“Sergeant Gannon,” said Norris, “show these folks the store. The post as well, if they wish to see it. Lieutenant Maynard has been in the field more than I have. You’ll accompany us, Lieutenant.”
Gil followed Captain Norris and Lieutenant Maynard through the orderly room and into the post commander’s office. Norris took a seat behind his desk, nodding Gil and Lieutenant Maynard toward a pair of cane-bottom, ladder-back chairs.
“I envy you, Austin,” said Captain Norris. “This thing, this trail drive, is one hell of an adventure. I expect it forces a man to become all he can become, pushing him to the brink.”
Gil grinned. “You don’t always stop there. I’ve been over it a few times.”
Briefly Gil mentioned their Indian trouble, the fight with the Clanton outlaws, and the latest attack by Mexican rustlers. When Gil spoke of their killing four of the Guiterro gang, Captain Norris whistled long and low. Lieutenant Maynard leaned forward, his hands on his knees.
“Guiterro and his bunch are the most hated men in these parts,” said Captain Norris. “They’re wanted for murder and horse stealing all over southern California. My God, what the law in San Diego wouldn’t give to get its hands on that gang.”
“Now there’s only ten of them,” Gil said. “Why not take some men and track them down?”
“Easier said than done,” Norris replied. “Tell him, Lieutenant.”
“Guiterro and his bunch are holed up twenty-five miles south of here,” Lieutenant Maynard said. “It’s a box canyon called Poza de Arvizo, near the Rio Colorado. It’s a fortress, in some of the wildest country in Mexico, with plenty of water, grass, and walls of overhanging solid rock. Why, you couldn’t root ’em out of there with an army. We can’t touch the bastards anyway, thanks to the misguided Yankee liberals in Washington. They’re hell-bent on us honorin’ Mexico’s borders, because after the war, we’ve forced Mexico to honor ours.”
There was a knock on the door, and Lieutenant Maynard opened it to find Sergeant Gannon there. Behind him stood Van, Rosa, and Pedro.
“Gunfire to the south, sir,” said Gannon.
“Sorry, Captain,” said Gil as he leaped to his feet. “My men are out there.”
Gannon stepped aside as Gil and his companions ran for their horses.
“Sergeant Gannon,” said Captain Norris, “this may be the Guiterro gang. Saddle horses for the lieutenant and me. Then mount and lead the second platoon after us at a fast gallop.”
Gil, Van, Rosa, and Pedro kicked their horses into a run. To the south, far down the Colorado, they could see two tiny, fast-moving horsemen. Behind them, gaining, came a band of other riders, firing as they rode.
“Madre de Dios!” Rosa cried. “It is the outlaws! They are after Bo and Long John!”
“Reckon it’s time we was ridin’ back,” said Long John, checking the time by the sun.
“Past time,” said Bo. “I think we have enough fish for everybody at the fort too.”
But at that point, Bo and Long John forgot all about fishing. Around a bend in the Colorado, from the south, came ten riders! Already they were firing their pistols, although they weren’t quite in range. Bo and Long John ran for their horses, leaped into their saddles and kicked their mounts into a fast gallop. Their only chance lay in reaching their outfit, more than five miles upriver.
With the first distant rattle of gunfire, the riders who had remained with the herd were on their feet, running for their horses.
“No saddles!” Ramon shouted. “There is no time!”
He kicked his horse into a fast gallop, followed by Mariposa, Estanzio, Juan Alamonte, Manual Armijo, Domingo Chavez, Vicente Gomez, and Juan Padillo. They pounded down the east bank of the Colorado until far down the river, headed toward them, they could see Long John and Bo riding for their lives. West of them, thundering down the hill from the fort, came Gil, Van, Rosa, and Pedro, followed by Captain Norris and Lieutenant Maynard. Within minutes Sergeant Gannon and his platoon would be in the saddle. But none of the rescuers were in time, and in horror they watched the tragedy unfold.
