Return to the Alamo

by Paul Bedford

  The lead ball caught him in the left shoulder, causing him to pirouette like a ballet dancer. The shock of the smashing blow created two separate events. His right forefinger contracted, discharging my own revolver harmlessly into the air. Far more seriously he abruptly lost control of his left hand and the burning Lucifer dropped to the ground. The marksman appeared to be hidden in the undergrowth some distance away, but on our side of the Colorado River.

  Knowing that he could not coerce me onto a horse whilst both under fire and injured, Speirs thrust my weapon into his belt, gratuitously nudged the Lucifer into the powder trail, and then ran for his mount. The sudden change of position saved him from the next ball, which kicked up earth just beyond the spot where he had been standing. I watched in absolute horror, as the powder trail flared into vigorous life. Whoever was concealed in the trees would have no chance of reaching it in time if indeed they even chose to, so it was left to me. As Speirs heaved himself awkwardly into his saddle, I lurched to my feet and staggered towards the weaving cloud of sulphurous smoke. The speed with which the grains ignited was truly frightening. If the conflagration reached the keg before I did, Speirs’s quest would finally be over along with his chances of advancement, as there would be little to prove that I had ever existed.

  To the sound of drumming hoofs, I forced my aching body into the semblance of a run. I was hideously aware that I only had the one chance. With only a few feet to go, I literally threw myself forward. My already bruised chest landed squarely on the flaring powder, but that action in itself was not sufficient. In bygone times its ability to burn in a confined space was seen by many as magical. Thrusting my arms out, I grasped the keg and turned it on its side, the uncorked hole pointing safely skywards. Then, by thrashing madly about like a stranded fish, I scattered the remaining powder trail amongst the grass.

  Rolling carefully to my right, I lay back quite exhausted. From the direction of the river I heard slow, laboured footsteps as my mysterious saviour approached. Unarmed and almost fearful of whom it could be, I raised myself onto one elbow and gazed towards the trees. The sight that greeted my eyes rendered me stunned, and left me gawping like an idiot.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘You look like you done seen a ghost,’ croaked the apparition before me.

  I watched in utter disbelief as the Texas Ranger known as Sergeant Kirby crept slowly towards me. Deathly pale, he appeared to have aged some twenty years. Dried blood was caked to his neck just below the jaw line. His shoulders were stooped and he sucked air in as though every breath was his last, but there was no doubting his ability with the revolver that he clutched tightly in his right hand.

  He maintained his painfully slow progress until almost colliding with me. Peering down at me, his red-rimmed eyes locked onto mine. ‘What the hell was all that squirming about? You turned into a reptile or what?’

  That he still had his wits about him could not be disputed. I felt a strong urge to hug him, but instead contented myself by grinning broadly as I struggled to my feet once more. Breathlessly I explained to him about the buried powder store and of the desperate battle with the Comanches ending in Shockley’s death. As I touched on the subject of my own ordeal he slowly shook his head.

  ‘I done heard it all and saw some of it.’

  I stared at him in amazement. ‘You mean to say that you witnessed the whole thing?’

  He nodded defiantly before replying, ‘You hollered fit to wake snakes. I used the whole ruckus as cover to ford the river. Never got chance of a clear shot and I ain’t much for running right now.’

  Taken aback, I swayed slightly and he reached out with his left hand to steady me. ‘You’d better sit back down before you fall.’

  Gratefully, I dropped to the ground. Transfixing my gaze, Kirby spoke with a controlled ferocity. ‘That cockchafer’s got nine lives, but he made his mistake by not claiming mine.’

  I expressed my own opinion on that. ‘I believe he enjoyed the thought of leaving you to suffer alone.’

  He emitted a strange croak, which I took to be a laugh. ‘Only now I got a pardner. Excepting we’re both whipped, with only one belt gun between us. I swear that bastard Englishman’s gonna answer for this.’ He looked away and then back at me, as though something had just occurred to him. ‘No offence.’

  I patted him gently on the arm. ‘None taken!’

