The Dragoons 3

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The Mexicans, less than fifty yards away, now laughed and shouted at the two Americans.

  “Digan sus ultimas oraciones!” one yelled.

  “He is bidding us to say our last prayers,” Eruditus translated.

  The Mexicans leisurely formed up for a final charge. They drew out the maneuver, making it last as long as possible. They hooted and whistled at the two forlorn figures who awaited their last moments on earth.

  A shot, fired from a distance sounded, and one of the riders jerked backward, then crashed to the ground from his saddle. Other reports detonated and two more of the attackers went down. The survivors wheeled about, then suddenly jerked the reins of their horses and galloped off toward the east.

  Grant and Eruditus stood in astounded silence for a moment. Then they noticed a nearby cloud of dust kicked up by numerous horses approaching. As the riders drew nearer, their identity was easy to discern.

  “Dragoons!” Grant shouted. “By God, those are Dragoons!”

  Moments later a detachment, led by Sergeant William Clooney,, rode up. The troopers had Plutarch and Grant’s mount with them. The sergeant quickly dismounted and saluted.

  “We heard the shooting about a half hour ago and wasn’t sure where it came from ’til these two animals came loping towards us,” he said. “We traced their tracks back and finally got on the right trail.” He looked at Grant and Eruditus. “Are yez alright then, sir?”

  “We are fine, by God, Sergeant!” Grant said. “And extremely happy to see you.”

  “I’ve been patrolling out toward the border since yez left, sir,” Clooney explained. “I reckon I never felt easy about this whole thing.”

  “Fm very happy you took precautions,” Grant said. “We’ve run out of ammunition and fought off the last charge with lances.”

  Clooney looked at the Mexican horses, now dead, lying a few yards away with the remnants of the spear like weapons protruding from their chests. He also noted the two remaining lances lying side-by-side in the sand. “At this point, sir, I’d say it was a good thing this patrol didn’t tarry after we discovered yer mounts.”

  “Indeed!” Grant said. He took a deep breath. “At least we can rest a bit easier now, hey, Eruditus?”

  “It would seem so, Grant,” the older man said.

  “Begging yer pardon, sir,” Clooney said. “But ye can expect more trouble up there on the Vano Basin.”

  A feeling of cold dread replaced the one of near euphoria Grant experienced at being rescued. “Now what has transpired during our absence?”

  “We’ve discovered several dead Apaches, all scalped, a few miles to the north of here,” Clooney reported. “They was a hunting party o’ sorts, and they was definitely Chirinatos.”

  “All scalped you say?” Grant asked.

  “It was the sun reflected offn the top o’ their skulls that attracted us to the spot, sir,” Clooney said. “There was plenty o’ hoof marks around—hoofs wit’ horseshoes, sir. We was going to follow the trail, ’cept yer mounts come into view.”

  Eruditus asked, “Am I to assume the trail left by the murderers is easy to follow?”

  “That it is, Mr. Fletcher,” the sergeant responded. “Them murdering devils is pretty sure of theirselves.”

  “Do you have enough ball and powder in the patrol to supply Mr. Fletcher and me?” Grant asked.

  “Yes, sir!” Clooney answered. “I come out here expecting big trouble, sir.”

  “Excellent!” Grant exclaimed. He laid a hand on Eruditus’s shoulder, “Do you feel like another battle, my friend?”

  “With the scalphunters? I most certainly do!” Eruditus replied with feeling.

  “Then this day of fighting hasn’t ended,” Grant said. “Sergeant Clooney! Take us back to the bodies. We’re going to Find those killers and put an end to their degradations today!”

  The nearby dragoons listened grimly, knowing that before that day’s sun set, more blood would be spilled on the Sonoran Desert.

  Thirteen

  The dragoon patrol could see the circling buzzards in the sky for a long time before they reached the place where the bodies of the seven scalped Apaches lay scattered and violated under the broiling sun.

  Sergeant Clooney looked up at the loathsome birds floating on the air currents. “There’ll be more of them rotten-meat eaters on the ground than in the sky,” he said. “It’s gonna be a hell of a sight when we get there.”

