Across the Rio Colorado

by Ralph Compton

  “Southern Mississippi,” said Summerfield, offering his hand.

  Houston laughed as the four men shook hands. They mounted their horses, and with Summerfield and McLean taking the lead, they rode downriver. Sundown had painted the western horizon with a glorious array of pink, rose, and red. Darkness was only a few minutes away. Summerfield and McLean had nothing to say until they all stopped to rest their horses, and it was McLean who spoke.

  “I reckon old Sam’s thanked you proper for throwin’ in with us, but I’m addin’ my own thanks to his. You brung us grub, powder, an’ shot, so’s we can stay here and fight.”

  “That goes fer me, as well,” said Summerfield. “While Shanghai and me wants Texas cut loose from Mexico, we got a bigger stake. Them Mex varmints burnt us out, killin’ our young and our womenfolk.”

  “They ain’t hurt us quite that bad,” Creeker said, “but we just got here. I promise you, we’ll do our damndest to see they get what’s coming to ’em.”

  “I think we’ll have some painful surprises in store for them,” said McQuade. “For that reason, it’s important that we know when this bunch of jaybirds make a move.”

  “You can count on me and Shanghai,” Summerfield said. “All we ask is that when the deal goes down, we’re in the midst of the fight. We owe them varmints, an’ we pay our debts.”

  After resting their horses, they rode on, and when Summerfield and McLean reined up, it was McLean who spoke.

  “They’re likely camped along the river. We’d best ride north a ways, else we’re likely to run right into ‘em. With the wind at our backs, they’ll hear us comin’ a mile off. But we’ll turn it around to our advantage. We’ll go on well beyond their camp, and when we ride back, we’ll be downwind. Another ten mile, Elgin?”

  “I’d double that,” said Summerfield. “After the thrashin’ we give ’em, I doubt they’ll make camp any closer.”

  Eventually they swung back toward the river, and riding into the wind, they smelled wood smoke. Of one mind, they reined up and dismounted. While they were downwind, one of their own mounts might nicker and give them away. They crept along, stooping to avoid low-hanging branches, tearing free of briars that reached out to claw at them. Their supper fires had burned down almost to coals, but there was a crackle as a piece of wood shifted, and the night wind caught up a flurry of sparks. There was occasional laughter, and men spoke in soft Spanish, not loud enough to be overheard.

  “We got ’em pegged,” said Summerfield. “Let’s git back to the hosses.”

  Nothing more was said until they reached their horses, and then it was McQuade who spoke.

  “We’ll be counting on you gents. When are you to be relieved?”

  “Sam said in a week,” McLean replied. “It’s almighty dull, settin’ on your hunkers an’ waitin’ fer somethin’ to happen.”

  “You may not have to wait that long,” said McQuade. “Some of this bunch was looking at us through a spy glass today. They’re up to something.”

  “Good,” Summerfield said. “I’m ready to kill these varmints, so Santa Anna can run in a new bunch.”

  McQuade and Creeker rode back upriver, and only when they were miles beyond the Monclova camp did Creeker speak.

  “If the rest of Houston’s bunch is as dedicated as them two, I got no doubts about the success of this fight for independence.”

  “I don’t see how Monclova can sneak anything past us,” said McQuade. “I’m of the same mind as Summerfield and McLean. I’d like to get into this fight and be done with it.”

  “On the other hand,” Creeker replied, “if they’ll hold off a little longer, we’ll have our cabins done. When the fightin’ starts, we may not have time for anything else.”

  Reaching the fort, they reported their success to Houston.

  “Most gratifying,” said Houston. “Their spying on us leads me to believe they’re up to something. I am wondering if perhaps those reinforcements didn’t bring Monclova orders from Santa Anna, which could account for this activity.”

  “Maybe,” McQuade said, “but they have to know we outnumber them, and for that reason, I can’t believe they’re planning to attack.”

  “Nor can I,” said Houston. “I feel better knowing we’re in a position to be aware of any movement of men or supplies affecting Monclova.”

