Crossed Arrows 3

by Patrick E. Andrews

  He stepped down from the box, shook hands with the three leading officers, then walked slowly into the darkness back to his tent with Fidel close behind him. Weeping broke out among the crowd and the vengadores all wiped at the tears in their eyes. Then Vengador Francisco Orayly stood up and shouted as loud as he could.

  “Viva Nuestra Venganza!”

  Eight

  Ludlow was awakened by a loud banging on the front door of his quarters. He glanced at his bedroom window and could see nothing but darkness beyond the thin curtain. The thunderous pounding burst out again, this time lasting longer. The young officer dragged himself out of bed and went out to the small parlor.

  “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Dooley!” came Captain Mack Hawkins’ voice. “Are you going to sleep all day?”

  Ludlow opened the door, and the captain stepped in. “Good morning!” he said brightly.

  Ludlow grumbled, “What time is it?”

  “A quarter to five,” Hawkins replied, holding up a packet. “Look at this. Orders, Mr. Dooley! I received it at my front door not fifteen minutes ago. A very sleepy dispatch rider from Fort Sill presented it to me.”

  “Couldn’t he have waited?” Dooley inquired. “Perhaps until noon or later.” Then suddenly the full meaning of the captain’s words sprung into his sleep-doped mind. “A deployment!”

  “It’ll take us all the way south to the Rio Grande River down in Texas. There seems to be a shitpot full of trouble in that area. There’s a bunch of bandidos making raids out of Mexico into the U.S. of America.”

  “Ha!” Ludlow exclaimed. “We’ll put a stop to those outrages!”

  “You godamn right we will. The murdering bastards don’t know what they’re in for. Now get dressed. We have to report to Fort Sill by late tomorrow afternoon. The post trading store should be open in about fifteen minutes. We can grab a quick breakfast before going to the orderly room.”

  “I’ll be dressed in a jiffy, sir!”

  ~*~

  Bachelor officers such as Ludlow and Hawkins were not inclined to prepare their own meals in quarters. They ate in a special room in the back of the trader’s store that catered to commissioned officers. The cook Curly Hopkins was the assistant to Gerald Weiser the official trader. Curly presented a simple cuisine most of the time, but he was an excellent cook. He had spent a couple of decades working out of a chuck wagon for cowboys on ranches and during cattle drives. He had an innate talent with spices and other flavorings that could enhance even the simplest of dishes. He acquired this talent from a Mexican cocinero he had worked with on the famous Chisholm Trail when he was a boy.

  When Gerald Weiser and Curly Hopkins walked up to the store’s front door, they were surprised to see Mack Hawkins and Ludlow Dooley. Weiser spoke to them as he unlocked the padlock. “What’s brought you eager beavers here at this hour?”

  “We need breakfast pronto,” Hawkins said. “It’s gonna be a busy day.”

  Weiser turned to Curly. “Take care of these fellers first thing. We can stock the shelves after they’re fed.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” the cook said. He glanced at the two officers. “I ain’t got much to offer you gents. But there’s some ham and bread. The bread is stale but if’n I toast it, it won’t be too bad.”

  “Don’t worry, Curly,” Hawkins said. “It’ll be fine for me and Mr. Dooley. He looked at his second-in-command. “Won’t it, Mr. Dooley?”

  “Sure,” Ludlow replied, thinking of the bacon and eggs that would be available later for the other officers.

  Weiser was curious. “What’s the big rush?”

  “We’re headed down Texas way,” Hawkins answered.

  Weiser was pleased by the news. “Then I reckon y’all are gonna be purchasing some of my canned and packaged goods, ain’t you?”

  “We sure are.”

  Ludlow spoke up. “Do you have any smoked oysters?”

  “Sure do,” Weiser replied. “I always keep some on hand for you, Ludlow. I never forget that they’re your favorite snack.”

  “Gerald, I know now that God has a special place for you in heaven!”

  Curly snorted. “The devil has a special place for him in hell is more likely.”

  “Heaven or hell,” Hawkins said impatiently. “Get us some chow, Curly.”

