The pair of senior-ranking men turned the detachment over to Corporal Steeple, then mounted up for a slow, careful ride across the dark prairie to the grove of trees across from the Comanchero camp.
They reined up, and Gavin said, “I suggest we leave our mounts here and enter the place on foot. We’ll attract less attention than if we are riding.” He pointed to the left. “That’s a shallow area where I noticed some kids playing,” Gavin explained. “We can wade across it without any trouble.”
The two dragoons dismounted and secured their horses. Gavin led the way as they walked slowly and carefully through the dense brush. The sound of the river lapping against its banks drowned out any noise they made. When the pair of dragoons reached the shallows, they halted and gave the immediate area to their front a careful scrutiny.
“I wish the moon wasn’t so bright,” Douglas said.
Gavin shrugged. “That won’t make any difference. We’ll be strolling past campfires anyhow. As long as we don’t attract any undue attention to ourselves we should be fine.”
“We should be, huh?” Douglas asked.
“Come on,” Gavin said.
“Hell, yes, sir,” Douglas said. “I never planned on living forever anyhow.”
Gavin pulled off his boots and socks and began to roll up his trouser legs as Douglas did the same. Within moments they were in the water that came up to mid-calf on the two men. The river bottom was rocky, causing some discomfort before they finally reached the other side.
“Those Comanchero kids were running barefoot through this stuff,” Gavin said, stepping gingerly onto the sandy bank.
“That shows how tough the little bastards are,” Douglas remarked as they quickly pulled on their footgear.
“I want to check out the corral first,” Gavin said. “It’s closer.”
The two skirted the camp in a southerly direction, trying to keep to the shadows as much as possible.
“Hey!” a voice called out. “What the hell’re you two up to?” An armed Comanchero stepped out into the light. “I seen you two wading across the river. Just what the hell’s going on?”
Gavin tried to think of something to say, so Douglas quickly stepped in. “We’ll tell you if you keep it to yourself.”
The Comanchero sneered. “Keep what to myself?”
“We got some kegs o’ liquor outta that raid a few days ago, and we stashed ’em over there in the woods,” Douglas said. “We don’t aim to share none of it, but ifin you promise not to tell nobody else, we’ll let you in on one.”
“How’d you bring any liquor outta there?” the man asked.
“We put ’em on a wagon and throwed some stuff over it, that’s how,” Douglas said in an angry tone. “Now, do you want one or not?”
“Maybe I want two, by God!” the outlaw insisted. Douglas looked at Gavin. “What ’a’ya think?”
Gavin feigned reluctance. “He’ll just want more.”
“We gotta give him something,” Douglas said. He turned back to the Comanchero. “Two will be fine. But we got to go get ’em now. We don’t want to be messing around with it in the daylight. Somebody’s bound to see us. Are you coming with us?”
“Damn right!” the man said eagerly.
Douglas took Gavin’s arm to steer him as he headed back toward the river. The outlaw hurried up to join them. As he stepped between the two dragoons, Douglas’s knife came out, and he slashed deep into the man’s throat. Unable to yell, the victim choked and staggered as blood filled his mouth. The sergeant struck hard three more times with swift stabs to the abdomen. The Comanchero’s knees collapsed, and he went to the ground. Douglas wasted no time in dragging him to the river and rolling him in. The current immediately pulled the corpse out into midstream and carried it south.
“If there ain’t no more shallows, he’ll be in Injun territory by morning,” Douglas said.
“Good work,” Gavin said. “I was caught flat-footed by that fellow.”
“I’m a natural-born liar, sir,” Douglas said. “It comes in handy now and again.”
“I prefer to think of you as a most creative teller of tales,” Gavin said.
“Let’s get this job over with,” Douglas urged. He looked at the camp. “I don’t feel good about this a’tall, sir.”