  When McQuade reached the wagon, Mary wasn’t there. He removed his hat, tugged off his boots, and let down the wagon’s tailgate. He sat there, alone with his thoughts, and when Mary suddenly appeared, he dropped his hand to the butt of his revolver.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “Talk,” he replied.

  “You won’t want to hear this,” said Mary, “but …”

  “You’re right,” McQuade interrupted, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “We have a problem,” she continued, undaunted, “because some of these people will end up in a building with certain other people they don’t like.”

  “And you’re expecting me to have an answer to that? Hell, my name’s McQuade, not Solomon.”

  “Well,” she said, “something must be done. We might get around that, if it wasn’t for the common cook fires.”

  “Far as I’m concerned,” said McQuade, “those who don’t fit into the cabins will have to make other arrangements. I hired on as wagon boss from St. Louis to the Rio Colorado and we’re here. Damn it, am I supposed to wet-nurse these people for the rest of their lives?”

  “You don’t have to shout at me,” Mary said. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “I believe in helping when and where I can,” said McQuade, as patiently as he could, “but I can’t force people to accept other people, and neither can you. These people all must be responsible for themselves. There’s evidence Monclova’s bunch is up to something, and this is no time for us to bicker among ourselves. I’m sorry I ever said anything in favor of these damn cabins, and I’d favor scrapping them, before this goes any farther.”

  She had never seen him in such a mood, and she left him there. He put on his hat, stomped into his boots, and went looking for Doctor Puckett. Not that Puckett would have any answers, but he felt the need to talk to somebody who didn’t expect him to walk on water. Surprisingly, Maggie was alone at her wagon.

  “Where’s Doc?” McQuade asked.

  “Involved in talk about those blessed cabins,” said Maggie. “I swear, I believe we’d all been better off, just to go on livin’ out of our wagons.”

  “I feel the same way,” McQuade said. “Mary and me are having hard words.”

  “Don’t let it come to that,” said Maggie. “I’ve already told Horace … Doctor Puckett … that I’ll withdraw my request for a cabin, if that’s what it takes to settle everybody down.”

  “I reckon I’ll track him down and see what’s going on,” McQuade said gloomily.

  McQuade found Puckett, Creeker, Gunter Warnell, Eli Bibb, Cal Tabor, Will Haymes, and a host of others in the fort, seated at the crude tables. Obviously the women had been barred from the discussion, for none were present. McQuade took a seat at the very end of one of the tables, listening.

  “My wife’s hell-bent on havin’ a cabin,” said Will Haymes.

  “Mine too,” Joel Hanby said.

  “Ellen’s of the same mind,” said Gunter Warnell. “How do you feel, Doc?”

  “I feel like this whole thing is a bad idea,” Puckett said, “because it’s divided us, and I fear we’re about to lose sight of our reason for being here. Maggie says she’s withdrawing her bid for a cabin, that she’ll just go on living out of her wagon.”

  Tobe Rutledge laughed. “Easy for her to say, but I hear it ain’t goin’ to be just her that’s scrunched up in the wagon.”

  “If that’s what she wants, we’ll manage,” said Puckett, his eyes on Tobe.

  The laughter Tobe had prompted died away to an uneasy titter, and Creeker took over the conversation.

  “I don’t even have a wagon,” Creeker sai
d, “but if we’re up against something that’s bigger than all of us, then let’s put it down and leave it be. If we’re to have homes here in Texas, then let’s keep our eyes on those we’ll build on our land grants, and we can’t look toward them until we’ve won this fight for independence.”

  “I’ll be sharing Maggie’s wagon, Creeker,” said Puckett. “You and Lora are welcome to mine. I’m sure we can find room here in the fort for the extra weapons, black powder, and such that we took from the Sutton gang.”

  “You been cuttin’ logs for a cabin, McQuade,” Isaac McDaniel said. “How do you feel about all this?”

  “Cut into shorter lengths and split, those logs will make firewood,” McQuade replied, “and so will yours.” He got up and departed, before further questions could be directed at him. Before he reached his and Mary’s wagon, he could hear voices, and some of them were angry. Determined not to be intimidated, he went on, and when he reached the wagon he found most of the wives of the men who were arguing in the fort. Maggie was there, and she was being drowned out by most of the other women talking at the same time. The moon was bright, and when they saw McQuade, they quickly became silent. It was Maggie who finally spoke.