  ~*~

  By the time Ludlow and Hawkins had downed their breakfasts and strode across the garrison, the U.S. Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment was waiting in front of the orderly room. Ludlow, with the dispatch packet under his arm, went into the building while Hawkins took Sergeant Eagle Heart’s vocal report of all present and accounted for.

  With that formality taken care of, the captain ordered the unit to stand at ease. “Scouts,” he said with a big grin. “We have a deployment.”

  Howls of delight erupted from the scouts with Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf the loudest to express their exhilaration about the news.

  “We’ll be heading south, all the way down to the Mexican border,” Hawkins said. “So let’s get ready as fast as we can.” He called them back to the position of attention, then spoke directly to Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Carry on, Sergeant.”

  Eagle Heart, who was an expert in preparing for deployments, saluted then turned to the detachment to set the procedures in motion.

  ~*~

  The rest of the detachment’s day was spent with work details. Among the myriad of tasks was the inspection of horses and horse furniture, issuing the new Krag-Jorgensen carbines, and distributing cartridges that had to be put into the four ammunition belts each man possessed.

  Ludlow tended to his medical kit while Corporal Swift Horse took scouts Red Moon, Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf over to the commissary to draw the usual rations of salt pork, hardtack, sugar and the always indispensable coffee. When all that was taken care of, the entire detachment went to the post trader’s store where Gerald Weiser had prepared a display of the snacks and sweets he had for sale. These consisted of candy, cookies, dried fruit, tobacco and Ludlow’s smoked oysters.

  ~*~

  It was early evening before everyone could take care of their personal packing. Most went to their homes on soapsuds row while Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf departed for the barracks where they were billeted with the garrison band.

  Captain Hawkins set off for his quarters but Ludlow Dooley had one extra matter to attend to. He presented himself at the Berringer domicile, knocking politely. Mrs. Major Berringer appeared at the door, giving him a cold look.

  “Hello, Mrs. Berringer, is Beth in?”

  The Mrs. Major smiled in a wicked way. “She has a caller, Mr. Dooley.”

  Ludlow was a bit taken aback. “Oh…well…it’s kind of important I see her, please.”

  “Of course, Mr. Dooley,” the Mrs. Major remarked in a haughty tone of voice. “You’ll find her in the parlor. With her caller of course. So please be direct and quick with your intrusion.”

  Ludlow went across the foyer and through the curtained door of the parlor. He saw Beth sitting with Lieutenant Bradley Martin. Martin was immediately flustered. “Hello, Dooley.”

  “Hello, Martin,” Ludlow replied. He made a slight bow toward Beth. “Uh…Miss Spencer, I’ve come to inform you that I will not be able to visit you for awhile.”

  “Oh, my goodness, Ludlow! Why not?”

  Ludlow was pleased by her concern. He straightened up and announced, “My detachment has been ordered to Texas.” He paused for dramatic effect. “There are bandits coming out of Mexico to raid small towns down there. We are charged with stopping them.”

  Beth stood up, her face bearing an expression of worry and concern. “Will you be in any battles, Ludlow?”

  “We expect to see action, yes. We must be at Fort Sill tomorrow to entrain for Texas and attack those gangs of Mexican bandits we must fight. They are murderers and capable of the worst villainy possible.” He stepped back and bowed again. “Goodbye, Beth.”

  “Oh, Ludlow! Don’t say goo
dbye!”

  “Then farewell until we meet again.”

  All this time Lieutenant Bradley Martin stood awkwardly as Ludlow’s appearance made him seem a useless parade ground soldier.

  Ludlow glanced at him. “So long, Martin, old boy. Do see that Fort Lone Wolf remains safe.” And with that final sardonic statement, he turned and walked grandly toward the door, grinning to himself in pure delight.

  ~*~

  Lieutenant Roberto Gonzales and Sergeant Humberto Sanchez sat with Colonel Juan-Carlos Venezuela, Comandante Karl Jager and Sub-Comandante Santiago Gomez in the colonel’s hut. A bottle of tequila and the required salt and lemon had been set on the table between them by the colonel’s orderly. The first order of business had been knocking back several shots of the Mexican liquor. Now it was time for serious conversation.

  The colonel was in a good mood. “So!” he exclaimed. “You have a report of a most advantageous target to open the first serious actions of the war against the United States of America, eh?”

