Clay was directing the water-passers. I found Lee.
“What happened on your end?” he shouted.
I told him they’d run a big herd across the Rio. I’d not seen Flaco or Dodger. “I came straight here when I heard shooting. Have you seen Marta?”
“No, Bud. I ain’t. Probably in the big house. We need to get everyone sorted out.” Lee turned, “Clay. Clay! Give it up. We ain’t saving it.”
Clay was calling everyone off the fire. “Everyone to the house! ¡Todos a la casa!”
The burning hay shed lit up everyone in front of the big house. Clay stood on the porch. “Lee, take a count, make sure all the hands are here.” He told Roberto to count the Mex hands.
Snorter Cadwell had been shot in the calf coming out of the bunkhouse. A couple of Mex women were taking care of him.
There was a woman’s cry inside, Mrs. DeWitt I thought. Clay turned real fast.
Gabi came out on the porch. There was blood on the sleeve of her white nightgown. “Clay, por favor entren.”
He rushed inside.
Everyone was there except Slick, Dodger, and Flaco. Those last two were still out and chasing banditos I hoped. Lee sent two Mex boys to look for Slick. He’d been out riding close-in sentry.
“What happened here?” I asked Musty.
“When the shootin’ started over Sheep’s Head way we horsed up and headed there. The herd was gone when we got there. We turned back when we heard ’em shootin’ and whoopin’ like injuns back here. By the time we got back they was gone.”
Gabi came out of the house with a storm lantern. She was talking to Lee, and he didn’t look good. He waved us all together. “Boys, Clay’s girls are missing. Their room window’s been busted out, and there’s blood on the broken glass.”
That sent a grumble through everyone.
Lee looked at me. “Bud, Marta and Inés are gone, too. Carmila’s dead.”
Everyone was turning and looking at me. I couldn’t say nothing. Boys were muttering things like, “Sorry, Bud,” slapping me on the shoulder. My chest was hollow.
I walked to our feed shed, sat on her cot, gripped her scarf I found on the bunk. Banditos had that little girl. I couldn’t think straight. What would happen to her? She’s tough, but they had her. It sickened me that I’d never told her I wanted her to stay for as long as she could bear me, that anything of mine was hers. I’d give my soul to the Devil just to see her eyes.
I came out knowing Clay and Lee needed me.
Two of the boys found Slick, shot dead on the ridge side. The Gomez boy, he’d been on house sentry. They found him behind the milk cow barn with his throat slit, his shotgun gone. One of the Mex kids, a six-year-old, was dead too, shot in the courtyard, probably running to the big house. Clay’s prize bull, Quicksilver, was gone, the corral gate open. I went to Carmela and Inés’s room where Marta had been. Carmela was lying in the door shot full of holes.
That tore it. I went back to our shed, grabbed up all my cartridges, stuffed them in saddlebags, and mounted.
“Where ya goin’?” It was Musty.
“I’m going after her.”
“Now? By ya self?”
It was dumb, I know. She was in the hands of the worst kind of men. I knew what was going to happen to those girls. “I got no choice.”
Musty grabbed my reins.
I jerked back on them. “Let go you sumbitch!”
“Ya can’t do this, Bud! Not by ya self.”
I came off the saddle and grabbed Musty’s arm. He pushed back.
“What’s going on here?” It was Lee.
“The fool’s goin’ after Marta by his lonesome,” said Musty, yanking his arm away from me.
“That’s crazy, Bud.”
“I gotta do it, Lee. Get outta my way!”
“Get a grip. All you’ll do is get yourself killed. That’ll do Marta no good.”
Musty led Cracker away. I didn’t stop him. I pulled my hat off, ran my hand over my hair. I felt stupid, but I was scared for her, unreasonable scared.
Lee looked me in the eye. “Least you got some sense left. You know Clay’s going, and he’s counting on you. He going after all those girls and taking all of us. Go pack your gear proper.”
