Return to the Alamo

by Paul Bedford

  As though a fog was drifting clear, I gradually became aware of the outside world. Gunfire was emanating from both groups. It was up to me to make the peace. To do that, I would have to provide Lamar’s men with proof that the rangers had not instigated the bloodshed.

  Having no intention of going down amongst them unarmed, I reloaded the Paterson Colt. It was a laborious task which resisted most attempts at speed. Then, tucking the weapon in the back of my trousers, I took hold of Flaxton’s body by the ankles and dragged him out of the hollow onto the slope facing the combatants. His head was now a stomach churning pulp, which I could no longer bring myself to look on.

  Tipping him over, I pulled off his jacket, then his waistcoat and finally what had once been a white shirt. The stink of body odour and most noticeably urine, drifted up from his unwashed torso, indicating the extent of his fear in those last moments. Tying the bloodied article around the stock of the other rifle, I hopefully had a recognizable symbol of parley. Taking hold of the barrel with both hands, I set off slowly down the slope towards the Galveston men. Viewing them with a critical eye for the first time, I noticed that two men had retired a further hundred yards with all the horses and that the rest of them were making themselves small by hugging the earth. With the advantage of height, I could see that Sutter lay where he had fallen and was, at the very least, seriously hurt.

  So engrossed were the two groups in trying to kill each other that I must have covered at least one hundred yards before my approach was noticed. With every step, my sense of foreboding had increased. I was convinced that in their present mood someone must surely take a shot at me. My shirt, already clammy from my exertions, was now a wet rag as the tension within me increased. I became aware that the firing on both sides had died out, as all attention was transferred to my steady approach. A voice bawled out from the band of rangers.

  ‘What in tarnation are you about?’

  Ignoring Travis, I continued steadily towards the other group. It was their reaction that concerned me and it was not long in coming.

  ‘Whoa, mister! You’re mighty brave or mighty stupid, but either way you just stop right there!’

  I did as instructed. Their distrust of my intentions was quite obvious, as a goodly number of rifles were pointing directly at me. I had to gain some measure of credence in their minds, as it only took one tense, sweaty forefinger to end my life. In a loud, clear voice I stated my case. ‘We did not shoot Sutter! If you look behind me. . . .’

  Crack!

  Something slammed into a stone next to my right foot, whilst before me smoke drifted over the assembled men. My heart leapt in reaction, but I knew exactly what they were about. It was a test. If the marksman had intended to hit me, I would most assuredly have been laid out, with a hole in my temple. Ignoring the source of the shot, I turned towards the rangers, and frantically waved my ‘flag’.

  ‘Don’t shoot. For God’s sake, hold your fire!’

  In response Vicky screamed out, ‘Get down, you madman. They’ll kill you for sure!’

  ‘They won’t unless you open fire,’ I replied, before turning back to face the Galveston contingent. ‘If you look up on the slope behind me, you will see a body. That is one of two men that fired on both parties. The other has escaped, but in any event he is no longer a threat to you. It is me alone that he seeks.’

  With that I rested my case and stood in silence awaiting their verdict. It was not long in coming. The earlier spokesman clambered to his feet over the protests of his companions. ‘Move in closer, mister. Keep your hands where we can see them. You’ve got grit, I’ll give you that.’

  Relief flooded over me and I carefully made my way down to join them. Not surprisingly, I was faced with a mostly sullen and dispirited group of men. Their leader, Jacob Sutter, remained where he had fallen, his coat by now drenched with blood.

  ‘Dead as a wagon tyre,’ commented the only other man standing, shaking his head sadly. He was a bearded, long faced individual, who already seemed to be feeling the burden of his new position. Having led men in many situations, I knew exactly how they were all feeling. Fired up by Lamar into an enthusiastic pursuit, they had lost their commander in the first encounter. Whoever then took over was unlikely to have as much influence over them.

  Scratching his head, their new chief viewed his recumbent troops in exasperation. ‘Land sakes, get on your dang feet. It’s over. Chet, you and Teal get up that slope and make sure that fella’s dead.’

