This time a British ship gave him a home. His past experience helped him back into the top masts, and he added to his skills as a seaman while acquiring a good knowledge of English. In fact, after three years, he was fluent in the language. When they docked in Galveston, Texas, Lazardo jumped ship and headed inland to see what the New World had to offer to an enterprising and ambitious Roccero who could speak the local lingo.
Lazardo was gleeful when he discovered the hinterlands of Texas. The mountain man had been too long aboard ships and in cities—places where he didn’t belong. His natural and most comfortable environment was a wilderness like the untamed Montagni Roccicio in Sicily. His first job was on a rancho owned by a wealthy Texican. As usual, when in a new profession, Lazardo started off at the bottom. But he learned quickly, becoming an expert cowboy who could ride a horse with the best vaqueros in Mexico or Texas. He also learned to use firearms, holding back his faithful blades as backups when he was out of ammunition. Saloon brawls, bunkhouse fights, and running battles with Kiowa and Comanche Indians rounded out his training as a frontiersman.
After five years of hard ranch life, Guido Lazardo returned to his favorite occupation. Once more he became a professional criminal.
Lazardo became a cattle rustler, whiskey and gun smuggler, and bank robber. His activities eventually led to a meeting with a diverse group of outlaws called Comancheros.
These men, of every conceivable race and creed, had but one thing in common—the morals and ambition of starving lions. They took frontier lawlessness to new lows, adding slavery to their crimes as they dealt with unscrupulous clients in the wild lands of the West. They raided Indians, Mexicans, and whites alike, taking captives to be sold and bartered to work as slaves in mines, large ranchos, or even in various tribes of Plains Indians. Guido Lazardo rode with this loose-knit group for a couple of years before recruiting his own Comanchero gang to move into the central and north prairies where untapped sources of wealth and slaves had yet to be visited. He heard tales of the Santa Fe Trail, in which raw goods went in one direction to be traded for gold and silver that was brought back along long stretches of desolate prairie.
The first strike was the settlement found in Kansas Territory. Lazardo and his men could not believe their good fortune as they swept down on the unsuspecting Russians, who, thinking all they had to fear were Indians, at first greeted them as friends. The slaughter had not been complete, but enough prisoners were taken to guarantee great profits when the sales and trades were made with Indians and Mexicans.
Now, smiling in anticipation, Guido Lazardo rode up to the rear of the wagon where Natalia Valenko sat hunched in fear, trying to fight back the tears. Irena Yakubovski, defiant as ever, kept a protecting arm around her charge.
As Lazardo looked into the interior of the vehicle, the sight of the frightened young woman reminded him of Liliana Bonabella in that cave so long ago in Sicily. The memory fanned his passions. He couldn’t wait to get the blond beauty back to his lodge in the Comanchero town. He blew her a kiss, then rode off to keep an eye on the column.
Natalia began to weep piteously, praying and crossing herself as she begged God for deliverance from the evil into which she had been cast. But a glance out of the wagon showed only empty prairie country.
Ten
Private Paddy O’Hearn pulled on the reins of his horse and came to a halt. He could see the trail left by the Comancheros plainly laid out in the grass across the prairie. The veteran soldier fully realized that this was not careless behavior on the outlaws’ part. The lack of any attempt to hide their trail gave stark evidence of the strength of the criminal group.
All of that made O’Hearn an extremely nervous and cautious dragoon.
After a few moments of contemplation, O’Hearn kicked his mount’s flanks and galloped back to where Lieutenant Gavin MacRoss and Sergeant Ian Douglas rode with Basil Karshchov. The Russian fidgeted in his saddle, glancing about in the hopes of seeing something. The emotional man could not hide the anxiety that tortured him.
O’Hearn saluted. “Sir, them Comancheros is leaving a trail a blind man could foller. They ain’t worried none about anybody catching up with ’em. They’re either spoiling for a fight, or just don’t give a damn if they get into one or not.”