Some of the boys were finishing stomping out the fires. Others were collecting grub and packing bedrolls. The boys what lost their gear in the tent were throwing together bedrolls. There weren’t no question of what we were doing next. Dodger and Flaco came in before dawn. They’d been drawn to the herd run across the Rio like I had. They’d gone all the way to the Rio, hadn’t heard the gunfire from the house.
Lee called us all together. I found Musty and thanked him for keeping me from doing something dumb. He nodded.
Everybody wanted to know how Clay and the Missus were doing.
“Not good, boys.” Lee looked around at us. “We worked out what happened, best we know. Xiuhcoatl’s boys ran that herd we had near the Sheep’s Head to draw away the monitors and us. They hit the house after we left. One group killed Juan Gomez, snuck into the courtyard behind the house, and busted through the girls’ back window. Them the same ones what took Marta and Inés and shot down Carmela and the kid.”
There was a lot of angry muttering. “Bastards.” “Mother-fuckin’ greasers.”
“Another group took the bull, and then a third group came in shooting things up to cause confusion, started the fires throwing coal oil bottles. They brought up the rear covering the ones making off with the girls and the bull.”
Lee glared at us. “Boys, they left a ransom letter.” Everybody was listening. “They want five hundred dollars apiece for Clay’s girls.” He shaked his head.
“What about Marta and Inés,” I asked.
“They didn’t say nothing about ransom for them. They probably hadn’t planned taking them. Just did.”
I felt a rage building.
“The letter said they’d let Clay know where to leave the money later.”
Clay came out on the porch. He didn’t look good, but he was still acting the boss. He knew what he had to do. The boys were muttering their regrets and asking how the Missus was bearing up.
“Thanks boys. She’ll make it, but she’s taking it godawful hard.” He looked around at us, and everyone was stone quiet. “Boys, I’m asking y’all a favor. No one has to go, and we’ll hold no grudge if you want to sit this out. “I’m going after all those girls.” He was looking at me. “Y’all know where we gotta go. I’m not hankering to pay those black-hearted bastards no ransom.”
I looked around at the nodding heads, the hard looks.
“All I can promise you boys is tough times, no rest, and a hundred dollars bonus to each of you with me when we take the girls back.”
Dodger looked me in the eye. “We’ll get her back, Bud.” He slapped me on the back.
Flaco came up. “We go to get her, amigo.”
Damn straight, I’m bringing her home, and I got something to tell her. I held a painful ache.
Chapter Thirty
The puny sun had barely crawled into the gray sky. El Nortada—the north wind—blasted across the ridge overlooking the ranch house, chilling us to the bone. There was grief in our hearts, fire in our bellies, and hate seeping all through us. Every man, woman, and child on the Dew stood before the four graves where our friends lay. Tim “Slick” Sealeger: they’d taken his pappy’s elk pocket watch; Carmela Flores: a damn fine cook and Inés’s mama; Juan Gomez: fifteen, just starting to turn the girls’ eyes and so proud of being a guard; and Paco Suarez: just a little kid what got in the way.
Clay had his arm around Mrs. DeWitt as she sobbed quietly. There was dignity there even in her pain and fear. Gabi stood on the other side of her, arm around her too. Gabi’s left arm was bandaged. She’d taken a graze. Gabi had squirrel-gunned a bandito out of his saddle.
The Mexes crossed themselves, some of the punches did too. Clayton DeWitt’s unyielding voice defied the wind. “Our Father who art in
heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”
Gent played the mouth organ and Rock Rockingham the violin. We sang “Will You Come to the Bower?” because we all knew its words like the Texas Army’s fife corps at San Jacinto. It was the only piece they’d all known.
Will you come to the bower I have shaded for you?
Your bed shall be of roses, be spangled with dew.
Will you, will you come to the bower?
There under the bower on soft roses you’ll lie.
With a blush on your cheek, but a smile in your eye.
Will you, will you smile my beloved?
But the roses we press shall not rival your lips.
Nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we’ll sip.
Will you kiss me my beloved?
We didn’t stay up there long. We were leaving, crossing the Rio, going with El Nortada crossing our backs, heading west into Mexico.
How did I feel? I don’t want to say. I don’t like to speak of such vileness.
