Ralph Compton Whiskey River

by Compton, Ralph

  “I’m tired of sleeping in the damn brush,” said Betsy, “and I’m tired of sleeping in my shirt, Levi’s, and boots. I want to stretch out under blankets, stark naked.”

  “I might be persuaded to join you,” Bill said. “Of course, I’d want to wear my shirt, Levi’s, and boots, but I’d take off my hat and my gun belt.”

  “Oh, don’t do that,” said Betsy with a straight face. “I don’t expect special treatment.”

  At suppertime, Stackler fed Arky a decent hunk of bacon, and the dog downed it in a single gulp. He then sought out Amanda and Betsy, where he was fed again.

  “We’re gettin’ almighty low on supplies,” Nick said. “That dog’s barely gettin’ enough to keep him alive. You can see every rib in his carcass.”

  “Nick,” said Ed, “that’s a hound. Feed him a haunch of beef, and he’d be just as skinny as he is right now. I’ll fatten him up when we get back to Texas.”

  “If we get back to Texas,” Carl said. “We still have an ambush ahead of us, God knows how many renegades at the Washita, plus Estrello and his outlaws.”

  “That reminds me,” said Lee. “Suppose there’s two or three hundred Indians at the Washita, ready to take the whiskey away from us? You know damn well all of us will be expected to fight the renegades with the rest of Estrello’s men. Then, even if we come out of that alive, Estrello’s bunch will be more than happy to kill us all.”

  “Lee,” said Vernon, “you’re such a cheerful, happy-go-lucky cuss. If you was a doubting kind, I don’t believe I could stand you.”

  They all laughed, but it was short-lived, for the danger ahead of them was very real.

  At midmorning of the next day, Estrello’s men sprang to their feet, for approaching from the east was a band of twenty-five Indians. Some were armed with lances, some with bows and arrows, and a few with rifles. The leader of the group raised his hand, giving the peace sign. Estrello returned the gesture.

  “Want eat,” said the Indian. “Grub.”

  “Sorry,” Estrello said, holding out empty hands, “We’re almost out of grub.”

  “No grub, no eat,” said the Indian.

  But one of his followers had seen Arky lurking under a wagon. Swiftly, he cocked and fired his rifle. Lead screamed off an iron wagon tire, narrowly missing the dog. There was no second shot, for Arky was gone into the brush. Ed had drawn his Colt, and his eyes were on the Indian who had fired at Arky. Others in the gang had their hands near their Colts. Of a single mind, the Indians wheeled their horses, riding back the way they had come.

  “Just one damn problem after another,” Estrello complained.

  “I don’t understand,” said Amanda. “Why would they want to kill Arky?”

  “For food,” Ed said.

  “My God,” said Amanda, “they’d eat a dog?”

  “They would,” Todd said. “Many Indian camps keep a lot of dogs around, and when the hunters come in empty-handed, they’ll just drop a dog in the cooking pot.”

  To the west time had become wearying for Bowdre’s gang. There was nothing to do except wait, and after the rain ceased, the sun bore down with a vengeance.

  “Damn it,” Perryman complained, “you’re wet from bein’ rained on, or wet with your own sweat. Why can’t we move off these rocks and back a ways, where there’s some trees for shade?”

  “Because I said no,” answered Bowdre irritably. “We’re not changing our position until this bushwhacking is over. The rain will have wiped out our tracks, and there’s no chance of us bein’ discovered until we open fire.”

  Their only diversion was a dog-eared deck of cards belonging to Blake McSween. Three others had joined McSween in some four-handed poker. McSween had won consistently, infuriating his companions.

  “Damn you, McSween,” said Kirk Epps, “you got the dog-ears on these cards learned. Anybody winnin’ as much as you do has got to be cheatin’ somehow.”

  “Ain’t nobody twistin’ your arm and forcin’ you to play,” McSween said defensively. “If you don’t like the game, then get out.”

  “I’ll try one more hand,” said Epps, “and if you win again, so help me God, I’ll shoot you.”