  The two designated individuals got reluctantly to their feet and cautiously headed towards Flaxton’s body. Their leader soon felt it necessary to shout after them, ‘If you don’t get moving, he’ll start to turn.’

  Conscious of my aching arms, I asked if I might lower the flag of truce. The other man viewed me shrewdly before nodding acquiescence. ‘Only don’t go reaching for that iron tucked in your trousers.’

  For some minutes we regarded each other in silence, as neither of us felt any inclination towards small talk. Consequently it was with some relief that I greeted the return of his men. One of the two assumed the role of spokesman. ‘He’s mustered out all right, what’s left of him.’

  Looking dubiously over at me, he continued, ‘Jesus, mister, you must have really took against him.’

  Now that it was obvious to me that there would be no further outbreak of aggression, the whole situation was becoming a deuced bore. Fixing the young man with a steady gaze I replied, ‘He attempted to kill me, that was reason enough.’

  I was saved from any further interrogation by the cautious arrival of both Travis and Frenchie. ‘We done brawling then or what?’ asked the former. Without awaiting a reply he continued, ‘The powder stays with us, unless you want more empty saddles.’

  The Galveston men had plainly had enough bloodshed. Their leader said, ‘You’re free to go. There weren’t supposed to be any killing.’

  ‘Tell that to His Honour the General when you see him,’ retorted Travis as we cautiously retreated. For some time we walked awkwardly backwards, careful to keep our erstwhile enemies in full view at all times.

  ‘How is Kirby?’ Having seen the ball strike, I was expecting the worst.

  ‘Not good,’ said Frenchie. ‘The ball passed right through, but he’s lost a passel of blood and can’t speak. Whether he lives or dies, he’s out of it.’

  That was indeed bad news. Kirby was the glue that held us all together. All the men liked and respected him. With Speirs still out there, things were looking decidedly bleak.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At least one person was demonstrably happy with my safe return. Rushing up to me, Vicky threw her arms around me in a disconcertingly familiar fashion. ‘Thomas, I thought you was a goner for sure.’ Her full moist lips attached themselves firmly to mine and it was some time before I could disentangle myself. As I reluctantly struggled free she breathlessly remarked, ‘Cher, you take too many risks. What if you’d been kilt?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I answered pointedly, ‘What would have become of you?’

  Pulling free, I looked around for Kirby. Ben, himself still recovering from the wound received at Virginia Point, was kneeling next to his supine figure. He had tied some cloth tightly around his leader’s neck in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, but it was clearly not working. He was coughing continuously, so as to avoid choking on the sticky liquid. Ben’s eyes met mine, and he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Softly he remarked, ‘This won’t answer. Even with a sawbones, I don’t know that he’d make it. The ball entered just below the jawbone and went out t’other side. That hole’s bigger, and just won’t plug.’

  ‘Let me see,’ I said, bending down to release the soiled bandage. As the cloth fell away, I knew immediately that if anything were to be done, it would have to be quickly. The entry wound was clean and could heal, but the ball had become disfigured before exiting the left side, making that hole larger. The torn flesh had little hope of knitting together unassisted, and the
level of blood loss could not be allowed to continue.

  Getting to my feet, I peered around at the assembled rangers. ‘If we move this man as he is, or just stand by and do nothing he will surely die. I have no medical experience, but I once witnessed something that may save him. Whatever your opinion is of me, I think that you owe it to him to give me the chance.’

  Davey asked what everybody else was thinking, ‘How do we know it’ll work?’

  In reply I was blunt, brutal even. ‘I don’t know that it will. He could even expire under the knife, but at least we will have tried. Or we could just leave him to die!’

  With a start I felt my ankle being nudged. It was all Kirby could do to attract my attention. Dropping to my knees, our eyes met as he desperately tried to talk. Leaning closer, I gasped as his right hand closed on my wrist like a vice. As spots of blood hit my face, he was just able to mouth two words, ‘Do it!’ Then his hand fell away.

  That was all the confirmation that I needed. Galvanized into activity I leapt to my feet.