  “We can take comfort in one thing, however,” Eruditus said. “The fact that those scavengers are there means the dead have not been discovered and removed by the Chirinatos.”

  “They’ll find out about this eventually, but at least we won’t have a war yet,” Grant said. He turned to his men and ordered in a loud voice, “Gallop, ho!”

  The column broke into a faster gait, quickly covering the ground to where the crime had been committed. Upon arrival, they found the Indian corpses lying in undignified positions from the rolling and twisting done by the scalphunters during the mutilation. Hunks of flesh had been torn from the cadavers by the strong, sharp beaks of the buzzards.

  Eruditus slid from his saddle and hurried over to the dead men, kicking and swatting at the birds who fed on the dead men. “Fly! Fly! Filthy fowls! This is not carrion! These are dead people!” He watched the buzzards, squawking in anger, take to the sky. The old man gestured at them in an apologetic manner. “Ah, forgive me, feathered ones. You are only doing what the Creator has meant for you to do.” Then he turned his attention back to the dead people, immediately recognizing a couple of them.

  While Eruditus inspected the cadavers, the dragoons, under Sergeant Clooney’s supervision, spread out and formed a defensive perimeter in case of trouble from an appearance by Indians or the return of the scalphunters. The soldiers’ expressions were tense as they kept a sharp lookout.

  Eruditus Fletcher could not take his sad eyes from the dead warriors. He shook his head, muttering, “I know three of these fine fellows. Their losses will be keenly felt by the Chirinatos. This means a plethora of grief and anger among the tribe. I fear Lobo Cano will have trouble containing any angry reaction on their part.”

  Grant had dismounted and joined him. “Let us hope we can catch the scalphunters and avert any rampant vengeance against innocent travelers,” the captain said. “How does the trail look?”

  Eruditus examined the ground. “Sergeant Clooney was correct. The arrogant rascals made no effort to cover their tracks at the site. We shall have to see if they took precautions later on.”

  “Lead on, Eruditus, my friend,” Grant said. “But be cautious. Those fellows are no fools. We don’t want to stumble into an ambush.”

  “Perhaps if a stalwart dragoon were to accompany me, and stay close he could keep watch on the surrounding countryside while I study the ground,” Eruditus said.

  “Sergeant Clooney!” Grant said. “Dispatch one man to escort Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Yes, sir!” Clooney pointed to a dragoon. “Donegan! Cover Mr. Fletcher while he reads sign.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Donegan said. The old soldier rode forward and dismounted beside the scout. He winked at Eruditus. “Sure now, Mr. Fletcher, and it’ll keep them devils off’n yer back then.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Donegan,” Eruditus said. “We may be a hoary pair, but we’ll do our job proper enough.”

  “Right y’are,” Mr. Fletcher,” Donegan agreed.

  “Then let us go straight away and find the rotters as quickly as we can,” Eruditus said.

  “After you, sir,” Donegan said.

  Eruditus walked around the bodies, studying the ground. “There’re possibly a dozen of them,” he called out. Finally he pointed to the northwest. “They’ve gone in that direction.”

  “Then so shall we,” Grant said.

  Eruditus swung back into his saddle and rode slowly forward, his head bent down as he noted the tracks. Private Donegan, quickly assuming his duties, rode directly behind the scout. The dragoo
n’s carbine was at the ready as he scanned the surrounding terrain for any sign of possible trouble.

  Grant organized the patrol so that one man rode on each flank, charged with keeping an eye to the right and left. Another pair, working together, watched the rear. The rest of the horse soldiers followed behind Grant and Sergeant Clooney in the main column. They maintained a distance of some fifteen yards from Eruditus.

  The experienced old scout had been correct in assuming the scalphunters would take care not to leave a trail when they had gotten out a ways from the scene of the murders. After traveling a bit less than a mile, they had left the soft, sandy areas to ride across more rocky terrain where their horses would leave no hoofprints. The murderers obviously went out of their way now and then to travel across the more solid ground in an attempt to cover up the direction of their route.