They were a bit more careful as they resumed their errand toward the corral. It was so noisy from the running rivers when they reached the place, all they had to worry about was avoiding being seen. The two waterways merged, swirling over rocks to create plenty of splashing, while the horses in the corral stomped their hooves and whinnied now and again. If there were any guards, they were out of sight and not too attentive. As far as the Comancheros seemed to be concerned, the corral was not a place to expect a serious attack.
Gavin put to work the engineering skills he’d learned at West Point. He walked around the corral, grabbing posts and shaking them to judge the effect the movement had on the structure. Finally the dragoon officer found what he was looking for. It was the farthest one, and when he shook it, all the rails in the barricade rattled.
Douglas was puzzled. “What are you doing, sir?”
“If this particular post gets pulled down, the whole thing will go with it,” Gavin said. “The better to turn horses loose fast and simultaneously.”
“I’ll take your word for it, sir,” Douglas said.
“Now let’s give that stockade a study,” Gavin said. “But I fear it will be constructed three or four times sturdier than this corral.”
They walked in a northerly direction, keeping to the edge of the camp on the inner side of the foliage that grew along the riverbank. Although it was well past midnight numerous campfires still burned in front of the crude dwellings, giving the place an eerily weak, dancing sort of illumination that suited both Gavin and Douglas. It was difficult to accurately judge another person’s features in the poor light.
They hadn’t gone far when a drunken Mexican staggered up to them. He shoved a bottle of clear liquid at them, saying, “Ta, agarran un traigito!”
“What the hell is that?” Douglas asked angrily.
“I got tequila,” the Comanchero said. “Soy papa! My woman have baby. Fiesta grande—big celebration. Take a drink! Un traigito, eh?”
Douglas took a sip from the bottle and passed it over to Gavin, who also swallowed some of the fiery liquor.
“Good luck to you,” Douglas said. He patted the man on the shoulder, then turned him and sent him staggering away.
“At least we got a free drink out of this, huh?” Gavin remarked with a chuckle.
“I needed it, sir,” Douglas said sincerely.
They went on for a few more yards before they were once again interrupted. This time it was a shrill, complaining voice.
“Say, fellers!” a woman’s voice called to them.
Douglas glanced over at a lean-to made of buffalo hide. He spotted the female who had called to them. “Yeah?” he responded in a husky voice.
“Have either o’ you seen Michael?” she asked.
Gavin quickly whispered, “Isn’t that the name of the half-breed fellow we captured?”
“I think so, sir,” Douglas said.
“You know him, don’t you?” the woman asked. “A ’breed. He wears his hair like an Injun, but it’s brown not black.”
“Didn’t he go north with some other fellers?” Douglas asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “They got sent out some days ago. Me and the kids is waiting.”
“Well, him and his pals ain’t back yet,” Douglas said. Then he added under his breath, “And not likely to be either!”
“God! This Comanchero life causes suffering for everybody, doesn’t it?” Gavin said.
“Better them than other folks, sir,” Douglas said.
When they drew close to the stockade, Gavin led them into the shadows of the nearby trees. “They’ll have alert guards on duty there, so it’s, not going to be quite as easy as the corral.”
“
Maybe we should each check a side,” Douglas suggested. “We can meet back here and compare notes.”
“Good idea,” Gavin said.
“I’ll take the front area there,” Douglas said. “Since we’ll probably pull ’em out of the back, you’d best check that part out, sir.”
“Let’s get to it, Sergeant,” Gavin said.
Both army men pulled the brims of their hats down over their faces and affected nonchalant attitudes as they parted. Gavin walked away from the gate guards, making it appear as if he were on his way to some destination near the river. When the lieutenant entered the shadows of the trees, he made a sharp turn to skirt the perimeter of the stockade. He continued walking until he was on the far side before testing the structure.
The Comancheros had constructed their prison with the idea of keeping people inside it. The fact that someone might want to break into it had never occurred to them. Gavin saw that the outside logs were loosely placed and tied together. A couple of swipes with a sharp knife would cut through the ropes that laced the restraints together. It would only take a bit of pushing and tugging to make a hole wide enough for someone to squeeze through. If the escape was made on that far side, it would go virtually unnoticed. Without outside help, the only practical way out would be over the wall.