  “Anybody that pulls a gun, I’ll peel his hide off one strip at a time,” Bowdre said. “There’ll be no shooting until time for the ambush. We’ve waited this long, and none of you are gonna louse it up now.”

  The waiting and the boredom continued.

  Again Estrello’s wagons were moving, the sun having dried up most of the mud. Their first day back on the trail, there was no trouble with any of the wagons. Estrello declared they had traveled twelve miles.

  “Another good day like today,” Estrello said, “and we’ll ride on to Rocky Point and cut down that bunch of bushwhackers. Then it’s sixty miles on to the Washita.”

  During the first watch of the night, Betsy and Amanda approached Bill and Mark. “When you ride in to bust up that ambush,” said Betsy, “We want to go.”

  “No,” said Bill and Mark in a single voice.

  “Why not?” Amanda asked. “We each have a rifle, and we can shoot.”

  “You can also get shot,” said Mark. “After being without you for five years, you think we’re going to risk having either of you gunned down by the outlaws?”

  “Damn it,” Betsy said, “I’m starting to regret telling them we were promised to them five years ago. They’re starting to believe it.”

  “I remember it like it was yesterday,” said Bill.

  “It was yesterday,” Betsy said. “You caught me at a weak moment.”

  “What in tarnation is this argument about?” Vernon had just joined them.

  “They want to ride with us when we go to bust up that ambush,” said Bill. “We’re telling them they can’t. I hate these damn arguments. I feel like we been hitched for twenty years.”

  The other companions soon joined the discussion. “I’m not doubtin’ the two of you can shoot,” Nick said, “but this won’t be a woman’s fight. We’ll have an edge, but this bunch will be shootin’ back, and if there’s enough of them, some of us will be hit before we can finish them. I think the both of you had best listen to Bill and Mark.”

  “We haven’t known either of you for five years,” said Todd, “but we still don’t want to see you hurt or killed. Can’t you understand that?”

  “I suppose,” Betsy said in resignation, “but what happens when we reach the Washita? Is it right for Amanda and me to hide under a wagon while the rest of you are gunned down?”

  “We may need your guns there,” said Mark. “We may all end up fighting Indians, and you may be fighting for your lives. But until it comes to that, back off. Do it for Bill and me, if for no other reason.”

  The second day after the wagons had taken the trail, their progress was as good as the day before.

  “As far as we’ve come today,” said Estrello, “we shouldn’t be more than half a dozen miles from Rocky Point. Tomorrow we leave the wagons here and bust up that ambush.”

  Rocky Point. September 12, 1866.

  The day dawned clear, the sun already hot by the time Bowdre’s bunch finished their meager breakfast.

  “I’ll look for them sometime today,” Bowdre said, “or tomorrow for sure.”

  “Unless they got wise and passed us somewhere to the south,” said McSween.

  “Hell, they’d have to cut a new road,” Bowdre said. “They’ve always come this way.”

  “Then we’ll stay here through tomorrow,” said Grimes. “If they don’t show by then, it means they’ve run a sandy on us and we’ve lost ’em. That’s when I ride out.”

  “Yeah,” a half a dozen others shouted in a single voice.

  Bowdre swallowed hard, controlling his temper. This would be the biggest haul of his life, enough to retire from outlawing forever, and he dared not lose any of his men.

  Half a dozen miles to the east, Estrello and his outfit had checked and double-checked their weapons, and were saddling their horses
. Mark had taken for his own use the horse and saddle that had belonged to Kendrick, who had been killed. Bill and Mark were about to mount their horses, when Amanda and Betsy came running to them. There was little left to be said, and the girls clung to them in tearful silence.

  “Both of you squeeze into one of the wagons,” said Mark, “and stay out of sight. If we miss some of those varmints and they escape, the could ride back this way.”

  “We’ll take care,” Amanda said. “Come back to us.”

  The outfit rode out. Including Estrello, they were thirtyone strong. By prior agreement, they divided into two groups. They all reined up, gathering around Estrello for final instructions.

