The Hardest Ride

by Gordon L. Rottman

  Shadows of Dew men rose out of the ground. I heard single-action hammers click and banditos were turning. All the guns went off at once. A couple of Mexes made it to their feet before getting blowed over. Everybody emptied their gun like Lew told us. The bandito in his bedroll didn’t even start to sit up.

  My bandito went down with the second shot. I wanted to believe he was the one I saw take Doris. His legs kicked until I fired all six shots.

  It was over as fast as snapping fingers.

  “Everybody good?” shouted Clay. The echoes still cracked, and then it was silent except for the wind and questioning nickering and huffing of horses. Everyone answered up.

  “Somebody roll that Mex offa the fire ’for he starts baking,” said Lew. He checked each to make sure they were dead.

  Nobody was skittish about dead Mexes. They were used to that now. Ol’ Pancho had warned me about this, when man-hunting. “When a man goes after another man, his soul ees strips away; eet makes him something he’s not.”

  Some of the boys helped themselves to Mex grub and coffee. Others gathered up the guns and ammo. We’d dump them later.

  “What ’bout the horses?” asked Musty.

  Everyone went quiet.

  Sessuns said, “Oh, shit.”

  Snap said, “Hovno,” which I took as the same thing in Czech.

  We couldn’t let them go. They’d head to Las Norias, or worse, back to the main body behind us. We couldn’t keep them tied up someplace and for sure not here near the trail to Las Norias. That’s when we realized the trail the six banditos had left would end here. That would give us away when the main body came through.

  “Fine, maybe we ain’t gotta shoot ’em horses,” said Lew.

  I think everyone breathed easier.

  “I’ll take ’em on ahead leavin’ a trail ’til I find a good ambush spot. The rest of ya circle ’round to the north so your tracks can’t be seen. The banditos will follow my trail right into us.” The firelight showed he was smiling.

  It was going to be another long cold night in the saddle.

  Lew set us picking up empty cartridges and kicking dirt over the blood puddles. Lew even had us walk around tracking over the bodies’ drag marks. We loaded them deaders on their horses. That was a tough chore, the horses not liking the blood. The campsite was off the trail a ways so we hoped the rest of them wouldn’t come through here and see anything to put them on guard. We’d have to dump the bodies further away. There wasn’t a real good bushwhack place on the back trail. We’d have to find something up ahead. The dark made it harder.

  “This is gettin’ complicated,” said Lew.

  Lew led the string of banditos’ horses on west leaving the trail for the banditos to follow. We skirted a couple of miles to the north. The guns we dumped in a gully.

  »»•««

  Two hours later, we spotted Lew way off on a low ridge lighting pieces of newspaper a whisky bottle had been wrapped in and dropping them to the ground.

  Two low fingers split out from the front of the ridge. “Like a whore’s spread legs,” said Musty. Lew’s trail led right up between those desiring legs to crest the higher ridge and headed on west. On the larger finger on the north side of the trail was a lot of brush and rocks, good cover.

  Lew said, “If we put three men up on the higher ridge top they can fire right down the trail between the fingers, right into the column of banditos. That’s called enfiladin’ fire.”

  We all nodded like we knew what he was talking about.

  “We position everyone else on that north finger and hit them with flankin’ fire, from the side.”

  We all nodded.

  “Kinda like catchin’ them in a crossfire, then?” said Musty.

  “Jus’ like,” said Lew.

  “Then why the hell didn’t ya jus’ say so,” said Musty, all flustered. That broke everyone out laughing, even Clay and me.

  Lew ignored it and kept real serious like. He said the south finger was lower, but had a lot of rocks on its sides and top. “We don’t want any of them making it to that south finger. That’ll give them cover. If they do, the men up on the top of the ridge need to rush over to that side of the trail so they can fire down the length of that finger…”

  “So we enfil-ladle ’em,” said Musty.

  “I see you’re finally understandin’ tactics.”