Bo was in the lead, Long John a few yards behind. When the Cajun’s horse was hit, the animal’s cry was almost human. Bo turned at the sound and saw Long John roll out of his saddle. By the time the Cajun was on his feet, the outlaws had drawn closer and lead began kicking up dust. In the face of it all, Bo turned his horse and galloped toward Long John. The Cajun caught Bo’s outstretched hand, leaping astride the horse, behind the little cowboy. But the outlaw fire became more intense, and a slug caught Bo in the chest with such force, Long John felt the shock of it. His left arm holding the hard-hit cowboy in the saddle, the Cajun grabbed the reins with his right hand before Bo lost them. Long John wheeled the horse, kicking it into a hard run. A slug burned the animal’s flank, another tore Long John’s hat away, while a third left a bloody gash above his right ear.
The eight riders who had been with the horses and longhorns now rode at a fast gallop along the east bank of the Colorado, while Gil and his riders, closely followed by the soldiers, galloped along the west bank. Faced with such formidable opposition, the Mexican outlaws reined up, turned their horses and fled south.
“We’ll pursue them!” shouted Captain Norris.
Gil and his riders splashed across the Colorado, riding back to their camp. Long John was already there, kneeling beside Bo, whose eyes were closed. Blood welled from a terrible wound in his bare chest. Rosa, blinded by tears, all but fell from the saddle, and the riders who had gathered around made room for her. Kneeling, the girl took one of Bo’s hands in both of hers. Gil and Van were right behind her. Bo coughed, and there was bloody froth on his lips. It was the end of the trail, and they all knew it. Suddenly the little rider’s eyes opened and, painfully, he spoke his last words.
“Amigos . . . the star grows . . . dim . . .”
His eyes remained open, but they were empty, for the soul had departed and gone to its maker. The silence that followed was ghastly, broken only by Rosa’s sobbing. Gil led the girl away. Ramon brought a blanket and gently covered Bo. Mariposa and Estanzio stood looking toward the south, murder in their eyes. But most of the riders had turned their attention to Long John. The Cajun spoke not a word, and the look in his eyes was a mix of unspeakable grief and killing rage. Slowly, wearily, he got to his feet, and when he did finally speak, his words were cold, deadly.
“One o’ ye kindly fetch the saddle off’n my dead hoss. I got me some ridin’ t’ do.”
“Long John,” said Gil quietly, “Bo was one of us, and his killers will pay, but we’ll go after them as an outfit. Throwing your life away won’t help Bo. We’re just an hour away from sundown, and I want Bo to have a decent burying before we ride after his killers. One of the officers at the fort knows where those outlaws are holed up, somewhere south of here. We’ll go after them at first light, and I promise you, they’ll die.”
Long John stood there looking forlornly across the Rio Colorado, his lean jaw set hard, clenching and unclenching his fists. Far down the river, Gil saw Captain Norris and his soldiers returning. He had no doubt they had given up pursuit at the border, and when they rode in, Norris confirmed it.
“We couldn’t follow them into Mexico,” he said.
“But we can,” Gil replied, “and we will, tomorrow at first light. Right now we have a buryin’ to do, and we’ll need the loan of some digging tools.”
“I can do better than that,” said Captain Norris. “Decide where you want the grave, and I’ll send you a burial detail. For that matter, why don’t you let us bury him with military honors? I’ve never seen a more courageous act under enemy fire.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Gil said. “I believe Bo would have liked that.”
Captain Norris acted quickly. There was a wooden coffin in the fort’s supply room, and while it wasn’t fancy, it was more than most cowboys had when they played out their string. The burial detail dug the grave beneath a sheltering oak on a slope above the western
bank of the Rio Colorado, within sight of the fort. As the last rays of the westering sun turned the river to liquid gold, the Argentine cowboy they knew only as Bo was laid to rest. When the coffin had been lowered, six soldiers fired a volley over the grave. From the Bible Captain Norris had provided, Gil tried to read the scripture he had chosen, but was unable to speak. Silently he passed the Bible to Captain Norris, and the officer began to read the Twenty-Third Psalm. When he had finished, he turned to St. John and read a passage from the Fifteenth Chapter.
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
Captain Norris lifted his hand to the bugler at the top of the hill, and the high, lonesome sound of taps filled the twilight. The melancholy refrain rose and fell, rose and fell again, and when it peaked a third time, it seemed to linger, before dying to silence. Gil led the weeping Rosa away, and the others followed, leaving only the burial detail and Long John. Nobody waited to see the grave filled, except the Cajun, and it seemed he wished to etch the macabre scene in his mind. Once the trio of soldiers had filled the grave, they took their shovels and started back to the fort. Only then did Long John approach the grave.