  “Those of you in the first group will ride north at least three miles before riding west. I’ll lead the second group three miles to the south, and then we’ll ride west. Just to be safe, we’ll figure Rocky Point is eight miles west of here. Be damn sure you’re well to the west of Rocky Point before closing in. Get as close as you can before you start shooting, and nobody fires until I do.”

  “Wolf,” said Wilder, “there’s Stackler’s dog. He could run on ahead and give us away.”

  “He’s right, Stackler,” said Estrello. “Take him back and have one of the women hold him until this is over.”

  The rest of them waited while Stackler took Arky—much against his will—back to the wagons.

  “Come on, Arky,” Amanda said. “You’re too good a dog to get shot.”

  When Stackler returned, the outfit separated. The first group rode north an estimated three miles before riding west. The second group, led by Estrello, rode south three miles and then rode west. The first group reined up on a distant ridge, from which they could see the northern end of Rocky Point through the trees and brush.

  “We wait here,” said Wilder. “The next move is Estrello’s.”

  To the south, Estrello and the rest of the outfit reined up just close enough to see the first outcroppings of rock. A horse nickered, and each man caught the muzzle of his own mount to prevent an answering nicker.

  “They’re there,” Estrello said. “We’ll leave the horses here and go on foot.”

  To the north the rest of the outfit had heard the horse nicker.

  “This is as far as the horses go,” said Wilder. “We got to get lots closer, and we can’t do it mounted.”

  The men dismounted, using all available cover, making use of every rock and bush. To the north, the first group had dismounted and were advancing cautiously. Not until they were to the very edge of the rock outcroppings did they see any of the bushwhackers. Then, sounding loud in the stillness, a Winchester roared as Estrello fired. The return fire was immediate, but the bushwhackers had the stone parapets behind them, offering no cover. As the outfit opened up from north and south, the effect was terrible. Bowdre’s outlaws dropped their weapons and ran for their horses, but none of them made it. Two of them had their hands in the air when they were gunned down. The entire affair didn’t last even two minutes, and when it was over, the would-be bushwhackers were all dead.

  “We might as well see who they are,” Estrello said, reloading his Winchester.

  From the north, the rest of the outfit advanced, meeting Estrello’s bunch.

  “Sim Bowdre’s bunch,” said Estrello as he viewed the dead outlaw. Bowdre had been hit nine times.

  “They should be buried,” Lee said. “It would be the decent thing to do.”

  “The only damn thing we owed them, they already got,” said Estrello. “The buzzards and the coyotes have to eat, too. Let’s ride. We’ll have to circle wide to get past here, or the mules will go crazy.”

  “What about their horses? There’s nineteen of ’em,” said McCarty.

  “We’ll take ’em with us,” Estrello said. “Some of you catch them up on lead ropes and let’s get away from here. We’d better get the wagons by here today. This bunch of skunks will really be stinking by tomorrow.”

  They returned triumphant to the wagons, none of them having so much as a scratch. Amanda and Betsy came running as Bill and Mark dismounted.

  “We heard the shooting,” Amanda said. “It sounded like a war.”

  “It was anything but that,” said Mark. “I saw men gunned down with their hands in the air, trying to surrender.”

  “We have Wilder to thank for that,” Bill said. “I saw him shoot them.”

  “How terrible,” said Betsy. “They’re all dead?”

  “To the last man,” Bill said. “Estrello wants to circle wide of the area and move all the wagons today. By tomorrow, every buzzard and coyote in Indian Territory will be there.”

  Quickly, the teamsters harnessed their teams and the wagons moved on. The captured outlaw horses were tied behind the wagons on lead ropes. Estrello led the wagons a good five miles south, and then west, allowing them to avoid the grisly scene of death. But the going was much more difficult than the ruts they had been following, and the left rear wheel of Carl’s wagon dropped into an unseen hole. The wagon tilted, with most of the weight thrown to the crippled side, snapping the axle where it passed through the hub.

  “Damn it,” Estrello bellowed, “seven wagons missed that hole, and you drove right into it.”

  “I don’t care how many passed over it ahead of me,” said Carl. “I didn’t see it. I have a spare axle.”