  For some time we just sat in companionable silence, both of us content merely to exist without effort. Then the absence of any threat and the gentle ripple of the river lulled us both into an exhausted sleep. It was late afternoon before I awoke, to find Kirby snoring noisily beside me and thankfully everything else as we had left it. My arm was aching abominably and there were spots of blood on the makeshift bandage. Hunger gnawed on me like a prairie dog and I determined to light a fire regardless of risk. We both needed hot food if we were to recover. Having slowly collected some kindling, I built a small fire on the same spot that Speirs had used. The very thought of his name made me stiffen with anger, but this reaction was swiftly followed by concern. For I knew that, even wounded and in shock, he had deliberately chosen the direction of his flight.

  Ranger Kirby jerked awake to the mouth-watering smell of hot pinto beans, tortillas and scalding coffee. Our diet on the trail rarely varied, but to us that meal was little short of a banquet. For some time we devoted ourselves solely to gorging, now and again coming up for air, before returning to the trough.

  Finally we were done and with an enormous belch, Kirby staggered to his feet and hoarsely announced, ‘I’m gonna take a shit, then we need to jaw a spell.’

  I smiled and nodded. He was, as ever, graphically direct in his speech. Watching him stumble off into the trees, I felt tremendous warmth for the man.

  Upon his return we sat before the dying fire, nursing mugs of coffee and almost contentedly watched the sun go down. As I had knowledge of the others, it was left to me to spoil the mood. ‘He’s gone after them knowing that I will have to follow him. You realize that, don’t you?’

  ‘Because of Vicky?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘He does not know of my connection with her, but he will know that I could not leave a woman to his tender mercies.’

  I briefly related to him the events that led to the four of them setting out alone. He listened intently before stating, ‘That fella just don’t give up. If you’d had more like him, the British would still be running this continent.’

  ‘I just hate to think what that bastard could do to Vicky if he gets his hands on her.’

  ‘She’s with three rangers and he’s wounded. That’s got to count for something.’

  And there we left it. No amount of discussion could alter the fact that the captain had a good start on us, which therefore afforded him the first move.

  My last night by the Colorado River was one of complete tranquillity. We took the considered decision not to mount a guard, so as to obtain the maximum amount of sleep. Kirby was of the opinion that following such a disastrous reversal of fortune, the Comanches were highly unlikely to return to such an ill fated spot.

  Upon awakening the next morning I actually felt glad to be alive. My companion was already up and about. A small fire was crackling away and I could smell coffee, or at least what passed for it on the frontier.

  ‘You would make somebody a good wife, my friend,’ I suggested playfully.

  ‘Keep running your mouth off like that and you won’t see yours again.’

  A short while later, our belongings stowed away, we rode slowly through the battlefield. I was mounted on Frenchie’s Quarter Horse, which not having suffered a rider for many days was truly fresh and skittish. The sights and smells around us also quite possibly affected it. It was the first time that I had seen the carnage in daylight and the experience was truly unpleasant. The Comanche dead had suffered a variety of wounds: gunshot, splinter, blast and burns, all of which imparted their own characteristics. The bodies were beginning to turn, so that the smell
drifting up from them was truly stomach churning.

  The most dreadful sight was undoubtedly that of Kirkham Shockley. He lay where he had fallen, his skull almost destroyed by the point blank penetration. It pained us both to leave him that way, but we needed to conserve our strength for the pursuit ahead. His burial would have to wait for whichever party returned to recover the stash of powder.

  Our purpose was the recovery of any useable firearm to offset our severe lack of them. Only one weapon appeared suitable and I almost missed that. A .50 calibre smooth bore musket jutted out from beneath a bloodied torso. Dismounting to extract it, I cried out with delight upon discovering that it had a percussion mechanism. Reluctantly dragging the greasy corpse onto its back, I located a pouch containing an assortment of lead balls and percussion caps, which really lifted my spirits. At least now I was no longer completely defenceless.

