Rocky Mountain Warpath (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 1)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “Correct,” Ludlow replied.

  “I have just what you’re looking for,” Graham said. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

  He led Captain Hawkins and Ludlow to the garrison stables where an experienced and well-trained pack animal could be found. The trio walked down the row of stalls with the stable sergeant, and the captain saw a likely candidate. “How old is this mule?”

  The sergeant checked the roster. “That’s Tony, sir. He’s five years old and is reliable and in good health.” He went into the stall and took hold of the halter, easing the mule out for the captain to inspect.

  Hawkins noted Tony’s clear and large eyes, firm muzzle, and stocky neck. After checking the chest and back, he was satisfied. “I’ll take him. He’s a fine looking animal.”

  “That he is, sir. What sort of packing do you want to use?”

  “Well ... the load is ammunition and rations,” Hawkins replied thoughtfully. “Not too heavy where a pack mule is concerned, so a sawbuck saddle will do the job.”

  “That and a saddle blanket and girth is all you’ll need then, sir,” the sergeant said. “We also have two fifteen gallon water bags available that will go outside the packs. That’s all you’ll need. There’s plenty of creeks and springs in the Rocky Mountains.”

  “That’ll serve us fine then.”

  The sergeant went to the wall and retrieved a picket rope, fastening it to the mule’s halter, handing it to Hawkins.

  Lieutenant Graham ordered the NCO to fetch the sawbuck saddle, water bags, a saddle blanket, girth and some packing ropes. When the items were gathered up, he was to bring everything to the warehouse where the scout detachment was billeted.

  Hawkins led the animal outside where Ludlow waited. Ludlow studied the mule, walking around him in what he hoped was a knowing way. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Mmm. Ah, yes! This one will do nicely.”

  Hawkins grinned. “Do you know what you’re looking at, Mr. Dooley?”

  “Who me? Of course not. The only thing I can tell about this animal is that he isn’t a cat or a dog. But he’s pretty close to being a horse.”

  “Excellent!” Hawkins said. “In actuality, he is a mule, Mr. Dooley. A mule. You’ll learn a lot more about him before this mission is over. By the way, his name is Tony.”

  Ludlow tipped his hat. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Tony.”

  Hawkins, still leading Tony the mule, walked over to the warehouse with the two lieutenants. The Indians gathered around to check out the animal. They had seen mules before, but had never been very close to one.

  “Look like horse but no look like horse,” Eagle Heart remarked.

  “It’s a mule,” Hawkins explained. “His father is a donkey and his mother is a mare horse.”

  Corporal Running Cougar was puzzled. “Why somebody want to make that happen?”

  “Because mules are stronger and live longer than horses.”

  The scouts walked completely around Tony, looking up and down at the animal. Tony seemed unimpressed with them as he stood patiently waiting for whatever was going to happen to him.

  Five minutes later, the stable sergeant arrived in the warehouse yard with a push cart holding the gear as ordered. Now Hawkins took over. He picked up the saddle blanket and folded it into six thicknesses. Then he placed it on Tony’s back. This was followed by the sawbuck saddle and the girth; the latter being cinched up as tight as possible, but not so much that it interfered with the mule’s breathing.

  With that done, Hawkins took the packing rope and married it up with the leather straps on the tarpaulins. Swift Horse and Red Moon picked up one of the bundles while the captain wrapped and tied it to the forks of the saddle on the right side. Then the three repeated the task with the second bundle on the left. The last items added were the water bags that had yet to be filled.

  “Now!” Hawkins said. “Tony the mule is ready to go.”

  Lieutenant Graham and the stable sergeant inspected the loading arrangement. “Good job, sir,” Graham said. “You’ve obviously done this before.”

  “A few years ago in Arizona,” Hawkins replied. He glanced over at Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Report, Sergeant.”

  “Detachment all present and accounted for, sir,” Eagle Heart said. “And we ready for to go.”

