Mallory

by Hebby Roman

  Ben’s plan was simple but effective. Use the Apache to drive his neighbors off their land; then he could gobble up their ranches at bargain prices. To reciprocate, he allowed the Apache to rendezvous with the Comancheros, restocking their firearms and ammunition, along with other trade goods, alcohol, and even slaves or hostages.

  Knowing how deadly the Comanchero crossfire would be at the entrance to the canyon, Gregor had brought along Company C of the Twenty-Fifth Infantry, his gunners, who knew how to operate the unwieldly guns.

  Usually, the heavy howitzers sat silent at the fort. They were called “mountain guns” because they could be taken apart and transported on pack horses. But they weren’t suitable for the kind of hit-and-run skirmishes fought in the mountains.

  Today, he’d brought two of the big guns on sturdy buckboards, assembled and ready to fire. For this particular situation, he’d decided to utilize the howitzers against the Comancheros in the cliffs, providing cover for his cavalry troops.

  He held up his hand, wanting the men to wait and keep as silent as possible. He’d brought plenty of troops, but the Comancheros, as well as the Apaches, were fearsome fighters, ready to fight to the death if they were cornered.

  He said a prayer under his breath and waited. Hosea turned toward him and nodded. He backed up Boots slowly and carefully. He turned and nodded at Captain French. The captain returned his nod and silently directed his gunners. They clambered from the wagons and began packing the cannons with gunpowder and stacking the cannonballs.

  Hosea came back and stood straight, saluting. “Reporting, sir.”

  “Yes, Corporal Lincoln?”

  “Looks like about twenty sentinels hidden in the cliffs along the canyon mouth. Forty or so hostiles and maybe twenty-five more Comancheros, trading goods on the canyon floor.”

  “Any sign of Murphy or his men?”

  “Not that I could tell, sir. Most of the Comancheros wear Stetsons like the ranchers.” Hosea untied the bandana at his throat, tipped back his hat, and mopped his brow. “Too far away to be certain, sir.”

  “Understood, Corporal. Mount up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He rode over to Captain French and said, “Fire when ready, Captain.” He pointed at the rocky ledges, overhanging the canyon mouth. Then he returned to Captain Rodgers and Myerson, each heading a double column of men.

  He raised his hand again and called, “Wheel! Forward!”

  The captains and their men turned quickly and scrabbled back down the rocky slope to the canyon entryway. He touched his spurs to Boots’ flanks and rode to the front of the two columns. Myerson and Rodgers followed him to the front of their men.

  Boom! Crack! Pop!

  The cannons roared and cannonballs whistled through the air, striking the mountainside and exploding. Pieces of the mountains, rocks, and splintered fragments of brush, along with human bodies, went flying through the air.

  Gregor grimaced. Despite twenty years as a soldier, he despised killing other human beings. His use of cannons on the Comanchero sentinels wasn’t the most honorable way to kill an enemy. But given the kind of men the Comancheros were, he owed his soldiers a deadly diversion to keep them from being slaughtered in the narrow canyon mouth.

  Screams and shouts, mixed with loud curses, rang around him. He paused at the canyon mouth, hoping none of his men would be hit by the debris pouring down, but knowing there might be casualties from the bombardment overhead.

  He raised his hand again. “Fix bayonets!” He attached his own bayonet at the end of his Springfield carbine and cradled the rifle in his left arm.

  “Bugler!” He hesitated for a moment until the bugler’s brassy notes cleaved the air. “Draw sidearms! Fire at will!” He let his hand drop. “Charge!”

  He urged Boots forward, holding the gelding’s reins loosely in his left hand, while keeping his Colt cocked and ready in his right hand. His men followed suit.

  They surged into the canyon, firing their Colts, which had six shots, as opposed to their single-shot, breech-loading Springfield carbines.

  Taking aim at a group of Apache and Comancheros who’d hidden behind a jumble of boulders, he emptied his Colt. He holstered it and took up his carbine with the bayonet fixed and plunged forward.