  And so, finally, we left the Colorado River behind. For the sake of our sanity we dared not contemplate what might be happening ahead of us. For now it was sufficient that we were on the move once more.

  For the rest of that day we maintained a steady and almost continuous pace, stopping only to stretch our aching muscles and relieve ourselves as required. I had fashioned a rudimentary sling for my left arm, which helped reduce the level of throbbing. My body was also benefiting from the lack of weight that it had to support, which was the only favourable outcome from the theft of my gold sovereigns.

  For most of the time we maintained a companionable silence, content to concentrate on our surroundings as we passed rapidly through the countryside. Occasionally I caught sight of the grim, determined expression on Kirby’s face and realized that it probably mirrored my own. We were two men most definitely set on revenge.

  Travis’s party had a full two-day start on us, plus any distance they had covered that first night. As the sun began to slip over the horizon again we debated whether to push on through the night, but decided against it. Both of us, still suffering from the effects of our respective ordeals, preferred to opt for a full night’s sleep. Since we had no idea of anybody else’s position, we definitely had to settle for a cold camp. Beef jerky and biscuits washed down with river water formed our evening meal. Then, without more ado, we both curled up in our blankets, again gambling that we would not be discovered, and so slept the night away.

  As the sun began its lazy arc into the sky, we two convalescents awoke almost simultaneously. As normal after an unguarded night, we both lay there without moving whilst adjusting to the sights and sounds around us. The horses were still grazing peacefully, which was always a sure sign that all was well.

  Rubbing his teeth with a none too clean forefinger, Kirby regarded me steadily. ‘With the weight on that wagon we’ll catch up with them today and no mistake.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that, but where do you think Speirs will be?’

  Kirby’s reply was scathing. ‘That pus weasel will be sneaking around waiting for an opening. He’ll expect us to be following, so he’ll stay on the flanks and with these shooting irons, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.’

  He was right of course. With a rifle, shotgun and two repeaters, Speirs had us completely outmatched. All we could hope to do initially was join up with the others and alert them to the danger. Well rested after a long night’s sleep, we were both anxious to be off. Tellingly, Kirby was now able to heave his own saddle up onto his mount whilst I, the one-armed man, still required assistance. Just as I finally settled myself onto the back of the Quarter Horse, I was struck by a thought of such gravitas that I almost cried out.

  We both knew that Speirs’s target would probably be Vicky, but what if, under extreme duress, she in turn disclosed my relationship with her cousin? That didn’t bear thinking about. I undoubtedly knew what Hugo Speirs was capable of better than anyone. That fact alone meant that had I been unaccompanied, I would almost certainly have ridden my new mount to death.

  On and on we cantered across the prairie, the lush sub- tropical vegetation now just a distant memory. Noon came and went. I was beginning to despair that we would ever catch up with them, when Kirby reined in abruptly. He had just crested a rise, so I urged my horse forward to join him.

  A burst of pure joy surged through me. Before us was the wagon with its two outriders. I had survived to rejoin them after all. On the point of galloping down to meet them, I glanced at Kirby and noticed that he wore a puzzled expression.

  ‘Something ain’t right down there. There’s only three of them and they’re a horse short!’

  Finally taking time to scrutinize the little group carefully, I realized to my horror that he was right. ‘Vicky! It’s Vicky that’s missing. Oh my god, that bastard’s got her!’

  The recognition that we had arrived too late was almost too much to accept. Spurring my mount down the slope, I raced off towards the rangers, oblivious of my own safety and the fact that I only had one good arm. My reckless approach had them levelling their weapons, until they recognized I was friend rather than foe. Their universal smiles of welcome turned to expressions of sheer amazement when they saw who it was that followed me in.

  ‘God damn, but you made it, Major,’ bellowed out a genuinely overjoyed Travis. ‘And look who you brought with you.’ Pointing directly at my companion he continued, ‘I thought you was dead for sure, you old bull turd!’

  ‘Well, I ain’t, you old coot,’ Kirby replied flatly. ‘But Kirkham’s paroled to Jesus and there ain’t no bringing him back.’

