a couple of shots, but could bring none down.

  “Their thinning ranks have reduced targets of opportunity,” the army captain remarked.

  Another charge followed with the same results. Grant and Eruditus fired their final shots from the Colt and long guns as the attackers once more thundered past their position.

  Grant picked up a lance and tossed it to Eruditus. “Keep this on the ground beside you. Act as if we still have ammunition, but when they close in, plant the butt of the lance on the ground and point it upward at about a forty-five degree angle toward the horses' chests. At the moment of collision, roll away or be trampled!”

  “Is this what the British infantry did to the French cavalry at Waterloo?” Eruditus asked. “I am not particularly well-versed in that period of history.”

  “Yes,” Grant said. “Except the British used bayonets on the end of muskets rather than lances. Of course they were much more numerous, and formed into squares.”

  “We must do what we can,” Eruditus said positioning the bladed weapon beside him.

  The Mexicans now abandoned all pretense that they were common bandidos. A bugle sounded as more commands were shouted to the assembled soldiers. A drop in the wind made the officer’s order easy for Grant and Eruditus to hear:

  “Al ataque!”

  Both defenders, to give the appearance they still had powder and ball, aimed a useless long gun at the men bounding toward them. Grant judged the distance as best he could. When he was ready, he shouted, “Now!”

  The younger and older man each grabbe
d a lance and planted the butts into the ground. Using hand-held weapons put the fight in an entirely new perspective for Grant and Eruditus. The Mexican horses looked twice as big and the pounding of their hooves seemed like thunder.

  “Oh, my God!” Eruditus exclaimed. “We are going to die!”

  “Be brave!” Grant shouted as contact with the charging beasts was but a split second away. “Raise the blades!”

  They pulled up the lances so the heads aimed straight at the horses’ chests. When contact was made, the shafts of the weapons bent, then broke on contact as the horses ran themselves straight onto the lances. Both animals neighed in pain, lurching and stumbling. Their riders, bellowing in furious surprise, crashed to the ground.

  One of the Mexicans, unhurt, got to his feet and swung his carbine around to fire. But Grant rushed toward him, slamming him hard across the head with the barrel of his Colt. The man’s skull cracked open under the blow and he rolled to the ground, twitching as he died. >

  The second rider, a bit slower and dazed, managed to struggle to his knees and fire at Eruditus. He missed, but Grant grabbed the other attacker’s carbine and shot the man dead.

  “Look!” Eruditus exclaimed pointing to the surviving riders. “They know we have no more ball or powder.”

  “Except these,” Grant said indicating the single-shot pistols.

  “I’ll not take my own life. I elect that we kill a couple more of them, then go to our Maker vanquished but unbowed,” Eruditus said.

  “Very well, friend Eruditus,” Grant said pulling the one-shot weapon from his belt. “Let us go out in a blaze of glory.”

  Eruditus licked his lips. “Now that the final moments are here, I must confess to a rather sharp stab of fear, Grant. What exuberance I felt before has melted like snow under a hot sun.”

  “I feel the same,” Grant said. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll let those sons of bitches know it.” He forced a grin. “Besides, this won’t take long.”

  “That is not a particularly cheerful thought,” Eruditus said pulling back the hammer on the pistol and checking its percussion cap.