  Hawkins held out a hand to Lieutenant Graham. “Thanks for all your help and the stable sergeant too.”

  Tony was turned over to Red Moon. The scout took the picket rope and held it as he stood to horse with the others. Hawkins ordered the detachment to mount, then into a single file. Thus formed up, they headed for the garrison gate to ascend the Rocky Mountains.

  As they rode through the garrison gate, the entire detachment gazed westward at the great colossal range loomed upward through the clouds in foreboding magnificence.

  Chapter Nine

  The officers and scouts left Fort Terral, riding up the Haut-Prairie Gap used by the unlucky surveyors to reach their worksite. The steepness of the terrain increased perceptively, and Hawkins glanced back to see how Red Moon and Tony the mule were doing. The Kiowa-Comanche scout had the picket rope looped around his wrist, and the mule climbed easily with the load on his back. No problems there.

  Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley rode next to Captain Hawkins with Sergeant Eagle Heart and Corporal Running Cougar directly behind them. The young lieutenant stood up in his stirrups, gazing rearward and downward at Fort Terral.

  Hawkins asked, “Looking for something, Mr. Dooley?”

  “Simply checking our progress, sir. I would estimate the we’ve climbed almost a hundred feet in elevation since leaving the garrison.”

  “We’ll be a lot higher than that before this mission is over and done with.”

  As a newcomer to the Rockies, Ludlow settled back to familiarize himself with the flora they traveled through. There was an abundance of trees; notably Douglas-firs, ponderosa pines and junipers. One species would be thick in spots, then thin out to blend in with another. Ludlow surmised that any type of fighting in such an area would have to be on foot and at close distance. Forests do not allow the glory of a cavalry charge.

  Hawkins suddenly spoke loudly. “Sergeant Eagle Heart! Send a man out on point!”

  The NCO responded by signaling Swift Horse to move ahead of the column for security. Normally, when moving through unknown territory with a potential of danger, flankers would be put out as well. But the abundance of forest on both sides of the path made that impossible; as well as dangerous.

  Ludlow leaned toward Hawkins. “This would be a likely place to run into an ambush.”

  Hawkins nodded his agreement. “We’re sure as hell not in prairie country, are we, Mr. Dooley?”

  “Our tactics must be consistent with our new environment,” Ludlow stated. “Either that or we could find ourselves in some very problematic situations.”

  Hawkins growled, “What have I told you about using one hundred words when five will do?”

  “Sorry, sir. I forgot.”

  The climb continued up into the Montana Rocky Mountains with the temperature slowly but steadily dropping. Everyone in the detachment knew that soon they would be glad they brought flannel shirts and overcoats for the early mornings and late evenings. The officer’ coats had capes lined with yellow flannel around the shoulders. The scouts’ models had pointed hoods that could be pulled over their heads.

  The small column reached the surveyors’ worksite after a two-hour climb. Hawkins led them into a short, narrow gully that offered some cover. The detachment dismounted, driving picket pins into the ground, connecting them to halters of the horses and mule with picket ropes. With that done, Hawkins and Ludlow led the way up the sides of the depression.

  Although they didn’t realize it, they were at seven thousand feet above sea level. A mutual shortness of breath affected them all, though the Indians did not know why. Rather than have Ludlow try to clarify the situation, Hawkins explained that they were much higher than their prairie homes and the air was
not as “thick.” That description was easy for the Indians to understand; mainly because there was no word for “oxygen” in their patois.

  The ground around the surveyors’ camp had dark splotches in several spots where the unlucky members of the crew had spilled their blood after being shot. The bodies were always retrieved after the attacks by a detachment of soldiers from Fort Terral. They expected to be fired on too, but were never harassed as they tended to the gruesome task.

  The layout of the camp was well-organized. The shack that served as an office had a wood-burning stove and glass windows that could be opened and shut. A tent with cots was off to one side with a rather sturdy storage shed nearby. The door of that structure was open, and Ludlow walked over and looked inside.

  “What do you see, Mr. Dooley?”