“I have to agree,” Gavin said. “That means they’re strong enough to have no fear of anyone. That would include any Indian war parties that might be in the area.”
“I’d say you’re right about that, sir,” Douglas said. “Just take a look at us. We ain’t much of a threat since we’re only seven strong. Eight if you count Mr. Karshchov.”
“I definitely count him,” Gavin said. He took another look at the tracks he had been studying since leaving Nadezhda the day before. “I figure there are about two to three dozen of them along with their captives.”
“Yes, sir,” O’Hearn said. “They also got a herd o’ oxen and two wagons.”
“We must press on,” Karshchov insisted.
The Russian intellectual rode the horse that had belonged to the now-dead deserter Rodgers. None of the horses belonging to the settlement were worth much in mounting a pursuit. They were more useful in pulling plows. That was the reason the Comancheros had not bothered to steal them. Oxen could be eaten, and used in trade with the Indians.
The remaining dragoon horses had been left in the care of Count Valenko back at Nadezhda. Besides having Rodger’s mount, Karshchov was also armed with the dead dragoon’s carbine. After a few quick lessons, he showed he’d learned to effectively us the weapon. That made him worth something to Gavin.
“We are moving against a very strong force,” Gavin explained to the distraught Russian. “They are well armed, as you should know, and have no reason to fear us.”
“They have my lady love,” Karshchov said. “I am willing to die for her.”
Gavin, forced to keep his personal feelings for Natalia to himself, fought down his desire to shout out his own misgivings and worries. Instead, he spoke in a controlled voice, saying, “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Karshchov. Believe me, we shall do all we can do. Getting us all killed will not rescue Miss Valenko. It will not only mean uselessly spending our lives, but the losses would only add to her anguish.”
“But I think of what they will do to her!” Karshchov cried. “She is like a lost kitten!”
“You must believe that we are all very concerned about Miss Valenko’s safety,” Gavin said. “I promise to choose the best course of action.”
“You are right, of course,” Karshchov said. “I appreciate very much your kindness and consideration to allow me to accompany you and your brave men. Forgive me, Lieutenant MacRoss, if I sound like Count Valenko urging you to hurry against your better judgment.”
“It is perfectly understandable,” Gavin said. “Believe me, Mr. Karshchov, I do appreciate your feelings.” More Russians had wanted to travel with the dragoons, but Gavin would not permit it. Stripping the town of its now severely limited manpower while Pawnees and Cheyennes still roamed the locale would have been foolish. Even though the extra guns would come in handy during confrontation with the Comancheros, taking men out of Nadezhda could very well mean a complete massacre and destruction of the settlement.
Karshchov was only allowed to accompany the soldiers because of a special request from Count Valenko. Since Karshchov had also threatened to go on foot if not allowed to ride with the dragoons, Gavin thought it best to bring him along.
“I will walk into hell itself to rescue my Natalia!” he had tearfully sworn.
Gavin had no doubt the Russian meant what he said, and the lieutenant really didn’t blame him. Losing Natalia would be more than the temperamental man could bear. It was at that time that he’d ordered the horse and weapon turned over to the Russian.
After leaving Nadezhda, Gavin did not have his men arranged in a column because of the threat of attack from all sides to his small force. Instead, they moved slowly and steadily across the prairie in a dia
mond shaped formation that gave them all-around security. In case of attack from any or all sides by a surrounding enemy, they would pull into a tight group that would afford them the opportunity to blast out coordinated, disciplined, and carefully spaced volley fire from their percussion carbines.
Now, after nearly a full day of travel, it was apparent that an all-out assault on the Comancheros was doomed to a quick and bloody failure. At that point, had anybody asked him, Lieutenant Gavin MacRoss would have been forced to admit that he didn’t have the slightest idea of what he was going to do about rescuing the prisoners.