  ‘Right, I need a fire making here. Davey, be so kind as to collect the kindling. I’ll also need hot water, and something for him to bite down on. Ben, let me have a blanket to place under his head. Oh and I’ll need some whiskey to cleanse the wound.’

  Unsurprisingly nobody moved. Faced with a barrage of orders from a foreigner, who wasn’t even a ranger, they all remained rooted to the spot. In exasperation I bellowed out, ‘If you want this man to survive do as I say, or you will all answer to Captain Hays.’

  Unexpectedly, Kirkham Shockley was the first to move. Prodding Davey he directed, ‘C’mon, you heard the man. Let’s get the makings.’ The youngster knew better than to argue and so together they went off in search of wood. That was enough to bring everybody round. Speed being of the essence, Travis produced one of his carefully hoarded Lucifers with which to start the fire.

  With everybody working together we soon had a roaring fire and a pan of water heating up over it. Accepting that I would be the one to carry out the unpleasant task, I had placed my broad bladed knife into the hottest part of the fire. As the metal heated, Ben and Frenchie placed a rolled up blanket under Kirby’s head and prepared to hold him down. Travis and Kirkham were to take his legs, but then Vicky surprised me by volunteering to hold Kirby’s hands, rightly thinking that he might be comforted by her presence. Her under-slip had been shredded to form lengthy bandages and these were dropped in the pan to boil clean.

  Finally everything was ready. Pulling the cork stopper out of the whiskey keg that Travis had produced, I remarked, ‘This is purely for medicinal purposes,’ and took a long swallow. The fiery liquid careered down my throat, before hitting my empty stomach with a jolt. Cheap and nasty it may have been, but it provided me with some much-needed ‘Dutch courage’.

  ‘Shit or bust, Major,’ Travis returned, with a disturbing air of finality.

  My knifepoint was glowing red as I withdrew it from the embers. Nodding to the others, I commanded, ‘Hold him fast.’

  Ben placed his knife hilt between his leader’s teeth and then, along with Frenchie, pressed down on the man’s shoulders. Kirby locked eyes with Vicky and stared at her unblinkingly. She favoured him with a gentle smile and gripped his hands tightly.

  Firmly moving his head to give clear access to the vivid injury, I positioned the glowing blade directly above it, took a deep breath and pressed down hard. With a strangled roar the ranger bucked and twisted so violently that it required the combined strength of all those present to hold him in place. Flecks of blood covered Vicky’s face, but she held fast, continuing to gaze deep into her patient’s anguished eyes. Tears were coursing down her cheeks from the pressure of his agonized grip. Desperate though I was to release him from his private misery, my instinct told me to maintain the pressure, so giving the flesh time to fuse.

  ‘He’s had enough, mister,’ cried out Davey, grabbing hold of my arm.

  I hung on grimly, as the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh pervaded the atmosphere. With a sigh, Kirby passed into blessed unconsciousness and then suddenly it was all over. Throwing the blade away, as though accursed, I grabbed the raw alcohol and spilled it over the cauterised tissue. This provoked a slight tremor but nothing more. Easing her bruised hands from his, Vicky retrieved my knife, and used it to haul out one of the makeshift bandages from the pan. Drained by the ordeal, I could do no more than observe, as she allowed it to cool slightly before wrapping it tightly around Kirby’s neck. The four men had released their grip, and sat around looking strangely self-conscious.

  The coming of darkness found us all sitting around the dying embers of the fire. We had, of necessity, lingered at the same site for the remainder of the day. Kirby was totally unfit to travel and would remain so for the foreseeable future. Since the makeshift operation he had not stirred, but his breathing seemed a little easier. His survival was out of our hands, dependent mostly on his iron constitution and the passage of time.

  Taking advantage of the roaring fire, the whole group had dined on hot pinto beans wrapped in tortillas and supped piping hot coffee. The hot meal had improved our spirits, and so for a time there was a genuinely companionable atmosphere present amongst us. It was as though Kirby’s injury had somehow brought us together in common cause.