  Their tactics did not stop Eruditus. However, in spite of his experience, the old man was slowed a bit. He dismounted and walked slowly along, almost bent double as he studied scrapes on the stones. He noted the freshness and direction of the marks made by horse shoes. Now and then a pile of horse dung gave away the passing of the killers. He also found a spot where someone had urinated. Although the puddle itself had evaporated under the sun’s heat, a dampness between the rocks remained. Such signs did not escape Eruditus’s practiced eyes.

  Finally he held up his hand to signal a halt. Jumping back into the saddle, he returned to the column with Donegan close behind. “We are not closing the distance between ourselves and those devils,” Eruditus said. “But we are drawing nearer to the foothills. Because there is a possibility the rascals might lay an ambush, may I take the liberty of suggesting a scouting party take a wide look around while the remainder of the men stand fast?”

  “Most excellent advice,” Grant said. “I shall put your counsel into immediate operation.”

  A few quick commands sent four of the dragoons out on a reconnaissance. The seasoned troopers made a wide circuit of the spot where the column waited, taking special precautions when approaching the cover offered in the bottom reaches of the mountains. Two of the men dismounted and, with their comrades covering them, went into the growing vegetation to search out any potential ambushers who might be lurking there. In half an hour, the pair returned to their horses and mounted up for the ride back to the column.

  The senior horse soldier reported directly to Grant Drummond. “Sir,” he announced saluting. “I can tell ye fer sure that them foothills is as empty as a trooper’s pockets the first morning after payday.”

  “Thank you,” Grant said. He nodded to Eruditus. “Shall we proceed now?”

  “Yes,” Eruditus said. “But alertness is of the utmost importance now. I am of the opinion those mutilators did not think it necessary to go very far into the mountains to rest between their dastardly crimes.”

  “Excellent!” Grant said. “That means we shall catch them that much sooner! I would like for you to continue your scout with Private Donegan, Eruditus. The rest of us will hang back a bit until you’re hot on their trail. Then, depending on the circumstances, we will move in for the attack either on foot or horseback, whichever is the most advantageous for us.”

  “Very well, friend Grant,” Eruditus said. He called over to the dragoon, “Come now, Mr. Donegan. Let us seek out the lair of this particular pack of wolves.”

  “I’m with you, Mr. Fletcher,” Donegan said cheerfully. The pair moved out once again. Eruditus; on foot, searched back and forth until he found the track that satisfied him. Then, with the ever-alert Donegan guarding him, he moved into the brush to begin the slight ascent up into the foothills.

  Eruditus walked like an Apache, deliberately picking up his feet with each step, and setting them down only when he was sure no twig was present to be loudly snapped or rock to be accidentally kicked into a noisy roll. Close behind, the veteran soldier Donegan did the same, having to take even more precautionary measures because of his heavy boots.

  They traveled in an agonizingly slow zigzag pattern, moving approximately fifty yards in one direction before going upward a few feet and heading back in the opposite way.

  They continued the activity for an hour before Eruditus suddenly stopped. As Donegan kept a sharp eye around their location, the old man dropped to his knees. He carefully examined the ground, brushing away some twigs and leaves. Finally he noted a pattern in the dirt as if someone had been sweeping back and forth with a crude broom or a branch.

  Eruditus smiled to himself. This was attempt to hide tracks.

  He got to his feet and turned upward, moving into the brush and finally found what he wanted. A couple of hoofprints, carelessly missed by whoever had swept the earth, showed plainly. A few paces beyond that were more, this time mixed in with some boot markings. He knelt again, motioning Donegan to join him.

  The trooper moved quietly, squatting down beside the scout. “Have you found something, Mr. Fletcher?” he asked in a whisper.

  “I believe our quarry is close by,” Eruditus said. “It is imperative that we move as quietly as possible.”

  “You bet, Mr. Fletcher,” Donegan said.

  Eruditus rose to his feet, but stayed bent over. He moved even slower at that point, taking advantage of all the cover the increasing vegetation offered. Donegan strained his eyes as he peered through the brush in case of an unexpected encounter with the scalphunters.

