“We could of used the help,” said Long John with a straight face. “Me an’ Bo comes up on our segundo, an’ he’s been treed by a rattler half as big as Texas. Took the three o’ us t’ cash the bastard in.”
The drive had slowed to a crawl, and some of the other riders had come forward to see what was causing the delay.
“Listen,” said Gil, addressing them all, “before we get too far from here, I aim for every one of you to have a look at this snake Long John’s talkin’ about, because there may be others. For right now, we may have a problem. There’s a rock-cluttered valley ahead, maybe two miles across, and there’s only one good path to the other side. Now maybe a hundred yards into this head-high jumble of rocks and boulders, there’ll be enough hide, blood, and snake smell to stampede every horse and every longhorn steer all the way back to Bandera Range.”
“They go through on the run,” said Ramon.
“Not totally,” said Gil. “We don’t want a stampede once they’re out of the rocks. We do want ’em moving fast enough that they’re past this trouble spot before they’ve had a chance to do anything foolish. Mostly, we want them bunched, horns to rump, so they can’t go anywhere except straight ahead. Any questions?”
There were none, and they headed for the valley. Gil thought of something he should already have considered. Since the horse remuda could move much faster than the longhorns, why not push the horses ahead, crossing them before the longhorns arrived? Gil spoke to Van, to Ramon, and finally, to Mariposa and Estanzio, who were with the remuda. Van would keep the longhorns moving, while Gil, Ramon, Mariposa, and Estanzio took the remuda ahead.
“Lead them into it,” Gil told Estanzio and Mariposa once they approached the valley. “Ramon and me will be at the drag, keeping them bunched. While we don’t want a stampede, if everything goes to hell and they decide to run, let’s just be sure it’s straight ahead.”
Gil allowed Estanzio and Mariposa to choose the gait, and by the time the horse remuda entered the confines of the rock abutments, they were moving at a slow gallop. Each of them would pass the trouble spot within a matter of seconds. On the negative side, however, they were but a gait away from a stampede. Once the leaders broke free of the barricaded valley, it would depend entirely on Mariposa and Estanzio. If the leaders emerged in a fast gallop, there would be no stopping those that followed. Gil could tell when the leaders reached the point where the huge snake had died. One of the leaders nickered, and the horses at the tag end seemed to pause. Gil and Ramon laid on their doubled lariats, keeping them bunched, lest the trailing horses attempt to wheel and bolt back the way they had come. When the last few horses picked up on the snake smell, they tried to balk, to turn, but they could not. Gil and Ramon were there, shouting, shoving, and slapping rumps. To Gil’s relief, the herd began to slow. Mariposa and Estanzio had calmed the leaders. Gil and Ramon stayed with the drag until the remuda was out of the valley and under control. Gil waved his hat, and the Indian riders responded with raised hands. They would slow the horse remuda until the longhorns caught up.
“Ramon,” said Gil, “I’m goin’ to take Rosa, Juan Padillo, and Bo, and cover the drag. I want the rest of you ahead of the herd, slowing the lead steers once they’re past the snake scare. When they break free on the other side of the valley, the flank riders can fall back. We won’t allow them any slack at the drag, so they’ll have nowhere to go, except straight ahead. Once they’re past the snake smell, slow the leaders, and the others should settle down before they’re free to run.”
As he rode to drag, Gil sent the extra riders forward to join Ramon. A look at the sun told him they had to make up some time, or spend the night in a dry camp. His companions at drag were having the same thoughts. Rosa rode her horse alongside his.
“Do you think we can reach water before darkness comes?” she asked.
“I think we don’t have a choice,” said Gil. “A dry camp could ruin us. Once we get the longhorns across this valley, I aim to ride on to the water, no matter how far it is. It’ll be a hard drive the rest of the way, and we have to know what’s ahead of us.”
He rode on, passing the word to Bo and Juan Padillo, and when the herd picked up the pace, the four drag riders had to fight to keep the stragglers bunched. They hit the valley floor in a lope, the herd narrowing down to accommodate itself to the limited passage through the field of broken and scattered boulders.