Chapter Thirty-One
Thirteen of us sat our horses in the blackjack oaks of the Sheep’s Head top knot.
“Unlucky number,” I muttered to Flaco.
“Not in Mexico.”
“That’s good seein’ we’re goin’ there,” said Dodger.
Grim resolve hung in the air. Maybe some of the boys were having misgivings, but they were all willing. Nobody in the crew was letting anyone down; especially they weren’t letting down Clayton DeWitt. No cowboy worth his salt would let down a boss like him.
There was something else, unspoken. No one was letting down any of the girls, leaving them to an unspeakable fate. We all knew what was going to happen to them, they’d be violated—spoiled, ransom or not. And…this was hard to even think about, it had probably already happened to them. My chest felt empty thinking of Marta, any of them, going through that. My anger plotted out the sun.
“There a lucky number in Mexico?” asked Dodger.
“Cuatro—four.”
“I’ll havta think on that,” said Dodger. “Gotta be something good ’bout four.”
“Caballo—horse—have four legs.”
“I reckon that’ll do.”
Clay, Lee, and Lew were off to the side in a powwow. Knowing Lew, the old horse-soldier, they were probably cooking up a plan. I don’t know how Clay was handling it, what with his girls taken. It’d taken us a long time to get everything collected and ready. I saw him slapping his cuarta on his leg sometimes. I guess he knew we’d best have it all together before starting out.
Roberto and some of the Mex hands tossed bandito bodies from a wagon into the Rio. We were loaded down for a long trip. Every man had a rifle or carbine, many had two revolvers and all their ammo. I had my Winchester, Marta’s shotgun—I’d brought all the buckshot and slugs, and my Remington revolver. I even stuck that old single-shot .50-caliber pistol and its eight rounds in a saddlebag. Only one other hand had a shotgun. Jerry Twining had a Greener 12-gauge coach gun.
We had bedrolls, rain slickers, two canteens or water bags, and all the chuck we could pack. There were four packhorses and we had eighteen horses in the remuda run by Earnest Sessuns. Lee had even brought a spare saddle, tack, and horseshoes, sacks of feed grain, a medical chest too.
I’d put Marta’s scarf and gloves in my saddle bag. She’d need them. I lashed a shovel and pickax to a pack horse.
“What dat fer?” asked Jerry.
“I’m getting tired of not having a shovel when I need to bury someone.”
“Oh, that’s goin’ to make everybody feel real good,” said Dodger.
The only hands left at the ranch were Snorter Cadwell, shot in the calf, and Graves Stone Eskin with his broken wing. We left behind a hopping mad Fred Laffin, just a kid. He wanted to run the remuda. “That be my job, Boss.”
Clay told him, “Son, you don’t need to be part of what’s going to happen over there.”
He sent Roberto east to the neighboring Babcock Ranch with a note telling what happened and asking for two or three hands to help out at the Dew, keep an eye on things.
Clay sent Flaco and me out when it was light enough to follow the bull’s tracks. We met up with the rest of the crew at Dry Well, a far-from-dry cattle tank, on the Eagle Pass-Del Rio Road. They’d followed the big herd. We made it sixteen, eighteen horses, the ones that had raided the ranch. There were maybe twenty head of cattle run with them making it hard to count horses.
The three bosses looked like they’d finished up their war planning. Lee waved us monitors to come over.
“Boss,” I’d reported. “They crossed the Sycamore onto the V-Bar-M, then crossed the Rio a half-mile up. I think they want us to split up, some following the bull and the rest the big herd.”
“They probably got bushwhackers coverin’ both crossin’s,” said Lew.
“Why do you say they’re expecting us to follow the bull?” asked Clay.
“’Cause that’s where the girls are, I bet.” I couldn’t look at his eyes.
“Makes sense.”
“I think the raiders with the girls and bull likely joined up with the others after they crossed the Rio,” I finished.
“You boys think there’s any bushwhackers still over there?” asked Lee nodding toward the Rio.
“Not no more,” I said. “Probably think we ain’t coming seeing it’s near noon.”
“That’s good if they think that,” said Clay.