  “I’ve tried to talk sense to ‘em, McQuade. Why don’t you tell ’em where you stand?”

  “I’ll tell all of you the same thing I just told your men in the fort,” said McQuade. “I have been cutting logs along with them, and I don’t aim for my work to be for nothing. I reckon I’ll just convert all my logs to firewood.”

  Maggie laughed, but none of the others did. They turned away, leaving Maggie, Mary, and McQuade. It was Mary who spoke.

  “You’re right again, you and Maggie. We’ve lost that unselfishness that served us so well all the way from St. Louis, and I just want to cry.”

  “Won’t help,” said Maggie. “Remember that piece in the bible where the Apostle Peter, walkin’ on the water, went to meet Jesus? When he took his eyes off Jesus, he began to sink. Well, we took our eyes off our reason for bein’ here, and we’re all sinkin’ into the waters of selfishness and unneighborly conduct.”

  “Amen,” McQuade said.

  “I just want us to be like we were before,” said Mary. “What can we do?”

  “Nothing,” McQuade said. “The rest of these people are going to have to see this just as Maggie explained it. It’s a personal thing, like salvation, and those who are blind to it will stumble on to Judgment Day. Nothing matters to them except what they want. There’s evidence that Monclova’s bunch is about to make a move that will affect all of us. Maybe that will pull us all together and remind us of our true purpose for being here.”

  McQuade slept little that night, spending some time with the men who had come down the trail with him from St. Louis. To his satisfaction, most of them agreed with him, even the Burkes. The teamsters—most of whose wagons were still loaded—had a request.

  “See can we unload these wagons, movin’ the goods into the fort,” said Slaughter. “I can live in my wagon as long as I have to, but not with it full to the bows. I slept on the ground all the way from St. Louis.”

  “I’ll talk to Houston about it,” McQuade said. “It’s not an unreasonable request.”

  The rest of the teamsters—especially those who had women—expressed their approval of making temporary homes in their wagons by removing their goods into the fort. Before breakfast the next morning, McQuade spoke to Houston.

  “By all means, all supplies should be moved into the fort. I regret that your plans for the cabins proved unworkable, but I believe you’re doing the right thing. We must settle this question of independence, making do with our circumstances.”

  Summerfield and McLean rode in at noon. Without a word to anyone, they reported to Sam Houston, and within minutes, Houston had called a meeting that included everybody except the men on watch.

  “Summerfield and McLean have brought the information I have been expecting,” said Houston. “Monclova and his entire command is traveling downriver, and I suspect they’re bound for Matagorda Bay. There is a strong possibility they’re meeting an incoming sailing ship from Mexico City, with food, medical supplies, and ammunition. It is our intention, if indeed such a vessel arrives, to confiscate its cargo, once it has been unloaded.”

  Thunderous shouts interrupted him, for those assembled were hearing of the bold plan for the first time. Houston held up his hand for silence, and when they quieted, continued.

  “As some of you may know, we have men watching Matagorda Bay, and at the first sign of an approaching Mexican sailing ship, they will warn us. We will then have plenty of time to get our own forces into position, for we want the ship to depart before we attack Monclova and seize the cargo.”

  “Count me in,” a man shouted.

  “Me,” a hundred more shouted, virtually in a single voice.

  “I will prepare a list and post it,” said Houston. “There is no hurry. We won’t ride out until we receive word a ship has been sighted.”

  Men surrounded Houston, and it was a while before McQuade could talk to him.

  “I’d like some of my emigrants, including myself, to be part of that attacking force you’ll be sending to Matagorda Bay,” McQuade said. “Some of us need to redefine our purpose for being here.”

  “I understand the need for that,” said Houston. “I will choose a hundred of these men from my original force, and fifty from yours. Since you are familiar with your men, I will accept your recommendations.”

  “You’ll have them,” McQuade said.