“Keep ’em tight,” Gil shouted. “The leaders may try to balk.”
The lead steers would have balked, had they been able. Within seconds of Gil’s warning, the leaders picked up the snake smell and began bawling their fear. A shudder seemed to run through the herd from front to back, and while his companions swung their lariats at longhorn rumps, Gil fired his Colt. While the resistance among the front ranks slowed the herd, it was forced ahead by the shouting, shooting, flank-popping drag riders. The farthest slope was reached by the lead steers, and the eight riders were there ahead of them, moving them in a widening stream as they again spread out. Gil, Rosa, Juan, and Bo brought up the rear, keeping the steers close, allowing them little opportunity to quit the bunch. But the scare was past, and the longhorns lumbered along, still at a faster than normal trot. Once the herd was trailing well, riders began dropping back to flank and drag positions, and Gil rode to the head of the drive.
“Keep them moving at this pace,” he told Ramon and Van. “I’m riding” on to the water. After this snake killing, I want to know what’s ahead of us. If I run into trouble of any kind, I’ll warn you as quickly as I can. If you don’t hear warning shots, or if I don’t ride back, just keep rolling. I’ll be looking for anything that might slow us down, or for some better way. I aim to be back before you reach water. Don’t slow or halt the drive unless you hear warning shots.”
“I ain’t doubtin’ your word,” said Van, “but I still want to see that snake. I’ve heard too many of Long John’s windies.”
“Get Long John or Bo to ride back with you,” said Gil, “but just a pair of you at a time. Don’t slow down the drive; we may already be in trouble.”
Gil rode out, pushing his horse to a slow gallop. He wanted to reach water and return to the trail drive as quickly as he could. Once he was sure there was no potential trouble ahead, they could step up the pace even more. There was a chance, once the sun was down, that the wind would bring the scent of water. The herd would run the rest of the way, and every rider would be needed. He passed within sight of another rattler sunning itself on a flat rock. The reptile was nothing like the one they had just killed, and it slithered quickly away well before Gil reached it.
Much to Gil’s relief, he reached the water they were seeking in less than an hour. He figured it at eight miles. The large year-round spring flowed out from a patch of rocks. Shaded by willows and undergrowth, the substantial runoff formed a series of pools for maybe a mile before the stream disappeared into the dry earth. Gil scouted the area for Indian sign and found none. He watered his horse and rode back to meet the trail drive.
On a distant ridge, concealed by brush and pinion oak, a lone rider sat his horse. He watched until Gil was lost to distance, then wheeled his pony and kicked it into a run. His words would cause much talk in the lodges. The old ones would speak bitterly of the iron hats who had come across the great water seeking plata and oro, and, their greed unsatisfied, had tortured and killed. His people, the Chiricahuas, knew and hated the white man.*
* The Spanish came to the American southwest seeking silver and gold, but found little or none. Convinced the tribes claimed and worked mines secretly, the Spanish tortured and murdered the Indians, seeking treasure that did not exist. They accomplished nothing except to earn an undying hatred for the white man that spanned centuries.
12
“It looks good the rest of the way,” Gil said when he returned to the drive. “No bluffs, bad canyons, and no Indian sign. We’ll push on, even if we wind it up in the dark.”
“Bueno,” said Ramon.
“Is better than dry camp.”
Nobody disagreed with that. They redoubled their efforts, secure in the knowledge they wouldn’t go over an unexpected bluff or canyon rim in their haste. The sun left them in purple shadow and then in twilight as the night birds began tuning up. Gil heard a shout from somewhere far ahead, and before he had time to ponder the reason, he knew. The longhorns, already in a lope, surged ahead. The water was near! The drag riders were galloping their horses. Gil tugged his hat brim lower, trying to protect his eyes. Dust filtered through his bandanna, tickling his nose and lying gritty on his tongue. Rosa galloped her horse next to his, and she seemed oblivious to the dust. Her old hat rode her shoulders, secured by a leather thong under her chin. Her dark hair had grown long, and streamed in the wind. She laughed, her face a muddy mask; she hadn’t even bothered with her bandanna. Gil had scarcely thought of her all day, but he did now. She seemed more the woman than ever, more beautiful than the last time he’d looked at her, and his feelings surged anew. The tag end of the herd began to slow, a sure sign the leaders had reached water. There would be little for the riders to do, except, as the animals drank, moving them away so that the rest could water. Mariposa and Estanzio had wisely guided the horse remuda far enough from the spring to avoid the expected rush by the longhorns. While the horses watered from the very end of the runoff, the steers fought each other for access to what was left. The riders wouldn’t even dismount until the last thirsty animal had drunk its fill and settled down to graze.