  “Si, mi coronel,” Gonzales replied. “It is the riverfront town of Sumter Landing. It is served by a small steamboat that carries freight between it and Ciudad Juarez and El Paso. From Sumter Landing the cargo is distributed by mule train farther inland to the north.”

  “Mmm,” Jager mused. “It sounds like an important strategic target.”

  “It is indeed,” Gonzales assured him. He pulled out a sketch map he had made of the river front, setting it on the table. “You will have to cross the Rio Grande into the United States at a point west of Rosario, Texas. Unfortunately, the water is too deep at Sumter Landing, so you’ll have to make a ten kilometer ride to reach it.”

  Jager studied the sketch. “What is the population of Sumter Landing? On your map it appears to be a village.”

  “You are right,” Gonzales said. “I estimate that Sumter Landing numbers some three to four hundred residents. The steamboat company offers the only employment in the area.”

  Sanchez added, “There are several large homes of wealthy families who operate that one business. We assume they are Gringos.”

  Valenzuela looked at Jager. “I’m going to let you plan the attack on Sumter Landing. Just keep in mind, that this is an important battle that must be won.”

  “All battles are important and must be won,” Jager declared.

  “You are right, of course,” Valenzuela conceded. He turned to Gonzales and Sanchez. “I congratulate you both. You did an excellent job of choosing a first target.”

  “Gracias, mi coronel,” Gonzales replied.

  “We weren’t just sitting around while you were making your reconnaissance,” Jager said. “We conducted a few quick raids across the Rio Grande to give our young fighters additional experience. They will be extremely happy to learn the war is now officially but secretly declared against the United States of America.”

  Valenzuela settled back in his chair and nodded to Gonzales. “Where will your next reconnaissance take you?”

  “We are going to an area farther east,” the lieutenant replied. “There are locations we know that must be evaluated.”

  “I’m sure you will choose places where we can hurt the Gringos the most.”

  Jager said, “I am looking forward to battling the Gringos. I have often been curious about their fighting abilities.”

  “I will give you standing orders now, Comandante Jager,” Valenzuela said. “Show them no mercy! Take no prisoners! Massacre them all!”

  Nine

  A week after Ludlow Dooley’s dramatic farewell to Elizabeth Spencer, the scout detachment’s train pulled into Orilla Vista, Texas. It was a small town a half mile north of the Rio Grande River. Although it had not suffered any attacks from the marauding bandidos, they were prepared for one. All the men on the street was heavily armed as they went about their business.

  The citizens knew about the Indian soldiers who would be coming to fight against the raiders, and a small crowd gathered as the scout detachment led their horses off the train. A three-man reception committee made their way through the throng and walked up to where Hawkins and Ludlow waited for Sergeant Eagle Heart to form up the detachment.

  The trio consisted of an army captain, a Texas Ranger sergeant, and the local sheriff Morley Tadwater. The captain, a tall officer named John Patterson, was stationed at nearby Fort Duncan. He had a canvas haversack over one shoulder, and he shook hands with Hawkins and Ludlow. “Welcome to Texas, gentlemen. We’ve been expecting you. I’m here to bring you up to date on the situation along the Rio Grande.”

  “Are any troops from your garrison gonna lend us a hand?” Hawkins asked, noting the captain was an infantry officer.

  Patterson shook his head. “We’re only a two-company post. And we’re foot soldiers. So you’re on your own except for Sergeant Buford here. He’s a Texas ranger and will accompany you on this mission.”

  Buford was a tall rangy man with a weathered face and a tobacco-stained gigantic moustache under a hook nose. “Glad to know you fellers.”

  “Likewise,” Hawkins said. “Will there be more rangers joining us?”

  “Nope,” Buford said. “We’re stretched kinda thin down here. My cap’n could only spare one of us, and that was me.”

  Ludlow was a bit confused. “The Texas Rangers are a constabulary, are they not?”

  Buford shrugged. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “A constabulary is an organization that conducts a combination of police and military duties.”

  The ranger was thoughtful for a moment. “Well…I suppose that’s what we are. I’m a sergeant in Cap’n Wilson’s company. It’s part of the Frontier Battalion. I suppose that’s like the army, ain’t it?”

