by Tony Masero
He could say no more as a great hail of arrows and spears arced through the air towards the compound.
“Move!” shouted Gringo. “Take cover!”
Swift to respond, the mountain men swung their muskets and without any order given, fired in a body. The booming sound of so many weapons was deafening. Flame shot from the flintlocks and a great wave of powder smoke filled the gap between the mission and the advancing Indians. As the charging Indians received the stream of lead they tumbled and fell even as the men in the yard were struck by falling arrows and fire hardened spears. Mountain men dropped, their bodies pierced by the shafts, the thudding blows audible as they hit. In an instant the courtyard lay littered with squirming buckskin clad wounded and dead.
Those that escaped the onslaught ran to the crumbling outer walls of the mission and began to reload. Alcazar’s men, slower to respond initially covered the moment with their own volley.
“Mister Wade,” ordered Le Touquet calmly, his excitable nature cooling in the face of the emergency. “Make sure the women and children are to safety.”
“Sir,” said Gringo, bounding off in a crouching run.
The noise was incredible, howling Indians amongst the powder smoke and the sporadic crash of musket fire compounded by shouts and screaming curses from the courtyard wounded. A natural commander, Le Touquet’s took it all in, his eyes were everywhere as he quickly studied their defenses and the state of his troops.
“Steady, men,” bellowed the Boosway firmly. “Pick your targets. Keep to a steady even fire.” He turned to Judas, who knelt nearby. “Mister James, divide the men into two parties along the wall, either side of that wagon at the gateway. Volley fire. One in action whilst the other reloads. We need continuous firing to roll these devils up.”
Judas raised a finger to his brow in acknowledgement and snaked off to carry out the order as Alcazar skidded down to crouch beside Le Touquet. His soldier’s eyes were sparkling with excitement, as bright as the saber in his hand.
“It seems we must forget our differences temporarily,” he said.
Le Touquet gave him a brief glance. “As you say, Captain,” he said. “Can your men hold that side of the walls?”
“We shall,” Alcazar affirmed.
Le Touquet was carefully aiming his flintlock pistol at a running brave daubed from head to toe in vermilion dye as he was about to launch a spear, “Then go to it, sir,” he said firing the pistol and watching the Indian fall away. He turned to Alcazar with a thin-lipped smile of satisfaction. “Luck to you, Captain. Last redoubt will be the mission house.”
Alcazar nodded and ran off back to his men, zigzagging across a courtyard now pierced with a forest of arrows and spears.
Le Touquet faced front again to see the first wave of Indians had reached the walls. Hand to hand fighting was taking place over by the gateway and he saw the giant figure of Judas James dealing out destruction with both knife and bloody hatchet. A tattooed figure loomed above him, almost naked except for a loincloth, the rearing face was daubed with white clay and screamed as it launched itself towards the Frenchman.
A burly figure stepped between them and Brewster delivered a killing blow with his cutlass as the Indian was in mid-air.
“Take that, you bloody heathen!” he cried as he cleaved the Indian between neck and shoulder.
Le Touquet nodded his thanks as he began reloading his pistol. “Take up a musket from the fallen. Help them by the gateway,” he ordered and Brewster slid away, a crooked grin on his face.
Gringo ran towards the rear of the courtyard where he hoped to find the women and children. The wall to his left was the only one remaining unprotected and, as yet, it appeared the Indians had not discovered that it was free of killing rifles. The wagons forming a barrier there and he found Ellen and her mother, lying under one of the wagons, hugging the three children close to them.
“Look,” cried Lucy. “Its Mister Gringo, I knew he would come.”
As he made his way towards them, Gringo glimpsed movement to one side. An advancing lone Indian sliding between the wagons towards the women and children, war hatchet in one hand and a round leather shield in the other. Without hesitation, Gringo fired from the waist as he ran, his smoothbore jumping in recoil in his grip. The Indian twisted, his head spinning sideways as the lead ball struck. He dropped in a silent heap, his body twitching as life ebbed from it.