  Behind the ridge, we took all the horses up a draw to the north and picketed them. Sessuns and Snap led the banditos’ horses further west, the bodies dropped in a heap, and the horses picketed. Those two came back and joined up with Lew on the ridge crest. He took that position since he knew all about enfilading and stuff. The other five of us spread out on the north finger. Flaco and I were on the east end of the finger’s shoulder. Clay and Musty were a lariat’s length to our right, then Jerry. I had my rifle, shotgun, and two revolvers laid out. Flaco had his carbine and four Merwin Hulberts. We laid on our gum blankets and pulled blankets over us. It was cold and no one slept much, just dozed on and off. We all had a canteen and jerky and corn dodgers because it would be some hours into the morning before we expected them to show.

  Before getting into position, Clay told us all to be certain of our targets, not to shoot wild as the four girls were among the banditos. I told them the girls were all in blankets, and none had hats and that El Xiuhcoatl was wearing a yellow and red poncho and his brother a red and orange one.

  We dozed in fits and shook awake frozen. As the sun tried to brighten the sky through the heavy clouds, it started to drizzle. The gum blankets didn’t help much. It was a damn long morning.

  With the weak light, the side of the lower finger facing us was in shadow. As the sun got higher, we could see how rocky and thick the brush was over there. It came down almost to the trail.

  “We’re going to have to do some fast shooting to keep them from getting in there and holing up like foxes,” muttered Clay.

  Flaco nodded while gnawing on a strip of jerky.

  Instead of hoping to put off what was coming, all I could think was, Let’s get this done and over. I hoped the banditos were as cold as us and were making good time for Las Norias. I aimed to shoot those bastards down, save the girls, make a fire from their rifle stocks and saddle frames if we had to, eat something hot, and go home to the Dew.

  Having a lot of time, I thought about that. Save Marta and go home to the Dew. That was always on my mind, but I’d not thought about all what that meant. I knew it wouldn’t be the same with the friends we’d lost. But the idea of just taking Marta back there. I liked that a whole bunch.

  I heard a low whistle and recognized it as Lew’s from atop the ridge. I nudged Flaco awake. Clay whispered, “Heads up, boys. We’re going to feed them the coals of hell.”

  I was about to get my wish for the good or the bad of it.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Hunkered down in the brush I couldn’t see them coming until they were in my line of fire. We’d taken our hats off to hide better. I thumbed back the Winchester’s hammer, held the sights on the lead bandito, and fought the overpowering urge to squeeze off the fourteen rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. At this range, I could put out fifteen aimed shots in twenty seconds. I had to wait.

  Lew would fire the first shot when he thought as many of the banditos as possible were in the line of fire. Three of them passed, and then El Xiuhcoatl riding proud, even though worn down. His stallion was well turned out in rich accoutrements. Anger grabbed me, and I had to fight it. It took everything I had to ease my finger off the trigger. El Xiuhcoatl had a nose like a chisel, and his eyes were flashing all over the place. I breathed hard, fighting this fear that something would tip them off, sour this bushwhack before most of them rode into it.

  Right behind El Xiuhcoatl was Doris. This was as close as we’d been to any of the girls, only thirty yards. She was filthy, her blanket and what I could see of her nightgown too were dirty; her hair a tangled gummy mess, and her face bruised. Even with t
he movement of the horse, I could tell she was shivering. She looked back, I guessed checking on little sister, Agnes. I hoped Clay wouldn’t do anything rash when he saw her.

  A bandito followed Doris with Agnes behind him. Lordy, she looked terrible slumped in the saddle barely staying on. As white as a sheet and covered with bruises, hair so messed up it looked like a yellow bush full of windblown leaves and twigs. Puke was splattered on the front of her blanket. Stay steady, Clay, I willed.

  Another bandito passed, a real young fella, didn’t look like he belonged. Then I saw Marta in a red-brown blanket. I wanted to shoot the nearest bandito. Again, I had to move my finger off the trigger. She had bruises, black eyes, split lips, and was as grubby as the others. Whatever happened, she hadn’t made it easy for those bastards. She sat straight in the saddle, and her eyes were darting side to side, alert. That little girl—no, she ain’t, she’s a woman—sensed something. My heart ached as she moved out of sight. Stay steady, I told myself. My hands were shaking.