  “It’s empty, sir. I imagine when the decision was made to delay the work they took the surveying tools down to Fort Terral. But there are cots in the tent.”

  “Never mind that. We’re not going to be staying here very long anyway.” He looked over at Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Chow call.”

  Eagle Heart repeated with a yell, “Chow call!”

  Several campfires were started using brushwood piled up behind the tent. Within minutes the water was boiling for the inevitable coffee while hunks of salt pork had been stuck on knives to roast over the flames. Meanwhile the two officers used their binoculars to scan the mountains across the valley.

  The sound of the bullet striking the shed came at the same time the shot was heard. Hawkins and Ludlow dropped to the ground while the scouts grabbed their carbines and dived for the nearest available cover. Keen eyes studied the mountainside to the north. Suddenly other gunshots were heard and bullets hit the shack again.

  “Did anybody see anything?” Hawkins asked.

  Another shot. This one was a hell of a lot closer and kicked up dirt between Ludlow and Corporal Running Cougar.

  “Godamn it!” Hawkins cursed. “Whoever that is has those smokeless cartridges.”

  Ludlow’s eyes scanned the high terrain from side to side and up and down. “You can’t tell by the sound where the shooter or shooters are. There’s too much echo up here in the mountains.”

  “At least the horses and mule are safe enough in that little gully,” Hawkins pointed out. He looked up at the sky. “The clouds are heavy and low. They’ll hide the moon after a while, so we won’t be seen.” Hawkins raised his voice. “Is anybody hit?”

  “Ever’body fine,” Sergeant Eagle Heart reported. “No see nothing. Maybe there is strong medicine here.”

  “It isn’t strong medicine,” Hawkins countered. “It’s no-smoke bullets, understand?”

  “No! I understand big medicine.”

  Hawkins gave Ludlow a look of dismay. “That’s all we need now. Superstition.”

  “Sir, our scouts are very spiritual.”

  “Well, spiritual or religious or superstitious or whatever, they’re gonna have to keep their eyes and ears open.”

  “We certainly can’t pull out of here,” Ludlow angrily remarked. “This is going to be a long night, sir.”

  “It might end up short and final if those shooters decide to sneak up on us in the dark,” Hawkins cautioned. He set a cartridge belt within easy reach. “Go to Sergeant Eagle Heart and tell him I want the guard on fifty percent alert. That’s for the rest of the evening until daylight. Everyone will stay where they are. The only scouts I want moving around are him and Corporal Running Cougar.”

  Ludlow crawled on hands and knees to pass on the order.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning when the sun was high enough to cast shadows, the detachment stayed under cover while Hawkins and Ludlow used their binoculars to study the area where the shooters had been the previous day. The slow, careful observation showed nothing but an empty mountainside.

  Two slow frustrating hours passed and everyone gnawed on cold salt pork to calm the growling in their stomachs. The worst part of the situation was having to start the day without coffee.

  Hawkins finally spoke up in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire detachment. “Ever’body cover me!”

  Ludlow was fretful. He knew Hawkins could fall into an angry mood of frustration, the same as the scouts. “What are you going to do, sir?”

  “Just do what I say, goddam it!”

  The captain, with his carbine ready, advanced from the cover and moved slowly across the meadow toward the mountain where the shots had come from. He went twenty-something yards, then dropped to one knee. After a few long minutes, he stood up and walked back to the detachment. His shoulders were hunched in nervous anticipation of a bullet, but nothing happened.

  Ludlow stood up. “They’re gone, sir.”

  “I’m not surprised. The bastards are prob’ly used to people skedaddling back down to Fort Terral after being shot at.”

  The scouts got to their feet, waiting for orders. Hawkins turned and motioned everyone to follow him back to the shallow ravine where the mounts and mule were picketed. Sergeant Eagle Heart was as eager for battle as his charges. He showed a ferocious grin. “Now we go get them sumbitches, Cap’n?”