  He was almost on top of the boulders when Caballero stepped out and took aim with a Winchester rifle. He felt a burn in his shoulder, but Boots’ momentum drove him on top of the Apache. He ran the hostile through with his bayonet. The Apache dropped to the floor of the canyon.

  Wrenching his bayonet free, he glanced up to see Ben Murphy’s sneering face. The man leveled his Colt and fired. Boots sidestepped, not wanting to step on the downed Apache, and the bullet whistled overhead.

  He raised his carbine, took careful aim, and fired. Ben Murphy’s sneer turned to a grimace, and his eyes widened. He clutched his chest and crumpled.

  Pivoting Boots around, Gregor looked for cover where he could reload. But all the gunfire was coming from his troops, mopping up the Comancheros and Apache. The cannon had stopped booming, but his head was still ringing. And the canyon floor appeared to tilt.

  He replaced his carbine in its scabbard and with his empty Colt in his right hand, he reached up and touched his left shoulder. He brought his wet hand away, seeing the bright blotch of blood. His vision clouded, and he shook his head.

  Dizzy and shaking, he turned Boots toward the canyon mouth, but before he could reach it, black dots swarmed before his eyes like a nasty cloud of gnats. Then he was falling…

  The ground rushed up and everything turned black.

  ***

  Mallory watched Sally absorb what she’d told her. Sally took a sip of her tea. She put down her teacup and reached across the table, taking Mallory’s hands in hers.

  “You made some mistakes, but the colonel has obviously forgiven you,” Sally said. “Why can’t you forgive yourself?”

  “I like to think I have forgiven myself.”

  “Not if you’re going away. You say you love the colonel. He returns your love. Why throw it away?”

  “Because the colonel has a position of authority here, and I would have to tell more lies when my son comes. Make up something about a dead husband. I don’t want to tell any more lies, Sally.”

  “Psssh! The frontier is a forgiving place. If you and the colonel marry, you won’t need to lie about your son. You were forced, Mallory, violated by an unscrupulous man. People will understand.” Sally released her hands and touched her chest. “I understand. And I’ll make certain the other women do, too.”

  Mallory lowered her head and her voice, “But it’s so humiliating to let the truth out—so shameful.” She shuddered. “I can imagine the look of pity.” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know if I can face it.” She shook her head. “And what about the ones who don’t believe I was—”

  “Pish!” Sally grabbed her hands again and squeezed them. “You can do this, Mallory. You’re stronger than you think. And if some of the folks don’t believe or understand, then you don’t need them. Think what you have to gain. It’s more than worth it. Don’t let people’s petty prejudices rule your life. It’s time you took control.”

  Despite the shame swamping her, for the first time in weeks, a tiny bud of hope burned in her chest. Could she marry the colonel and face down people? It was a bold plan, and she wanted to believe it was possible.

  “What about Peggy?” she asked.

  “She’s probably already heard more ugly gossip than any truth you might tell her,” Sally said. “You’re strong,” she repeated. “Stronger than you think. Look at what you’ve done, coming west, being taken by the hostiles, starting a school, staging a play. I know you can do this.”

  Then a thought struck Mallory… Peggy. Where was the girl? She gazed out the window, noting the angle of the sun. “Speaking of Peggy, she’s been gone an awfully long time. I had better go and look for her.”

&nb
sp; “Do you want me to go?”

  “No, if I’m going to face people down, I should start now. And you need to finish supper.”

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  Mallory sighed with relief and rose. “That’s probably Peggy. I’ll get it.”

  “I guess I’ll see to supper, but I wish the men were back.”

  “Me, too.”

  Mallory crossed to the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Peggy’s freckled face. Instead, a dark-skinned youth stood on the porch. He looked her over and said, “Señorita Reynolds?”

  “Yes.”

  He thrust a piece of paper at her. “For you. Tell no one if you not want Peggy hurt.” He spoke in a heavily accented voice.

  She took the paper. Her heart dropped, and her stomach clenched. Someone had Peggy and they wanted to hurt her. Why?