  Inés came next, looking beat up too. She had a bandana around her head, and as she passed, I could see its backside was bloody. More banditos followed, and I picked out El Xiuhcoatl’s brother, round face, shrewd eye, but not looking around. I say “eye,” because he had a patch over his right. He was wearing that tall-topped fawn-colored sombrero. The rest of the banditos followed with the spares and pack mules.

  I remembered what we’d talked about, where they were going and why, what their plan might be to get the ransom, and how they’d exchange the girls. It came to my mind like a kick in the head that maybe they weren’t meaning to give the girls back. Taking them to this faraway place, why go to that trouble? Why go to…

  The shot sounded like a thunder clap, and all hell exploded before me.

  That shot touched off my trigger finger, taking the bandito following Agnes out of his saddle. I got another, but the horses were bucking, rearing, and running every which way. Shots were going off like firecrackers on the Fourth. Kneeling in the brush, I couldn’t take a clear shot at the bounding horses. Horses were going down along with Mexes and both were screaming. Shots were coming back at us, but Mexes on rearing horses and those running for the rocks on foot were only throwing lead into the sky. Raising out of the brush, I could see better. Horses and men were down, others of both were running. Lead wanged off the rocks. The screaming horses and men, it was like a lunacy asylum. I wanted to find Marta in the melee, but I knew I had to keep gunning those bastards down to save her. In the back of my mind, I feared all the flying lead was doing the girls harm.

  I took down one Mex’s horse, and he rolled away pulling his rifle free. He went to a knee and was taking steady aimed shots with a Winchester, and I was doing the same back at him. His forward leg crumbled, but he fell on his side and kept firing, aiming at me it seemed. He rolled behind the dead horse, fired twice, jerked his saddlebags off, and made a staggering run for the rocks. My shots kicked up mud on his heels, but he made it. He had guts.

  Two banditos run on foot using the spares and mules for cover. Somebody hit one Mex, but the other made it to the rocks.

  I turned right, and Marta’s horse was down, and a bandito had her. She was whaling on him something furious, but he had her in a headlock and was dragging her into the boulders while still shooting. He threw her down behind a rock and swung a punch into her. I aimed, but her arms were still flailing. I couldn’t get a clear shot. He commenced to kick, her and I had my chance, but his head turned into a spray of blood before I fired. Marta was up, but fell and I didn’t see her get up. That young Mex was right behind her shooting pistols in both hands. He ducked behind her rock.

  Another Mex in the rocks darted further in, staggered, crashed into a boulder, and crumpled to the ground. There was gun smoke at the top of the ridge. Lew had moved his boys to the other side of the trail and was firing down the length of the south finger, enfilading, I guess. The Mexes got hit from their front and left.

  Clay shouted, “Shoot the horses!”

  Except for answering muzzle smoke and bodies, there weren’t no Mexes to be seen, but there were horses running all over. I knew what Clay wanted. Kill the horses so the banditos couldn’t get away. The fire picked up, and when the Mexes realized what we were doing, they started shooting back double-quick. I set down my rifle and came up with the shotgun to hit a mule and spent the other barrel as a Mex popped up to shoot. Rock fragments hit him in the face.

  A bandito wearing a blue Mex cavalry kepi ran out of the rocks, leapt on a horse, and started firing a pistol from low in the saddle. In desperation, he tried to run two more horses down the trail to safety. He passed one, caught the reins while the other’s hind legs collapsed from under it, hit by Flaco. A slug caught the Mex in the shoulder, and he lost his pistol. He kept going until his mount went down, shot or stumbled, and he went headfirst into a boulder. Sounded like a melon popping.

  I loaded slugs into the shotgun and fired at smoke puffs. Further up the draw, hot firing was still going on. I looked that way, and a Mex was dragging Doris from her fallen, but still kicking horse. The Mex screamed, “¡Dejen de disparar! ¡La voy a matar!” He had a pistol to her head. She’d lost her blanket.

  “Hold your fire, boys,” shouted Clay.

  I could hear Lew further up bellowing the same.

  “¡La voy a matar!”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “Stop shooting. I’ll kill her,” said Flaco.