“Still oughta cross further south,” said Lew.
Clay looked at me, “What do you think?”
“Smart thinking. Then we’ll swing north and cut the big herd trail and follow it to find where the other group joined up with them.”
Clay nodded. “Lew wants to split us into two squads, one following further behind the other. In case we get bushwhacked, the other can circle around and hit them where they’re not expecting. Calls it strategy.”
Gent said, “Strategy? Sound like a good army word.”
“Ready for your orders, sir,” Lew said real army-like.
Clay arched an eyebrow. “Lee’s taking the first squad and Lew the second. I’ll be with Lee. Bud, you and Flaco’s in first squad, Gent and Dodger with the second. The remuda’ll follow the second squad.”
Clay didn’t sound real comfortable with them army words.
We crossed the Rio real careful like, our rifles out, with the second squad covering us.
Coming out of the cold water, we clattered across the gravel bar, up the sandy bank, and onto the stony ground, our passage unremarkable, unmarked, and unremembered as soon as the horses’ hooves lifted off the ground. We were in Mexico.
The others came across with the remuda following.
Once on better ground, we turned north and came across the big herd’s trail in half a mile. It followed an arroyo away from the Rio. We found about thirty head with Dew brands milling around. Didn’t take us long to round them up. Two of the boys ran them back across and caught up with us an hour later.
Flaco rode ahead and to my left. I stayed on the right edge of the muddy trail looking to cut the trail of the group with the girls and the bull. The rest of the crew stayed back so not to mess up any sign. About two miles later I found it.
“They joined up here, Clay.”
They had followed a cow trail down to the arroyo. Clay had a wicked grin. “Good going, Bud. Like you said.”
I found their campsite to the right of the trail. They hadn’t moved far after meeting up. We tried to count the flattened spots where they’d slept a few hours. It was hard to tell. Almost thirty, maybe. They’d made no fires. I tried not to think about what had happened here just hours before.
Clay reined up beside me. “You making it, Bud?”
“I’m making it, Boss.”
“Don’t lie to me, cause I know you’re not doing do good.” He looked around. “I’m not, that’s for damn sure.”
“Boss, I…” I didn’t know what I was going to say, or if I even could.
&nb
sp; “You don’t need to say nothing, son. You and me both, we’re going through the same hell.” He looked me in the eye. “Harden your heart. We both have to.”
Don’t know if it was my heart, but there was something hard choking my throat.
On we went. It was near impossible to make out the bull tracks being trampled by all the steers and horses. Once in a while, I’d spot the bull’s oversized tracks.
We’d gone maybe three miles. I was getting concerned. I’d not seen the bull’s tracks for some time.
“Clay!” I rode back to him as he held up the squad.
It hurt to say this. “I don’t like this, Clay. I don’t see no sign of the bull. Ain’t for near a mile.”
He looked disappointed. “What do you want to do, Bud?” He was sure putting it on me.
“Backtrack. They could of split off to either side, but probably right because I ain’t seen no bull hooves drift to the left. I’ll take this side and Flaco the other.”
It was made harder because both squads and the remuda had trampled over the trail we were backtracking.
Just over a mile back I found it. It jumped out at me. Don’t know how I missed it; except I was so jack sure they’d stayed on this trail. They had turned up a rocky arroyo running down from higher ground. What gave it away was some mud tracked on the rocks. A ways up the arroyo was a washout and the bull’s tracks, and some cow tracks were plain as day along with ten, twelve horses.
“What you thinking, Bud?” Clay was studying the ground ahead, thick with mesquite and scrub trees.
“I think the girls are with the bull.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think they’re planning on improving their stock with the bull. Maybe they’re holding it for ransom too.”
“Yep, that was in the ransom letter too. Two-hundred dollars.” He looked thoughtful. And?”
“They went to the trouble to join up with the big herd, follow along, and then split off to a hideout to wait and make the ransom deal. They want us to think they’re still with the big herd.”
“You sold me,” muttered Clay looking at Lee. “He could sell broken eggs to a hen.”
Lee nodded. “Told you he’s smart.”
The Hardest Ride Page 14