  She opened her mouth to call after the youth, but he’d sprinted away, cutting behind the cabins ringing the parade ground.

  With her heart in her mouth, she opened the unsigned note and read:

  Mallory,

  I want my son, the boy you named Macon. I’ve had a Pinkerton man watching you and the fort. I know you must have him hidden. The Aldredges were searched and watched. My son is no longer there.

  Tell no one. My men and I have Peggy Gregor, your pupil and the daughter of your lover. If you bring my son, I will return Peggy to you, unharmed. If you don’t come or you try to rescue Peggy, I will kill the girl.

  I have men watching you. You have one hour.

  Come with my son to the yellow house at the foot of the main street of Chihuahua. Enter through the backdoor. I will be waiting.

  Chapter Ten

  Sally stood on the threshold of the sitting room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Was it Peggy? Where are my needles and thread?”

  The contents of the note stunned Mallory. She felt as if she was gasping for air, being dragged down a deep well with the water closing over her head. Her stomach twisted into knots and threatened to crawl up the back of her throat. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she was dizzy.

  Despite the raw terror tearing at her, she had a fleeting thought. Now she knew who the elusive stranger was—likely as not he was the Pinkerton man Hiram had hired.

  How could Hiram take Peggy and threaten to murder her? She shook her head—knowing the answer in her heart. Hiram was capable of anything to have his way. Wasn’t he? She should know.

  But her son Macon hadn’t arrived, and she had nothing to exchange for Peggy. Exchange for Peggy. She stifled a sob. It reminded her of being taken hostage by the Apache. Flesh and blood exchanged like so many trading beads.

  She’d never trade her son, nor endanger Peggy. But Peggy was in danger now because of her past. There would be no trading. No! Hiram’s evil had to be stopped here and now. Once and for all.

  But how could she get Peggy released when Will and the captains were out fighting? What could she do? Where could she turn?

  Sally crossed her arms. “Well, was that Peggy? What about my sewing things?”

  She put one finger to her lips and handed Sally the note. She shook her head, afraid to speak—not knowing what to say. Sally was an Army wife. Perhaps, she would know what to do, how to get help and rescue Peggy.

  “I must go,” she said, “to buy some time. I’ll try and reason with him. Tell him I’m not hiding his son, that Macon is on the way here but hasn’t arrived.”

  Sally scanned the note. She lifted her head and raised her eyebrows, widening her eyes. “Then he’ll have you both, Mallory. I don’t think you should—”

  “I can’t leave Peggy there. He’s only given me an hour. We don’t know when the colonel and captains will come back.”

  She didn’t want to add there was no way to know in what condition their men would be. “I have to go for Peggy. It’s the least I can do. I brought this on myself by not bringing my son in the first place.” She chewed her lip. “I can’t wait. Don’t you see?”

  “I guess you’re right. But I’ll see what I can do.” Sally reached out her hand and then let it drop. “Take care of yourself. Shouldn’t you have a weapon? My husband gave me a derringer. It’s small and easy to use.”

  Frightened to death and wondering if there was any way someone could overhear them, she gazed at the open front window and pointed.

  Sally crossed the room and closed the window. Then she hurried into her bedroom and brought out a short-nosed, small pistol.

  Mallory gazed at the derringer. “Won’t they search me?”

  “Not if you put it down the front of your corset. They won’t find it there. You’ve taken to wearing your corset again, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. My pitiful response to redeem my respectability, I guess.” She took the small gun with the rounded stock and unbuttoned the top button of her dress. She pushed the derringer inside her corset, snugging it against the whalebone stays.

  “Be careful. It’s loaded and primed. One shot only.”

  “I will. I must go.”

  ***

  Gregor slumped over in the saddle. Corporal Walsh had Boots’ reins, leading him. A necessary precaution, since he’d passed out, after taking a bullet. But Walsh had taken care of him. He’d staunched the blood from the wound in his shoulder, splashed water in his face to bring him around, and fashioned a makeshift sling. He and Walsh were headed back to Doc Winslow to get the bullet dug out.