  “Come on, Carl,” said Lee. “Vernon and me will help you replace it.”

  It was impossible to get the wagon jack under the axle near the break. Mark took an axe from one of the wagons and finding an oak tree of the right size, cut it down. With it topped and the limbs trimmed, one end of it was shoved under the broken axle. Eight of the men threw their strength to the pole, raising the sagging rear comer of the wagon high enough to get the wagon jack under the axle.

  “We won’t lose more than an hour with all of us working,” Mark predicted.

  “I’m obliged,” said Carl. “That bastard, Estrello, acts like he thinks we enjoy replacing axles and wagon wheels.”

  “No help for it,” Bill said. “We had to leave the regular trail and circle down here through the woods with all these dead leaves. We may have another wheel or axle break before we’re able to get back to the regular trail.”

  The axle was replaced in a little more than an hour, and when Estrello judged they were well past Rocky Point and the scene of the killings, he led the wagons north, where they again took the familiar wagon road. They traveled another ten miles before making camp for the night. Betsy was filling a tin cup with coffee when Estrello spoke to her.

  “We’re two days away from the Washita, little gal. You’d better be refreshing your memory as to where that gold is.”

  Chapter 18

  Again on the rutted wagon road, none of the wagons broke down. Estrello was almost jovial at times as their journey began drawing to a close.

  “Tomorrow,” said Estrello, “I aim to send a scout close enough to the Washita to see how many Indians are gathered there.”

  “No use in that,” Irvin said. “If there’s seventy-five, it’ll be trouble for us.”

  Estrello said nothing, assuring himself that when they had sold the whiskey and had found the gold, he would rid himself of smart mouths like Suggs, Irvin, and Wilder.

  Red River. September 12, 1866.

  “We can easily reach the Washita in another day,” Lieutenant Wanz told his assembled men, “but we’re not riding in blind. We know about how many outlaws we’ll be facing, but I want some idea as to how many Indians are there. If they decide to fight, they’ll be far more dangerous than the outlaws. Sergeant Waymont and Corporal Tewksbury, I want the two of you to ride out immediately, reporting back to me as soon as you can.”

  The enlisted men saluted and went to saddle their horses.

  The Washita. September 12, 1866.

  More than two hundred renegade Indians were camped along the Washita River, awaiting the whiskey they knew Estrello’s wagons were bringing. But this gathering was unlike
previous ones, for none of the Indians had horses, mules, or pelts to trade. Some of the Indians who were not part of the Broken Nose bunch had some doubts.

  “No pelt, no horse, no mule,” said one Indian. “How we get whiskey?”

  “We take whiskey,” Broken Nose said. “Kill.”

  None of those present disagreed with that. Why trade something of value if they could get all the whiskey for nothing?

  “Otter Tail,” Broken Nose said, “come.”

  Otter Tail, a most trusted friend of Broken Nose, came forth.

  “I would have you ride to find the whiskey that comes, so that we may know when it is near,” said Broken Nose. “Do not follow the carro trail, for they will see your tracks.”

  Otter Tail nodded and went to his horse.

  A day and a half east of the Washita, Estrello was taking similar precautions. He was speaking to Hiram and Odell.

  “I want the two of you to ride on ahead. Try to get close enough to the Washita to see how many Indians are waiting for us. If you can, see if there are loads of pelts and extra horses or mules to be traded.”

  Hiram and Odell went to saddle their horses.

  Being only a few miles from the Washita, Sergeant Waymont and Corporal Tewksbury arrived quickly. While it was risky leaving their horses, they picketed the animals almost a mile from the river, continuing on foot. Thus they were able to get close enough to see many of the Indians camped along the stream. They continued downriver a ways, satisfying themselves that Estrello’s whiskey wagons had not yet arrived.

  Otter Tail, following the advice of Broken Nose, did not follow the wagon road. Riding south for two miles, he then rode east. He knew of a stream a little more than a day’s drive for a wagon, and that’s where he found the Estrello wagons camped for the night. He counted the number of wagons and the number of men and rode back to report to Broken Nose.