  Shock registered on the faces of all three rangers. Of those that had left San Antonio, Shockley had seemed the least likely to succumb.

  Dismounting, I could contain myself no longer. ‘Vicky, where is she? Surely you didn’t allow her to wander off alone?’

  Both Ben and Davey looked a little sheepish, but Travis remained characteristically defiant. ‘She had to take a shit and you know what women are like. Can’t do it with a bunch of fellas gawking at them. Now if we’d offered to watch her taking a poke, well I wager that would’ve been diff—’

  Abruptly cutting him off, I railed at him, ‘So you just let her ride off out of sight, with a maniac like Speirs on the loose.’

  That argument failed to make any impression on the grizzled ranger. ‘You see any of us wearing dresses? What else were we to do? And you were supposed to have kilt that poxy English son of a bitch.’

  This was getting me nowhere, so rounding on Kirby I said, ‘We’ve got to find her!’

  To his credit that man had the good grace to appear uncomfortable, but he emphatically shook his head.

  ‘No dice, Thomas.’ Out of the corner of my eye I was aware that the unaccustomed use of my Christian name had registered with the others. ‘My orders are to get this powder back to Béxar County. That comes before anything else. You should understand that, fella, you paid for all of this!’

  ‘Some things count for more than money,’ I replied heatedly.

  ‘That’s why we gotta get this load back,’ countered Kirby. ‘It’s likely enough hundreds of folks will suffer at the hands of those heathen savages if we don’t.’

  The man was not for turning. All I could do was push for one consideration. ‘At least give me your revolver. I stand little or no chance against Speirs with just this musket.’

  The two of us stood almost face to face and I was determined not to back down. Our eyes remained locked for many seconds, before he finally broke the tension. With a wry smile he stated, ‘Yeah well, I suppose I can stand to do that. Just don’t lose it. You’ve been getting a mite careless with weapons of late.’

  With a measure of satisfaction, I accepted the proffered belt gun and then handed him my percussion musket. Without more ado, I tucked the Colt into my belt and grabbed the reins.

  ‘How long since she left?’

  ‘I ain’t never had no watch, Major,’ said Travis laconically. ‘But she should have been back well before you arrived. She wandered off over yonder apiece.’

 
Hauling myself one handed into the saddle, I wheeled off in the pointed direction.

  It was but a short canter to the crest of the next rise. Dismounting, I could still see the wagon with its four rangers quite clearly. I had no idea what awaited me over the ridge, but knowing whom I was up against I could not afford to leave anything to chance. Dropping the reins, I first walked then crawled awkwardly to the rim, where I removed my slouch hat before looking tentatively over. A swift glance revealed only empty undulating terrain without a soul in sight. Had he taken her with him, or was he waiting beyond the next brow for me to come looking? Another third alternative didn’t bear thinking about, so I decided to assume that he was waiting to line me up in his sights. Therefore I would have to take the long way around.

  Carefully backing off down the slope, I inelegantly mounted up and headed off around the right flank. My inclination was to ride like the wind, but I had to temper it with caution. Having lost sight of the wagon, I gradually wended my way around to where I presumed him to be. Taking my bearings, I estimated that I must be some 135 degrees around the semi-circle that I was travelling, and despite the mild weather I felt a chill descend on me.

  Trusting my senses, I slid from the saddle and there being nowhere to tether it, hobbled the animal’s front legs with a strip of rawhide. Everything seemed to take so much longer with only the one good arm. Drawing Kirby’s revolver from my belt, I carefully pulled the hammer back to full cock before advancing, mindful of the fact that Speirs would be attuned to the slightest noise.

  The ground that I would have been expected to travel over was off to my left, beyond another rise. I was praying that his eyes would be glued to that, whilst I came around and below him on his left flank. The tension in my body mounted as I inched forward, terrifyingly aware of the array of weapons in his arsenal. If he had discovered my approach, Speirs could have dropped me from two hundred yards before I even clapped eyes on him.