  The man—I realized he was Xiuhcoatl—had his arm tight around Doris’ neck. He was dragging her back to the boulders.

  “Deja que las chicas se vayan y dejamos que te vayas.”—Let the girls go, and we will let you leave—shouted Flaco.

  “¡Voy a hacer lo que yo quiera!” Xiuhcoatl yelled.

  “I will do whatever I want,” repeated Flaco.

  The bandito chief tore open Doris’ nightgown, pushed her to the ground, and bending over her ripped the dirty bedclothes completely off. He roughly pulled the naked girl up with his left arm around her neck, gripped one tit, and shoved his gun between her legs. He dragged her backward through the mud and into the boulders.

  Clay must be going crazy.

  The shooting stopped. Flaco and I jammed cartridges into our rifles. He watched the other side while I reloaded the shotgun. I did the same for him while he reloaded his revolvers. A couple shots banged to finish off wounded horses.

  I breathed hard, my hands shaking. I watched the other side close, hoping to see a bandito’s head, but hoping more to see Marta.

  Clay shouted, “We got them cornered, boys, but be careful. It’s like cornering a bull.”

  It was a mess in the draw. I counted fourteen dead horses and mules. No live ones were to be seen excepting a few standing out on the flats below the ridge. They were too far off to shoot at. I could see seven dead Mexes, and I’d seen two hit inside the rocks. There might be some more deaders in the rocks.

  Clay crawled down to us. “What’s your count?”

  I told him.

  “I think eleven. They got some wounded too,” he said. “Got them cut down to our size.” He sounded in good spirits in spite of Doris’ humiliation and the iffyness of what could happen.

  “We get anybody hurt?”

  Clay’s spirits didn’t sound so good when he said, “Snap’s dead and Jerry caught some rock splinters in the face, but he’s good. I sent him up to the ridge top with Lew and Sessuns to cover the finger. There’s only us three and Musty here.”

  “What’s next?” I asked.

  “Lew’s got the finger’s back slope covered. They’re pinned, and they’ve got no horses to get away.”

  “They can get away in the night, even on foot,” said Flaco.

  “But they’d not get too far in the dark, and we’d ride them down after sunup,” said Clay.

  “Boss!” It was Musty up above us. “Riders comin’ up.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The first thing that jumped into my mind was
more Rurales, them seeming to turn up at the wrongdist of times. Before I could crawl back to a safe spot to look east, the Mexes fired. I could see Gent and Dodger lopping into some boulders. Further off was Fred loose-herding the remuda, and they soon disappeared behind a fold.

  The Mexes had to be nervous now. They were down to maybe nine, and some were surely wounded. They could only guess at our numbers, but they knew three more had turned up. They knew they were boxed in, and it was a long time until dark. But, they had the girls. The girls.

  Some of the boys flustered with the standoff, popped rounds into the boulders, including Musty’s Kennedy rifle sounding like a cannon.

  Xiuhcoatl yelled again.

  “He say to stop, boss, or he shoot a girl,” Flaco shouted.

  Clay hollered to stop firing. I could see a lot of pain in his eyes.

  Musty shouted, “I musta fired forty-eleven shots and only hit one of ’em turds. Might as well put a stamp on ’em bullets and mail ’em.”

  To my left I could see Gent and Dodger working their way like desert scorpions in this direction going from rock-to-rock.

  “We got them boxed in, boss, but if we’re still here at dark, they’ll make a break,” I told Clay.

  “They got no horses.”

  “They can find some at daylight maybe. They’re scattered all about. There’s even some holed up over yonder.”

  “Yeah.” Clay rubbed his chin. “We need to deal with them, now.” He gripped Flaco’s arm. “You to speak for me.”

  “Sí, jefe.”

  “I’ll give them the ransom money. They turn all four girls loose, and we let them leave free and clear. That’ll be the end of it, we won’t chase them.”

  “Some of the boys may not like that, boss,” I said. “We lost pards, they’ll still wanna get some licks in.”

  “Some of them Pedros in those rocks probably thinking the same. We need to let it go, and watch so they don’t pull a fast one. I don’t trust them no more than a rattler in my bedroll.”