“Come,” said Gringo, kneeling and speedily stuffing a new charge with the ramrod into the barrel of his musket. “We must get inside the mission house.”
Quickly, the women obeyed, collecting the children and scurrying over to the round-topped entranceway, the once heavy wooden doors that guarded it now long gone. Gringo led the way inside, his musket held ready
It was dark. The morning sun only penetrating in scattered beams where the ancient roof had fallen in. The place was bare, a dusty earthen floor and at one end an empty stone altar with a crudely made wooden crucifix dangling above it. Open entranceways stood either side of the altar and Gringo moved to explore them. There were caves behind the altar, small rooms hacked out of the rock, once crude cells were the monks lived, he guessed. Tiny, windowless rooms.
“Mrs. Darby,” he said to the distraught older woman, as he returned to the others, who stood huddled before the altar. “Can you shoot with a pistol?” As he asked the question he drew the pistol at his waist.
“I can,” spouted Ellen, stepping forward. “Father showed me how.”
“Good girl,” said Gringo, handing her the heavy pistol. “Its primed and loaded. Use both hands if need be. There are empty rooms back there behind the altar if you must fall back. Stay here and keep calm. We’ll drive them off yet.”
“Oh, Mister Wade,” Ellen’s mother wailed fearfully, her voice quivering as she clutched a pale faced Thomas and sobbing Beulah to her. “What will become of us?”
“Stand firm, lady,” Gringo gave her a steadying look. “Remember the children.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Darby,” piped Lucy. “Mister Gringo will care for us.”
Gringo chuckled at the girl’s spirit. “I guess I will, little Lucy. Or at least do my best.”
“A stalwart strong for liberty,” Lucy smiled at him, quoting from the hated novel her mother had owned.
Gringo laughed aloud at that and with a wave to them all he made for the doorway. He gave a single reassuring glance back at Ellen and she blew a kiss in answer before he slipped outside.
It was quiet when he entered the courtyard. A sudden deathly silence and he realized all shooting had ceased. He could see Indians retreating over the hilltop, some dragging dead and wounded with them. Quickly he made his way over to where Le Touquet stood by the wall.
“They’ve gone?” he asked.
“For now. Our men did well,” Le Touquet waved his smoking pistol towards the shelving ground before the courtyard wall. There lay the Indian dead in tumbled heaps, blood shining wetly on painted and tattooed skin under the bright sunlight.
“They will be back though I fear,” Alcazar said coming up to stand with them, the saber at his side stained red.
“I do not think they expected such stiff resistance,” added Le Touquet. “Next time they will be more circumspect.”
“How do we stand?” asked Gringo.
“Three of my Cazadores are down,” supplied Alcazar.
“And we lost many of my men with that first fall of arrows,” said Le Touquet. “The count is not yet in but I fear it must be at least ten dead and wounded.”
“So we are down to some thirty eight able bodied men?” asked Gringo, doing a quick head count.
“Don’t forget the navy,” bristled Brewster, strutting over to them as he wiped his cutlass clean on a blanket he had picked up. “There’s four of us still alive.”
“Forty two then,” Gringo corrected.
“But how many hundreds of them?” said Alcazar, waving vaguely in the direction of the hilltop with his bloodied saber.
“Its unavoidable,” Le Touquet agreed. “Their numbers alone will overrun us. But we can make a show of it before they do. Mister Wade, the women and children?”
“Safe in the mission house, sir.”
“We cannot let them fall alive into the hands of the savages. It is your task, Mister Wade, to see it does not happen.”
Gringo balked at the notion. “A task I would prefer not laid on me, Boosway.”
“They know you well, I think, Mister Wade. Such an undertaking will come easier from one they trust.”
Gringo remained silent, he understood the cold logic of Le Touquet’s reasoning but the prospect of taking the lives of those he loved he could not even contemplate.