Gavin knew exactly how he would pull off the escape of all the Russian captives. The problem would be keeping it going once they were out on the open prairie. But that was a problem he would deal with later. He figured it time to find Douglas and get the hell out of the place.
Gavin, staying in the shadows, retraced his route toward the front of the prison. When he reached the trees, he could see Douglas engaged in quiet conversation with the sentries. Gavin smiled, knowing his sergeant would be gaining valuable information about changes in the guard, routine of the prisoners, and other bits of intelligence that might make the escape attempt even more effective.
Suddenly the sound of men approaching sounded from the front. Gavin instinctively ducked back but was glad to see that Douglas put on an appearance of being completely unconcerned. When the oncoming Comancheros walked into the weak lantern light, it was easy to tell they were the guards who would be taking over from those currently on duty. Douglas still played his role, acting as if he belonged there, too.
Suddenly Gavin gasped.
Two of the men in the group were the deserters Jack McRyan and Dennis Costello.
Thirteen
Sergeant Ian Douglas may have felt an angry, almost fearful shock at seeing Jack McRyan and Dennis Costello, but he covered it with bravado.
The veteran soldier displayed an expression of complete contempt, even striding toward them, stopping and emitting a loud laugh when he reached a spot directly in front of the two deserters.
“Now here’s a pair o’ useless bastards if I ever saw any!” he roared in what appeared to be genuine hilarity. “I thought the Injuns musta got you. Maybe the redskins decided you wasn’t worth much just like the army did.”
“You son of a bitch!” McRyan hollered. “Grab him! He’s a goddamned soldier—a sergeant!”
The Comancheros immediately leveled their long guns on the sergeant. Their leader was Monroe Lockwood. The big man stepped forward and gave Douglas a long look.
“What the hell are they talking about, stranger?” the Comanchero asked.
“They’re just happy to see their old sergeant,” Douglas said.
“You ain’t dressed like no damn soldier,” Lockwood said. “But that’s sure enough a army belt and holster you’re wearing.”
“Look at us,” McRyan said. “We ain’t wearing no uniforms neither. All of them fancy duds was left behind in the barracks when we come out into the field. Ever’body in the army does that.”
“I ain’t calling those two dumb bastards liars, am I?” Douglas said. “Hell, yeah, I’m in the army. Carried on in the job of line sergeant, if you really want to know.”
“Well, I really want to know,” Lockwood said. Costello sneered at the sergeant. “We’ll be seeing you hanging by your heels afore tomorrow’s sun sets, you asshole! Ifn you think stringing me and Jack up by our wrists was rough, wait’ll you get a taste o’ that.”
“Shut your Bowery boy mouth!” Douglas snapped in disgust. He took one more step forward, this time coupling the move with a swift swing of his right fist. It collided with Costello, slamming him to the ground.
The sergeant made an instantaneous spin toward McRyan, kicking out and hitting his carbine. The weapon detonated as it whirled through the air and landed a few feet away. Douglas didn’t let an instant pass before he held the deserter’s collar with his left hand and punched him rapidly in the face with his right.
“These boys ain’t real tough,” Douglas said, letting McRyan drop beside Costello. “Fact o’ the matter, one o’ them Russian gals throwed that’n in a creek.”
“Hey!” Lockwood exclaimed. “What do you know about them Russians?”
“Plenty,” Douglas said. “I was second in command o’ the escort that brung ’em out here.”
Lockwood motioned with his musket. “There’s something about you that’s getting me riled up. I’m taking you to see Mr. Lazardo. These two may be a coupla the silliest bastards that rode across the Missouri River, but they’re right about you hanging by your damn heels. Now move! Don’t try no shit with me, or I’ll blow a hole in you wide enough to drive a team o’ mules through.”
“Now, that’d just about ruin my whole day,” Douglas said.
“There ain’t a hell of a lot that rattles you, is there?” Lockwood asked.