“It’s already dark,” said Van, “but after the day we’ve had, we purely need some hot coffee and hot grub. Do we risk a supper fire?”
“Only if it’s well-concealed,” Gil replied, “and we douse it soon as the grub’s done. I didn’t see any Injun sign, but that’s when they’re the most dangerous.”
Nobody wasted any time. Once they had eaten, the first watch rode out to circle the herd. Gil and the rest of the second watch rolled into their blankets for what sleep they could get. As usual, Mariposa and Estanzio were with the horse remuda. When the second watch took over at midnight, there had been no sign of trouble, not even the mournful cry of a coyote.
“I reckon I ought to of taken first watch,” said Van. “I been layin’ there awake listenin’ for two-legged coyotes.”
“Perhaps you are not hearing them because they are not there,” said Rosa.
“With Indians,” said Gil, “it works almost exactly the opposite. Think. We’ve had no real Indian trouble since crossing the Pecos, before we reached El Paso. Those were Comanches. Here, we have not only the Chiricahua Apaches, but the Papago as well, and there may be others I’m not aware of. The truth is, we’re overdue for a visit from one of these tribes, and if we don’t hear from them tonight, it’ll increase the possibility of ’em showing up tomorrow night, or the night after.”
“I purely hate sittin’ around waitin’ for somebody to come after my hair,” Van said. “I’d as soon they come on and be done with it.”
“When they come,” Rosa asked, “will it be for the cows, the horses, or us? The poor man whose bones are back there in the valley, we know he had no cows, and he might not have had a horse either.”
“I doubt Indians will be concerned with the long-horns,” Gil said, “unless they’re in cahoots with Comancheros from below the border. If we have anything they want, it’ll be the horses or our scalps, I reckon.”
“I am thankful we have Mariposa and Estanzio with the horses,” Rosa said. “Now we must only be concerned with them getting the longhorns or us.”
“They may stampede the horses and the longhorns first,” said Gil, “and take advantage of the confusion to pick off some of us. Remember, the horse remuda we leave alone. Mariposa and Estanzio will do what can be done, and if they can’t hold them, then neither could the rest of us, even if we could get there in time. Besides, it’s our job to try and hold the longhorns, even if the horses stampede. We may not even be able to do that if they hit both herds at once. If we can’t hold the herd, it’ll be impossible to head them in the dark. Don’t endanger yourself or your horse.”
The moon set in the small hours of the morning, and the stars attempted to follow its example, as they receded into the purple vastness of the heavens. The attack came totally without warning, riders hitting the horse remuda and the longhorn herd simultaneously. Indians, screeching like demons, rode with a left leg across the pony’s back, a left arm around its neck. There simply were no targets at which to shoot.
Rosa’s horse began to pitch, and then lit out running. She thought Van was behind her, and as she turned to look, a powerful arm swept her out of the saddle. There was the mingled smells of buckskin, sweat, wood smoke, and stale grease. She fought to free herself, and her struggle brought a mighty blow to the side of her head. Van had drawn his Colt, but so concerned was he with Rosa’s danger, he wasn’t aware of his own. A heavy war club crashed against the back of his head, and he would have been flung headlong out of the saddle had a brawny arm not caught him. The Indian riders continued to ride with the running herd for another hundred yards. Then they swung away into the night, taking their silent captives with them.
The first two riders Gil encountered in the darkness were Mariposa and Estanzio. Mariposa had taken a blow to the head, and both had taken severe blows to their pride. This time they hadn’t accounted for any of their attackers, and they’d lost a big chunk of the horse remuda.