“With all your talk of defeat, you fancy gentlemen are forgetting one thing,” Brewster butted in with a supercilious sneer. “We have within these walls the greatest gun ever constructed. The Standalone. Why, with that cannon, we can blast these beggars to hell and kingdom come.”
“One shot, sailor. Will one shot do it?” asked Le Touquet doubtfully. “Against a fortress or ship at sea perhaps but a raging band of savages running all over a hillside, I doubt it.”
“We’ll use grape, sir,” Brewster bragged confidently. “Load the great gun with every scrap of metal we can find. When they come in close we’ll lay down such a hellish field of fire they’ll be cut down as a wheat field come harvest time.”
Le Touquet paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He turned to Alcazar. “What do you think, Captain?”
“Why hesitate, we need every assistance we can get.”
Le Touquet nodded. “Very well. Take what men you need, sailor. Set the gun to face the main gate, stand it before the mission house. We’ll fall back inside the building at last resort and you can fire as they follow us in. It’ll be close so, make sure you wait until that courtyard is full of the devils.”
“I know my job well enough, have no fear,” Brewster answered belligerently.
“Make sure you do, there’ll be no time to reload. The remainder of the men,” Le Touquet continued. “They will rebuild the walls as best possible. Those most able amongst the wounded will maintain watch. Lets to it, there’s no telling how long before they come again.”
Chapter Eighteen
Asesino watched the activity below with interest
He lay at the crest of the hill above the mission. There was little chance of being seen as it was a moonless night and everywhere was pitch black except below. There the white men had built great fires and toiled steadily by the light. He could see they had broached the container on the long wagon and constructed lifting devices from bulks of timber. Inside lay a huge gleaming rifle barrel it appeared to the Apache, far greater than any he had seen before. And its massive weight was obvious to his watching eyes as the men struggled to hoist it free of the wagon bed. The oxen had been brought into service and they moaned loudly as they struggled.
“What is this thing?” asked Lomstock of the Mohave, who lay beside him.
“It is a wagon gun, but so big....”
“What does it do?” asked the Mohave.
“It is a giant thunder stick and throws balls of metal into the air.”
“Can we catch them?”
“No, they travel at great speed, faster than the eye can see.”
“So, they throw a ball. What good will that do them?”
Asesino shrugged, his mind pondering. “I don’t know.”
“It will kill more of our men do you think? There will already be many weeping in the hogans after today.”
Asesino knew the fickle nature of the tribes, they would surrender easily to a perceived defeat. Better to fight another day than die today. He sensed he was losing the support of this, the most aggressive warrior, and if he lost him the others would follow. The chief needed some cunning encouragement, something that would appeal to his vain nature.
“But consider this,” Asesino said. “If we owned such a big gun. It has much spirit power. It would give us its power.”
“You think so?” Asesino heard the greed slide into in his voice. “I would like that.”
“To take that gun and the others that the white men hold, all is power, Lomstock. Your enemies would fall at your feet before such weapons.”
“True words,” agreed Lomstock. “To see them this day as we raided. Our men fell as if they faced a thousand white men instead of that small band down there.”
“The big gun is of much importance to them, why otherwise would they carry such a thing so far from their lands. If it is important to them, then it is important to us. When it speaks its words will be heard far away.”
“Then we must have it.”
“Look too at how many ponies are down there. Your people will respect a man with such wealth. Think on it, Lomstock. The guns, a herd, even cattle to feast on. Is it not a prize worth taking?”
Lomstock nodded agreement, his eyes alight with the promise of the respect he would receive owning such things.
Asesino grunted with satisfaction. He had won the man over. But his thoughts were elsewhere now and he searched amongst the figures below for the beardless white man. The one who had slain his brother. He saw him then, stripped to the waist as he pulled on a long rope with the others and they swung the great gun free of its container. Asesino’s eyes hardened and glittered with the thought of vengeance. There was his ambition. No gun for him, just that white man’s throat under his knife.