“Keep up at the front, O’Hearn,” Gavin said. “But concentrate on the horizon more than the trail. Those tracks are easy enough to follow, but we don’t want to suddenly find ourselves facing a surprise attack by a couple of dozen Comancheros.”
“I understand, sir,” O’Hearn said. He saluted, then rode back to his position.
Gavin kept his men moving until a deep dusk settled down over the prairie country. At that point he knew it was much too dangerous to continue on against such an overwhelming force. If the Comancheros had outriders or posted guards a good distance from their main camp, the dragoons were sure to be discovered. Comancheros, though despicable villains, were expert plainsmen and would be no easy enemy to deal with in the wilderness.
The pursuers settled into a cold camp in a shallow valley along a narrow creek. For refreshments, they drank water from their canteens and gnawed on salt pork. They were spared from grinding their teeth on the bricklike hardtack army crackers because the Russians had supplied them each with several huge loaves of freshly baked bread. The outside crust was firm and hard, but under that was a soft, delicious example of the baker’s art.
The hobbled horses, not too tired because of the day’s slow pace, contentedly grazed on patches of the sweet grass that stretched out from the creek while their human companions maintained strict noise discipline.
The horse soldiers lolled in silence or napped with their heads on their saddles. Karshchov, worried sick, sat up and fidgeted while clasping and unclasping his hands as nervous energy kept him charged up. Among the dragoons, only the men on guard stayed alert as the evening blended into night and a bright moon rose to glow in the cloudless sky.
The night was quiet except for occasional breezes that made sudden and brief appearances out of the rolling emptiness of the Kansas countryside. These gentle winds brought in the smells from afar that told of distant plants and flowers and the rich, dark virgin earth that had never known a plow or any other disturbance except for wildlife or the tracks of travois dragged by wandering Indian tribes.
The regularity of the sleeping men’s breathing and an occasional snort or snore were the only other sounds in the grove of trees. Gavin MacRoss was the only army man who could not slip into the blessed comfort offered by the arms of Morpheus. He and Karshchov slept only in short fits, as worrisome thoughts of Natalia Valenko’s fate danced through their troubled minds.
Gavin pondered on the amount of sleep he’d lost during the past weeks because of the Russian girl. He wondered if she was worth it. After all, he really didn’t know her, and she was in love with another man. But logic would not win out over emotion, and he spent as disturbed a night as Karshchov, the man who possessed her heart.
The last stint of guard was taken by Sergeant Douglas. With their numbers down, the noncommissioned officer wanted to make sure the men got as much rest as possible. Although he could have posted the last guard and spent the entire night in dreamy comfort with his head resting on his Ringgold combination dragoon-and-light-artillery saddle, he had enough concern for the well-being of the men serving under him to forget his rank, and do a trooper’s job.
The sergeant, manning his post behind a tree and looking out onto the open country around their camp, waited for the dawn to pinken the sky before he set about waking up the men. His first call was the lieutenant. He reached down to shake the young officer and stopped.
“Are you already awake, sir?” Douglas asked.
“Yes, Sergeant Douglas,” Gavin said. He stretched and sat up, then got to his feet. “Have the men eat a quick meal of a hunk of bread. Then saddle the horses. We’ll be moving out shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Karshchov, like Gavin, was already awake. He quickly got to his feet. After some impatient bites out of his loaf of bread, he washed it down by scooping up water from the creek into his cupped hands. Then he saddled his horse as the dragoons had taught him the day before. When he finished, he looked at his companions and was irritated to see they had only then finished eating and were beginning to roll up their blankets.
“Please, my friends!” he pleaded. “Many lives depend on us. They have stolen children, too, and a young lady is in grave danger. Please, hurry, my friends!”
Private Paddy O’Hearn took pity on the Russian. “Sure we will, Mr. Karshchov. Don’t you fret yourself a’tall.” He turned to his soldier friends. “Come on, lads. Wouldn’t you want to shake a leg if yer own true love was in the hands o’ them Comancheros?”