“We ride,” said Estanzio grimly. “We kill. Find horse.”
“Soon as it’s light enough to see,” said Gil.
Slowly the outfit came together. Nobody had been seriously hurt, but Van and Rosa were gone. Had they been taken prisoner, or did they lie wounded or dead somewhere in the darkness? Gil found one prospect just as unacceptable as the other, and the time that remained until first light seemed forever. In the first gray light of dawn, they found Van’s hat and Colt, and a confusion of different trails. The stampede had run south.
“We’ll follow the stampede for a while,” said Gil. “These coyotes split up after the attack, but I’m gambling they’ll come together somewhere to the south.”
Following the unshod horses wasn’t difficult, and it was Estanzio and Mariposa who came up with the grim news.
“Two horse,” said Estanzio, pointing to the tracks. “Each carry double.”
None of the attackers had been unhorsed, and with two Indian mounts carrying double, there was but one obvious conclusion.
“The bastards took Van and Rosa,” said Gil. “Let’s ride!”
When Van came to his senses, he had no trouble deciding where he was. When he moved his head, it brushed against the rough hide of a tepee. He at first thought a war dance was going on outside, and then decided the drum was in his head. His hands were bound behind him, and his shoulders ached from the strain. He opened his eyes, and in the gloom he could see a very disheveled Rosa.
“Why’n hell didn’t you stay at Bandera Ranch?” he growled.
“What does it matter?” she replied. “Are you blaming the attack on me?”
“No,” he responded grudgingly, “but without you here, I might be able to escape.”
“Because I am a woman you are quick to weigh me and find me wanting,” she said. “As I rode to catch up to the trail drive, I was captured by Indians, and I took care of myself.”
“How did you escape?”
“I killed one and outrode the others,” she said.
“This time you won’t,” he said.
“What do you think they will do with us?”
“Right now,” said Van, “I reckon they’re rounding up as many horses as they can. We’re their insurance against attack. They don’t doubt the rest of the outfit will come looking for us, but they don’t dare try anything in daylight. They’ll be forced to wait for darkness.”
“So we are safe until then?”
“No,” said Van. “I look for them to have some fun with us. They could strip us, stake us out, and do some
things best left unsaid. Or they could just beat us half to death. Not just for their pleasure, of course. They can’t be sure we’re not part of a foolish outfit that will come galloping to save us in broad daylight. Don’t you reckon Gil would come stormin’ in here, his Colt blazing, if he saw some Indian about to have his way with you?”
“I do not know,” she said in a small voice.
“Well, I know,” said Van. “When it comes to a woman, a man’s a fool.”
“Does that include you? You fought a dozen outlaws for Dorinda.”
“Yeah,” he said, “that includes me.”
As Gil had expected, the various trails began to converge a dozen miles south of the spring. The Apaches had a camp somewhere, and they were bound for it. While the attackers had separated, once they came together, they made no effort to conceal their trail. Gil didn’t see that as a good sign. Was this band so large that they had no fear of whatever retribution the Texans might attempt? Once the individual trails had begun coming together, Mariposa and Estanzio had counted more than twenty riders. There might be twice or three times that number in the camp, Gil thought grimly. The Texans, fewer in number, would be forced to wait for darkness before attempting any rescue. In the interval, Gil didn’t like to think about what might be done to Van and Rosa. Within several miles after leaving camp, the riders had begun seeing groups of grazing longhorns, but few horses.
“The varmints is after the hosses,” said Long John.
That appeared to be the case. It would buy some time for Van and Rosa, Gil hoped. Eventually they met a bunch of more than a hundred longhorns, plodding along, bawling dismally.
“They be returning to water,” said Ramon.
It was true. Following a stampede, the longhorns sought the nearest water, whether it be ahead or behind. In this case, it would be the spring where their camp had been. The brutes would practically gather themselves. All the outfit had to do was free Van and Rosa, recover the horses, and somehow escape with their lives. Gil’s silence and the hard line of his jaw set the mood, and the outfit rode on.
The California Trail Page 16