  Most of McQuade’s party had seen him talking to Houston, and guessing his purpose, besieged him with questions. McQuade welcomed their interest, for it seemed the issue that threatened to divide them—the ill-conceived construction of dwellings—had been set aside for this more serious endeavor.

  “Houston will take fifty of us as part of the attacking force,” said McQuade, “and I’ll be talking to all of you during the next several days. While all of us can’t go, this is the start of our becoming involved in this fight for independence.”

  McQuade spoke to them for more than an hour, and when he was finished, he found Mary in a much better frame of mind.

  “This couldn’t have come at a better time,” Mary said. “While I dread the thought of you and the rest of these men attacking Monclova’s forces, we all need to feel like we’re in some way helping to gain Texas independence and secure our grants.”

  “What about those people who were hell-bent on having living quarters?”

  “There’s still a few,” said Mary. “I’m hoping they’ll back off, when they learn the rest of us have given it up.”

  “If some of them are so determined, let them go ahead,” McQuade replied. “I’m damn tired of trying to talk sense to people who want none of it. How are the rest of the women feeling about living out of the wagons?”

  “Most of them have accepted it,” said Mary, “and we have Maggie to thank for that. Once she saw how we were becoming divided, she set out to change the minds of all the others.”

  The news of an impending attack on Monclova’s forces had the desired effect on most of the men in McQuade’s party. They gathered, discussing the bold move proposed by Sam Houston, intrigued by the taking of supplies from the Mexicans. The Burkes—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—confronted McQuade with a request.

  “We want to be part of that bunch that rides downriver tomorrow,” said Mark. “See that you get us included.”

  “I’ll see,” McQuade promised. “Before this is done, there’ll be plenty of fighting for us all. If you don’t go this time, I’ll see that you’re included the next.”

  That satisfied them, and McQuade realized he hadn’t seen old Andrew Burke since their arrival at Houston’s fort. Choosing fifty men to join Houston’s forces required some thought, and it was almost supper time before McQuade presented Houston with a list. But the movement of Monclova’s forces toward Matagorda Bay was only the start of a series of even
ts that quickly took on ominous overtones. After supper, the men who had been assigned to watch Matamoros arrived on lathered horses. Houston went to meet them, as they all but fell from their horses, and when they spoke, it was loud enough for all to hear.

  “Mex soldiers are ridin’ north, along the coast. More’n three hunnert of ’em.”

  “My God,” said Houston, “when did they leave Matamoros?”

  “Near dawn this mornin’,” one of the tired riders said.

  Just for a moment, there was a shocked silence, and then all hell broke loose. There were shouts from a hundred men, all demanding to be heard. Somebody drew a pistol and began firing into the air.

  “Silence,” Houston shouted.

  It took a while to restore order. Joshua Hamilton, Stockton Saunders, and Alonzo Holden conferred with Houston, who then beckoned to McQuade. Apparently there was some disagreement among the four men as to the implications of this new development, and it was to McQuade that Houston directed a question.

  “We are at odds as to what we should do, regarding these reinforcements. Have you a suggestion?”

  “Yes,” said McQuade. “With Monclova’s bunch headed downriver and with all these reinforcements riding along the coast, I think we’d better prepare ourselves to attack a much larger force.”

  “I don’t see any immediate need for it,” Joshua Hamilton said, “unless a Mexican sailing ship arrives, and I now have my doubts about that.”

  “I reckon you have a reason,” said McQuade.

  “I do,” Hamilton replied, in a manner that rubbed McQuade the wrong way. “There is no reason to believe that Monclova’s forces are riding downriver for any purpose other than a rendezvous with the reinforcements from Matamoros.”

  “I still believe there’ll be a Mexican ship sailing in with supplies,” said McQuade. “Did you ask these hombres that just rode in whether or not these three hundred soldiers have pack mules?”

  “Well, no,” Hamilton admitted, “but …”

  “There were no pack mules,” said Houston. “I know what Mr. McQuade’s getting at, and I quite agree. Santa Anna wouldn’t increase Monclova’s forces to such an extent, without sending provisions, medical supplies, and ammunition, and what better method than by water?”