  A cough suddenly sounded up ahead. The noise startled both men, who immediately stopped in their tracks, remaining motionless.

  Now approaching footsteps could easily be heard. Then a singsong, tuneless humming came into earshot as a man wearing buckskins pushed through the brush. He was an ugly, ill-kempt individual who was badly in need of a decent haircut and beard-trim.

  “Here’s an excellent example of border riffraff,” Eruditus whispered to his companion.

  The scalphunter held some wadded up paper in his hand showing that an errand of nature had caused him to wander off by himself into the brush. He stopped, fiddled with his trousers, then squatted to tend to his business. He hacked and spit, then loudly broke wind. He followed that with an enormous belch.

  “Disgusting!” Eruditus said under his breath.

  “He reminds me of my Uncle Elmer,” Donegan said with a grin. “The old sinner could fart the leaves off a tree.” Eruditus signaled Donegan to remain still. He drew his Bowie knife from its sheath and moved forward as the pungent smell of feces wafted up from where the man strained and grunted. A quick hand over the mouth and the blade of the weapon across the throat and deep through the jugular vein was followed by some minor thrashing before the scalphunter died and fell over in his own mess.

  “No dignity in that death,” Eruditus remarked to himself. “And none deserved by the wretch.” He returned to Donegan.

  “It sounded as if you took care of him, Mr. Fletcher,” the dragoon said.

  Eruditus nodded, saying, “They are very close. I must check the layout of their camp. Wait here for me. If I’ve not rejoined you in a quarter of an hour, return to the column and make your report to Captain Grant.”

  “That I will, Mr. Fletcher,” Donegan said. “Don’t you worry none about that.”

  Eruditus moved off and Donegan began his wait. The old soldier didn’t have a watch, couldn’t tell time anyhow, and hadn’t the slightest idea how long a quarter of an hour would be. He decided to wait until his instincts told him it was time to go. Frowning at the foul odor of the dead man’s leavings, he moved off a ways to bide his time.

  After a while, insects began buzzing around the corpse not too far away. Donegan consoled himself with the thought at least the mess over in that direction kept the flying bugs off him. He continued to wait, vaguely wondering how many minutes had passed, when a sudden noise caught his attention. Easing back the hammer on his carbine, he waited. Then Eruditus appeared. The old man winked at him and started back toward the column. Donegan followed as they returned with the same caution used on the short t
rip out.

  When they rejoined the dragoons they found the troopers had moved a ways into the brush. Grant, waiting with Sergeant Clooney, smiled a greeting at his friend.

  “From the expression on your face, I assume you found those sons of bitches,” the captain said.

  “That I have,” Eruditus said. “The scalphunters are in a narrow draw approximately a mile in. They seem to feel quite secure and haven’t bothered to organize any sort of defense. They are quite vulnerable. It even appears as if each fellow sought out a spot he favored and settled in with blankets and belongings without regard to any potential attack.”

  “Will the terrain allow a silent approach?” Grant asked. “Only if everyone is exceedingly careful,” Eruditus said. “Then thank God we have veteran soldiers with us,” Grant said. “This doesn’t appear to be a mission for recruits.” He turned and called out, “Sergeant Clooney!”

  The sergeant responded immediately, leading his horse up to the captain. “Yes, sir?”

  “Hobble the horses and detail two men as guard,” Grant instructed. “The rest will follow us in. The enemy is occupying a small draw approximately a mile up into the foothills. Everyone must take care to exercise absolute silence.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir,” Clooney said. He left to tend to the job at hand.

  In ten minutes the entire column was ready to move to the attack. Eruditus and Grant went to the head of the formation as they slowly entered the foothills and began the short climb to where the scalphunters had camped.

  Noise discipline was superb as the dragoons moved through the brush. A half hour of slow travel brought them to a spot where Eruditus signaled a halt. Grant went forward a couple of yards and joined him.

  The scout pointed ahead. “You’ll be able to see their bivouac from those bushes ahead. Watch your step. There is a rather messy cadaver on the way.”

  Grant sniffed. “It smells like a latrine around here.”

  “You’ll see why in a bit,” Eruditus said.