“I just try to get along,” Douglas said in a calm voice.
Gavin watched the scene with worried attention. As Douglas moved in the direction indicated, the lieutenant realized there was nothing he could do for him at that moment. Gavin quickly moved back into the shadows and headed for the river. This time he would chance a swim across to get back to his horse.
None of the Comancheros caught the slight movement when the lieutenant withdrew. They were too busy following after Douglas and Lockwood in the light of a lantern held by one of the guards. Even McRyan and Costello, a bit stunned from being punched, tagged along on the short trek to the center of the camp where Guido Lazardo’s quarters were located. They couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen to the sergeant. Both hoped they would have a chance to participate in his miserable death.
It didn’t take but five minutes to reach Lazardo’s area. Although the hour was late, Lockwood didn’t hesitate in the slightest to call out to the band’s leader.
“Mr. Lazardo!” the burly Comanchero yelled. “We got to see you! It’s important!”
Lazardo, snuggled under his blankets with an Indian woman, knew that no one would disturb him unless it was extremely important. He immediately awoke and pulled on a pair of trousers, leaving the female companion with whom he had chosen to spend the night.
“What is it, Lockwood?” Lazardo asked, stepping through the cabin door. He squinted his eyes at the sight of Douglas. “Who is this?”
“He’s a sergeant in the army,” Lockwood said. “Says he was one of ’em that brung them Russians out here.” Lazardo glared at Douglas. “Is that so?”
“Sure is,” Douglas said.
Lazardo exhibited a wry smile. “You have come to rescue them?” He glanced around at the darkness beyond the settlement. “Are there more soldiers out there?”
Douglas shook his head. “I didn’t come to help them Russians. Anyhow, there ain’t enough soldiers left to do the job. Ask them two dipshits.”
McRyan and Costello shuffled their feet. McRyan spoke up, saying, “He’s right about that. They’re could be no more’n—” he thought a moment as he remembered the names of the men in the section he had so recently deserted, counting them off on his fingers—”seven or eight of ’em left after us and others run off.”
“Unless they went back to Fort Leavenworth to get more,” Costello interjected.
“There ain’t been time for that,” Douglas said. “We killed the others, but these two got away after leaving their pals to cover their asses.”
“There’s still only seven or eight of ’em left in the detachment,” McRyan insisted.
Lazardo was most interested in McRyan’s estimate of the military’s numbers. “You are sure of this?” he asked. “They are really that small a group?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lazardo,” McRyan said.
“Are these two members of our band?” Lazardo asked, indicating McRyan and Costello.
“That’s right, Mr. Lazardo,” Lockwood answered. Lazardo gave them a long, appraising look. “When did this happen?”
“It wasn’t but about three or four days ago,” the Comanchero answered. “They met up with Morales and Crazy Fox along with a coupla more o’ the boys. That was a day or so after we raided the Russians. They brung ’em to me. Since they was soldiers on the run, I give ’em a chance to join up. When they found out we’d raided the Russians, they damn near went crazy. After they come here, they laid eyes on that big ol’ gal in the stockade. They really wanted me to give her to ’em. But you’d already made her the blond lady’s maid or whatever you call it, and I got first call on her.”
Lazardo pointed a finger at McRyan and Costello. “You forget that big woman.”
Douglas laughed aloud. “They’d better or she’ll beat the shit out of ’em.”
“You’re interesting to me,” Lazardo said, looking at Douglas. “How did you end up in here?”
“Kinda like them two,” Douglas said. “I deserted, too.”
“That’s a damn lie!” McRyan yelled out.
“He’s a sergeant for God’s sake!” Costello echoed. “The meanest son of bitch in the U.S. of A. Army!”
“That’s a right nice thing to say,” Douglas said. “It pleases me that you two was so unhappy serving under my command. But I went over the hill just the same.”
“He’d never run away from the army,” McRyan said. “Hell! He’s been in it for a lot o’ years.”
Comanchero Blood (A Dragoons Western Book 2) Page 13