  “Yeah. But we’ll move east back down the trail, then turn south to enter the woods on the opposite side of the Gap. We’ll make a western trek through the trees and do some observing to find out all we can about this crazy territory. In the meantime let’s get some hot chow in our bellies. Especially coffee. This mountain walking tires a fellow a hell of a lot more than a stroll on a nice flat prairie.”

  Ludlow and the scouts eagerly turned to prepare the campfires.

  The detachment went down the trail in the same formation they’d used ascending it. But this time, instead of having anyone out on point, Swift Horse acted as rear guard. He would stop in a hidden spot now and then to see if they were being followed. When he was satisfied they were in the clear, he remounted his horse and rode on for ten minutes or so before repeating the process.

  When they were halfway between the surveyor camp and Fort Terral, Hawkins ordered them to the south side of the Gap, opposite from the surveyors’ camp. They waited for Swift Horse to catch up with them, then began the entrance into the forest.

  This time Ludlow Dooley was on point and after riding a short distance, he came to a halt and dismounted. Hawkins rode up to him. “Too many trees too close together, hey, Mr. Dooley? It looks like we’ll be riding shank’s mare from now on.” The captain referred to the shank of the leg, i.e. the shin bone as a method of transportation. In other words; walking. He turned toward the scouts. “Dismount!”

  The scouts climbed down to the forest floor after pulling their carbines from the weapon boots. The Indians were not exactly thrilled by this new development. These were natural-born light cavalrymen descended from a culture that consisted of traveling, fighting and hunting on horseback; and doing it in prairie country.

  “Continue south by fifty yards or so, Mr. Dooley,” Hawkins said. “I know the distance will be difficult to step off in these conditions, but do your best. Then turn due west and maintain that direction until further orders.”

  Ludlow pulled out his pocket compass, knowing that traveling through an area that offered little visibility would make it difficult to move in a straight line. He began the task, concentrating on keeping count of the paces as he walked. In places where he could only take short or incomplete steps, he counted three or four as a yard. Finally, when he was reasonably sure they had traveled a close proximity of the required distance, he came to a stop.

  A few seconds later Hawkins, with the Indians following in file, joined him. “I think you made a fairly accurate penetration, Mr. Dooley. Well done, young man.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You may now turn northward , if it pleases you.”

  “It does please me, sir,” Dooley replied, “and I shall do exactly that.”

  The detachment column now moved through the trees with the Haut-Prairie Gap on their rig
ht.

  By late afternoon they came into a location where the trees were sparser. Areas of grass were abundant and Hawkins called a halt to give the horses a rest and allow them to graze for a couple of hours. The detachment, as strangers in this part of the west, were not aware they had come to a spot covered with wheatgrass. This highly nutritious plant was a species that was shade-tolerant, thus grew well in the midst of trees. It was also nutritious and healthful for the horses and Tony the mule.

  All was not well with the scouts, however. Corporal Running Cougar and Scout Red Moon had blisters on their feet. The corporal groused, “We walk like foot soljers.”

  Dooley pulled the medical kit from his saddlebags and lanced the blisters with a suture needle. Then he put gauze and tape over the affected parts of their feet to pad them against further rubbing on the inner sides of their boots.

  Hawkins made everybody take off their footgear to see if there were other blisters or the potential of any. He also checked out Dooley, then had the lieutenant look him over. It turned out the corporal and Red Moon were the only casualties of riding shank’s mare.

  A couple of hours later, the detachment was back on its feet and moving into deeper forest. The officers and scouts trudged along, avoiding low hanging branches as best they could. A few times it was necessary to go around some particularly difficult areas that were filled with thick deadfall. That natural nuisance was impossible to walk through.

  Finally, when the sun shone with a reddish light through the trees, Hawkins called a halt. “We’ll spend the night here. Be sure and clear areas where you make your cook fires. We don’t want to find ourselves caught in the middle of a burning forest. Tomorrow we’ll leave the woods and go back to the Gap.”