“Think about them kids, too,” Fenlay added.
The dragoons silently complied as they gobbled down their bread, then threw saddles across the horses’ backs. Within short minutes, the group was ready to ride. Paddy O’Hearn, knowing where he had to be, led the way from the little prairie creek and took them back to the trail they had been following so diligently.
The previous day’s routine was picked up once again. Great care was taken to watch the far horizons. This was one advantage to moving across the plains country with its wide skies and rolling expanse of land. No mountain ranges, forests, or other natural obstacles obscured the view. The vista was only limited by distance or heat haze.
But even that dancing pseudo mist did not hide the sight of the six riders traveling perpendicular to the dragoons’ direction.
O’Hearn stood in his saddle and signaled, pointing in the direction of the horsemen he had just spotted. Then he held up his fingers to indicate the number of riders he had spotted.
Gavin waved back at the point man to let him know he had seen him. Then the lieutenant pulled his field glasses from his saddlebags and studied the unsuspecting subjects of his attention.
“Those are Comancheros, by God!” he exclaimed.
“What’ll we do, sir?” Douglas asked.
Gavin grinned viciously. “Let’s get ’em!”
“I’m for that,” Douglas said.
The lieutenant waved O’Hearn and the rest of the men in close. When they gathered around him, Gavin said, “We’re going after those fellows. They are not following the trail of the larger group, so I figure they are scouts or outriders. We’ll intercept them, and see what they can tell us. Everyone stick close to me.”
The six Comancheros headed in a westerly direction. Gavin led his men at a quick canter toward them until they were once again within sight. At that time, he moved slightly more to the south until they were just out of sight over the horizon. If the dragoons couldn’t see the riders, then they couldn’t see the dragoons.
Gavin continued the pace and direction for a few moments, then turned westerly. When the lieutenant caught a glimpse of the Comancheros, he once again dropped back to a southerly direction. A few moments later he took another look. The pursued men, unaware of the attention they received from the dragoons, continued at a slow, steady pace.
At one point Gavin couldn’t see the riders, but turning farther north brought him back into eye contact. He and his men were gaining on the unconcerned Comancheros. The army officer once again dropped back out of sight over the horizon.
Gavin and his dragoons pressed on for ten more minutes. Then, kicking into a fast gallop, the experienced lieutenant judged it to be the right moment to bring the pursuit to a climax.
He swung his men inward to cut down the angle of travel between themselves and the Comancheros. When they thundered over the skyline into view, the outlaws were a mere hun
dred yards away. Gavin pressed on, making no effort to conceal his small command.
Within moments, one of the Comancheros made a casual glance to the rear and caught sight of the dragoons bearing down on him and his companions. His shout was audible, though the exact words were inconceivable. Whatever he said, however, was enough to set the group off into a frantic run for safety. They turned south, then east, obviously heading back toward the main group of Comancheros.
Gavin pulled his pistol, holding the .36 caliber Colt in his right hand while his left grasped the reins. The other, with the exception of Karshchov, who carried only a carbine, did the same as the distance between themselves and the outlaws halved, then halved again, and once again until they were right on top of them.
Gavin knew a shouted command to halt would mean nothing in the situation. He kicked his horse into a faster run and pointed the muzzle of the Colt at the nearest Comanchero. He fired, the bullet hitting the man in the right shoulder. The impact knocked the outlaw forward around his horse’s head as he slipped and bounced to the ground, dead.
The five surviving Comancheros split up. A pair turned farther east while the remaining three continued back toward the main group of their friends. Douglas waved at Corporal Steeple and Fenlay to follow him, and the trio rode hard after the two-man team of escapees.
Gavin, Karshchov, and the remaining three dragoons pounded in hot pursuit of the other Comancheros. O’Hearn, an expert shot in the saddle, aimed at the foremost outlaw. Giving enough lead and keeping the barrel of the Colt level, the veteran horse soldier fired two quick shots.
Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2) Page 10