  But then, as the cheerful glow receded, more sober thoughts intruded. From now on there could be no more fires during the dark hours. Somewhere out there Speirs would be waiting for another opportunity to strike. He had proven himself to be a resourceful and inventive officer, and presumably stood to gain much from my capture or verified death. And looming before us, like some dreaded pestilence, lurked the ubiquitous Comanche menace. All of which meant that there were decisions to be taken that night.

  First and foremost was the appointment of a new leader, but thereby lay a problem. I knew that the task was quite within my capabilities, but also that I could not put myself forward. So when the subject was raised I remained silent. As expected it was Travis, garrulous and lacking in any sensitivity who got the ball rolling.

  ‘Kirby’s well out of it, but somebody’s gotta call the shots.’

  ‘You putting yourself up for it then, Travis?’ This from Shockley, with just the hint of a sneer.

  ‘No, I ain’t, Kirkham,’ he replied with vigour.

  These two, although totally different in temperament, were the strongest personalities in the group. It was left to Vicky to state the obvious. ‘Well, even if you sad bunch can’t see the wood for the trees, I surely can!’

  To a man, the rangers turned to face her. Undaunted she continued, ‘You don’t need no schooling to realize Thomas is your man. Face it, for Christ’s sake!’

  The others looked at each other, but remarkably nobody gainsaid her. Typically Travis summed up the mood.

  ‘Way I see it, he’s been an officer in some man’s Army, which is more than any of us have amounted to. And he put up the money for the powder.’

  ‘Put it to a vote,’ added Vicky slyly.

  Shockley spat on the embers in disgust. ‘We don’t need all that shit! You got the job, Mr Collins, Major or whatever the hell else you call yourself. Just don’t mess up!’

  My first command decision would be immensely painful, and was to have unforeseen results. ‘Whatever transpires with Kirby, he is plainly unfit to travel. Yet tomorrow we must move on. One of us should stay behind to tend him. Do I have any volunteers?’

  Surprisingly Shockley was first to speak. ‘I ain’t sure what “transpires” means, but however you look at it we need all the guns we got for the journey. I say the Dutch Gal stays with him. If he lives, he might just get lucky.’

  Vicky glared at him. ‘Why can’t you ever call me by my given name? It ain’t too hard to remember, even for you!’

  I could see some practical merit in his idea, but it was devoid of all feeling and conscience, so my rebuttal of it was swift. ‘I cannot accept that. Whether he lives or dies, Vicky would be left to fend fo
r herself, easy prey for any Comanche war party.’

  Travis eyed me speculatively. ‘You sure there ain’t some other reason?’

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ I answered firmly and without the elaboration that he was seeking. ‘So I need a volunteer to stay here for as long as is needed. Who shall it be?’

  To my surprise Frenchie was quick to speak up. ‘Don’t reckon I’ve got any choice. Him and me’s distant kin. Can’t leave him out here for the varmints to chew on.’

  So it was agreed. He would remain behind as guardian and possibly gravedigger. Which took us down to five men and one woman against a proven killer and however many Comanches that we might possibly encounter.

  After such a gruelling day, I was more than ready to stand down and snatch a little sleep. The night watch was split into three shifts of two men, with me forming half of the final one. Vicky had elected to tend Kirby when required; a none too onerous task, as he remained unconscious. I had little reason to afford her any thought as I rolled into my blanket. With Kirkham and Davey having drawn the first shift, the other three had gratefully surrendered to temporary oblivion. The heavy cloud had cancelled out whatever moon there was, and the darkness seemed complete. The silence was broken only by the occasional murmurings and grunts from the rangers’ erstwhile leader, as he lay on the cusp of life and death. I reflected gloomily that he was only in such a parlous state because of his association with me, which did little to hasten my descent into sleep.

  Never having mastered the soldier’s art of dropping off in any conditions, I lay on the hard ground, only slowly drifting away. Yet in time I had so completely relaxed, that her fingers on my face almost caused me to cry out. Heart pounding, I grabbed for my revolver, only desisting after hearing her whisper.