Lomstock had silently slipped away and returned to their camp but Asesino stayed, watching as the hours passed. Searching to find the weak point in their defenses and wondering how the long wagon gun would help them. His eyes slowly rose to the sheer cliff and the swelling overhang above, the rock losing itself in shadow. A thin smile crossed his lips. Only then did he too slide away and disappear into the shadows.
Gringo managed two hours exhausted sleep before Judas roughly awakened him. Blearily he looked up at the big man.
“Hard night?” Judas asked.
“You should know, you were there,” Gringo answered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It seemed even that small effort caused every muscle in his body to ache.
They had finally managed to manhandle the big gun into a position that was acceptable to Cable Brewster. The intended trolley for the cannon had not allowed enough depression on the barrel for the low angled shot required to defend the mission’s gateway, so an alternative had been devised using a stripped down wagon bed. The master gunner was still doubtful about the ability of the wooden wagon to handle the recoil, and so strong ropes had been fastened and staked in the ground to restrain the backlash. They had no desire for the mighty gun to ram its way back into the mission house once it had done its work.
Hardware had been collected from the ruined blacksmith’s forge and the outbuildings. Various pieces of reclaimed ironware had been loaded into the muzzle. Old horseshoes and hammerheads, rusty nails and metal filings. All had been lifted from the dust beneath the collapsed timbers. Much to Alumette’s dismay, even kitchenware from the supply wagon had been pressed into service. Knives and spoons, crushed metal dishes and mugs. Anything that would do as a missile to fill the cannon and splay out, causing havoc amongst the Indians when fired.
Barrels of gunpowder, intended for the cannon, had been placed strategically and half buried within the outer perimeter of the mission. They had only one chance with the grape shot so it was deemed expedient to use the remaining powder as mines. Each barrel had been quarter loaded with a quantity of shale, sharp edged stones found lying in rock fall beneath the cliff face. It was intended that once fired the gunpowder would blast a hail of stones wide, with a velocity as powerful as any bullet. If the Indians broke through and the defenders were forced to retreat into the safely of the mission house, a chain of laid fuses would be fired and the gunpowder exploded.
After that their final resort was the great cannon.
The men lay slumped around the courtyard and against the adobe walls.
Alumette worked his way around doling out ladles of hot coffee, which did something to enervate the defenders.
Gringo saw that Ellen had been busy too. He walked across to her as she stood at the mission door, her dress crumpled and stained with blood.
“The wounded?” he asked as he came up to her.
She nodded tiredly. “Yes, we’ve done what we can. Not much I’m afraid but at least its something for the poor creatures.”
“Your mother and the children?”
She brushed an unkempt lock of hair from her eyes. “They’re sleeping. Mother worked hard all night, she’s tired out.”
“As you are too. You should rest, my dear.”
She shrugged. “I wonder if we shall see this day through. I will make the most of it whilst it is here.” Her hand reached out and she laid it gently on his arm. “Will we survive, Gringo?”
“That I cannot say for certain. But we have good defenses laid. Le Touquet and Alcazar are both capable soldiers and our mountain men are amongst the finest shots you will find anywhere in the world. We have every chance.”
“They are certainly the hardiest of men,” she agreed, thinking of the fortitude she had witnessed amongst the wounded the past night.
Gringo looked around the compound, eyeing with affection the tired men in buckskin who were silently preparing their long muskets, “That they are,” he said. “I’d best go take my place. They will come soon I think.”
She looked up at the brightening sky. “We did not have so long together, did we?”
He took her in his arms. “We still have a chance, Ellen. Do not despair. We may yet live to see many days together.”
Ellen clung to him, crushing him tightly to herself. “I do not want you to go.”
He pulled her away. “You know I must do my part. Now be brave. Take care of little Lucy for me, for I believe that child is as much a part of me now as you are.”
“Stand ready!” he heard Le Touquet’s loud call echo around the courtyard. ”Man your positions.”