  “Certainly,” Ludlow replied. “Don’t you wear uniforms?”

  “Nope. We got badges. See?” Buford moved his vest aside displaying a circular device around a star. The word SERGEANT was stamped across the center of the insignia.

  Hawkins didn’t care if the Texas Rangers were a constabulary, an army or a fire department. “But you do know the Rio Grande River area don’t you?”

  “O’course,” Buford replied. “I was borned here in this part of Texas. And by the way, you don’t have to say Rio Grande River. Rio is Spanish for ‘river.’ Folks around here call it the Rio Grande plain and simple.”

  Captain Patterson interjected, “I know Sergeant Buford quite well. He and his fellow rangers have served beside us on several occasions and I guarantee they’re all a first-rate bunch of fighters. And, best of all for you, Sergeant Buford speaks fluent Spanish.”

  “Excellent,” Hawkins acknowledged.

  That pleased Ludlow and he nodded to the ranger. “I studied Spanish at West Point. However, I’m far from being fluent. Perhaps I could practice what I know with you and broaden my knowledge.”

  “Sure,” Buford replied. “The only thing is that I cain’t read the langridge. I learnt how to speak it growing up around Mexicanos.” He chuckled. “I ain’t exactly a champion reader of English neither.”

  Patterson introduced the third man. “This is Sheriff Morley Tadwater the peace officer here in Orilla Verde.”

  Hawkins was curious about the starpacker. “What’s your part in this campaign?”

  “Not much at all,” the sheriff responded. “I organized a posse to keep a look out for bandidos. That’s about it.”

  “Well, that’s hell of a lot better’n nothing,” Hawkins remarked.

  Captain Patterson cast a glimpse toward the Indians. “Well, these are the first U.S. Scouts I’ve come in contact with. The telegram from Fort Sill informed us they were coming down here.” Then he did a double-take. “What kind of carbines are those?”

  Ludlow replied, “Krag-Jorgensens. They’re new issue chambered for the army .30 caliber cartridge.”

  “Interesting. What do you think of them?”

  Hawkins shrugged. “We don’t know what to think. We’ve never used ’em in action.” He glanced at Jesse Bu
ford. “What kind of long gun do you carry?”

  “I tote a Winchester 73. In the Texas Rangers each feller uses what he likes best.”

  “Mmm,” mused Hawkins. “I wish we could do that in the United States Army.” He took a deep breath. “Well, let’s get this show on the road. I’d like to be brought up on the latest information about those bandits.”

  “Y’all can use my office,” the sheriff offered.

  Hawkins ordered Sergeant Eagle Heart to move the scouts and horses to the shade behind the depot and stand fast. With that done, he and Ludlow went with the other three men to the sheriff’s office.

  Tadwater proved to be a good host as he supplied coffee along with chairs for the exchange of information. After everyone settled down and the first swallows of the hot java were slurped, Captain Patterson opened the proceedings by reaching in the haversack and pulling out two maps. He gave a copy each to Hawkins and Ludlow.

  The two officers unfolded the charts, noting the Rio Grande displayed with their area of operations stretched from the western edge of Texas to the Gulf of Mexico. Captain Patterson began his briefing by saying, “Our problem here is that there’ve been a half dozen or so raids by bandidos out of Mexico on small towns along the Rio Grande. We received various estimates from the victims about the number of attackers. They have ranged from a half dozen to twenty. Obviously the raids were confusing and frightening. There would be several quick volleys fired into the communities, then the bandits quickly withdrew.”

  “Okay,” Hawkins said. “What’s the result of those attacks?”

  “So far, some fifteen citizens were shot. Eight of them were killed.”

  “Do the bandits rob banks or loot property?” Ludlow inquired.

  Patterson shook his head. “That’s the rub. They just shoot the places up then make a gallop back across the river into Mexico.”

  Ranger Sergeant Jesse Buford took a bite off a plug of tobacco. “I was surprised when I heard about that. It don’t make sense.”

  “It certainly doesn’t,” Patterson agreed. “And the gangs are made up of both Mexican and Americans. At least some look like Americans. One man I talked to said he heard one of the Americans yelling out during a raid. The fellow was a freckled redhead, but he spoke perfect Spanish.”