  He’d left Rodgers in charge of rounding up the few survivors, a couple of Comancheros hiding in the cliffs, and four Apaches who’d surrendered. Rodgers would see to the two soldiers who’d been wounded. They’d lost one man, a Private Wilson.

  The wounded men, hostiles, Comancheros, and his soldiers would have their wounds field dressed, and then they’d be brought back to the doctor. He’d send the Comancheros to the local authorities in El Paso, and the Apache back to their reservation, under guard, as soon as they could travel.

  He’d put Myerson in charge of cleaning up the canyon, burying the dead, and carrying Ben’s body back to the Lazy M headquarters. Gus Pedersen, Ben’s foreman, could take over from there.

  He hated killing, though it was his profession. Despite his regrets, he believed their pre-emptive action had put a stop to the raids on neighboring ranches and the San Antonio-El Paso Road.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, feeling weak and light-headed. They trotted down the main street of town, and the fort’s buildings came into view. They stopped at Doc Winslow’s. He dismounted and Walsh opened the door.

  He stepped into the doctor’s surgery and the first thing he noticed was Sally Rodgers’ talking to both the doctor and the soldier he’d left in charge, Lieutenant Richter. They were all looking at a piece of paper on the doctor’s table.

  The three of them glanced up, the minute he came inside.

  Sally let out a squeal of surprise, mixed with a sigh of relief, and rushed toward him, waving the piece of paper. “They’ve got Peggy and now Mallory. She went to try and reason with Hiram.”

  She handed him the note. “Mallory explained everything about her past. Peggy came by and left your note. She’d forgotten to bring it earlier. But then she went to town by herself and didn’t come back. By the time we started worrying, someone brought this note to Mallory. I was in the kitchen. She went to the door, thinking it was your daughter.”

  He mopped his brow and sank into one of the doctor’s chairs. “Now I know who the stranger was, a Pinkerton man, watching the fort and Mallory.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Richter, get ten men together, pull them off guard duty.”

  The lieutenant saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Getting up, he gazed out the window at the setting sun. It would be dark soon, which would help, since he knew the lay of the land. The Pinkerton man probably knew it, too, but maybe not as well as he and his men did. It was a slim hope, but better than none.

  They’d have to be especi
ally careful. He didn’t know if, as according to the note, they were being watched. Or it could be a bluff, Calhoun saying he had additional men. No one had mentioned new strangers in town.

  Sally touched his arm. “I know you’re overwhelmed and upset… not to mention wounded, Colonel, but I have to ask, is my Frank—”

  “Captain Rodgers is fine.” He patted her shoulder. “We killed most of the Comancheros and Apache, along with Ben Murphy, who was the ringleader, bringing the Apache and Comancheros together. We lost one man, a Private Wilson.” He shook his head. “I’ll need to write his family.”

  “Oh, thank you, Colonel, thank you. I’m so glad Frank is…” She gulped back tears and swallowed.

  “They should be along soon, but he’s bringing the wounded. They can’t move as fast with the buckboards.” He raised his head and gazed at the doctor. “Doc, you’ll need to be ready for the wounded men.”

  “I will. But shouldn’t I take a look at your shoulder first?”

  “No, I’ve got to go with Richter to get my daughter and fiancée back.” There, he’d said it.

  He and Mallory would be married, if they all survived. He’d stop her from wallowing in self-pity and putting him off. When you stared in the abyss and realized you might lose the two people in the world whom you loved the most, everything else paled in comparison.

  As the Good Book said: “Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow.” He didn’t want to waste any more time, living without Mallory.

  “Lieutenant, have the ten men drift, one at a time, over the next hour to the saloon and then gather at the back entrance. You know the arroyo there, the one that splits Fort Davis from Chihuahua?”

  “Yes, sir. I know the terrain.”

  “Good. Have the men climb down into the ravine. I’ll meet you there after the doc does what he can.”

  Richter came to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded.

  “Sally, I know you’re concerned, but I don’t want to worry about you, too. Can you go home and wait for Frank?”