Estanzio and Mariposa had not gone to the burying, but had remained with the horses. Captain Norris rode back to the Texans’ camp, and Gil suspected he had something on his mind. When they had dismounted, Rosa turned and looked at the distant slope where they’d buried Bo.
“Madre de Dios,” cried Rosa, “it grows dark, and Long John is still there. We must find a way to help him.”
“Nothin’ we can say or do will ease his grief,” Gil said. “He’s better off where he is, than ridin’ after those Mex killers by his lonesome, and that’s what he had in mind. But it’s a job for all of us, and we’ll ride at first light.”
“God knows, I’d like to help you,” said Captain Norris, “and perhaps I can, but it’s against regulations, and I could be court-martialed. I’d need a vow of silence from you.”
“You have it,” Gil said.
“You’d need artillery to run that bunch out of that canyon stronghold, but lacking that, there may be another way. We have some canisters of black powder. Lieutenant Maynard and Sergeant Gannon are skilled in its use, and they believe a few well-placed charges can bring those canyon rims down like the Walls of Jericho. With your permission and vow of silence, Maynard and Gannon wish to ride with you. They will not be in uniform, but will become part of your outfit for the duration of this maneuver.”
“A flagrant violation of regulations,” Gil said.
“Yes,” Captain Norris agreed. “The three of us could end up kicked out of the army, building time in a federal juzgado—they, for going with you, and yours truly for allowing them to.”
“I’d be honored to have them ride with us,” Gil said, “and we’ll say or do nothing to endanger their career or yours.”
Long John Coons stood in the gathering darkness, looking down at the new-made grave. Never in his checkered life had he cared a damn about anyone but himself. The little rider from the Argentine had been the only friend Long John had ever had. Now Bo was gone, and the Cajun didn’t know what to do with his grief. He lifted his eyes to the evening star. For a reason he didn’t understand, and in a voice that didn’t sound like his own, he spoke.
“Bo said they’s a range somewher’ beyon’ the stars, wher’ the grass is always green, the skies is always blue, an’ the water runs cool an’ deep. I know I ain’t good ’nough t’ go, an’ I won’t never be, but Bo said it ain’t up t’ us. If n we go ther’, it’s by faith, an’ if we got the faith, then it’s the Almighty’s way o’ tellin’ us He put His brand on us ’fore we was borned. Bo believed, an’ he’s on that range t’night. I got nothin’ t’ offer, ’cept the same faith Bo had. The faith that somewher’ beyon’ the sky, Bo an’ me will meet agin, that we’ll saddle up an’ ride that golden range.”
A strange feeling of peace crept over Long John. It seemed a burden had been lifted, that something cold and hard within him had released its merciless grip. The tears came unbidden, and Long John couldn’t have withheld them if he’d tried. For the first time in all his years, Long John bowed his head and wept. . . .
To Gil had fallen the sad task of going through Bo’s few belongings, and he had spread a blanket near the fire for that purpose. He was so engaged when Long John finally returned.
“I have saved your supper, Long John,” said Rosa.
Silently Long John accepted the tin plate and sat cross-legged on the ground to eat. He was watching Gil, who soon became uncomfortable.
“This is something you should be doing, Long John,” Gil said.
“Don’t make no diff’rence,” Long John said. “I ain’t askin’ but one thing. I want Bo’s Colt.”
Gil handed him the weapon, and Long John slipped it under his belt with his own extra Colt. Except for Bo’s few clothes, there was nothing in his saddlebags except a worn King James Bible and the strange leather-thonged, iron ball bola.
“I wish to keep the bola,” said Rosa.
“Rosa,” said Gil, “Long John—”
“I got no use fer it,” Long John interrupted.
Finally Gil opened a little leather bag, emptying its contents onto the blanket. It had held the few items they’d taken from Bo’s pockets. There was most of the money Gil had given Bo in Tucson, and a few coins. Rosa’s eyes were red and her grief still strong, but she knelt beside Gil. Two of the coins were not coins at all, and Rosa took them. Van, Ramon, Juan Padillo, and some of the other riders had gathered around. Rosa handed Gil one of the objects, which looked like a large silver coin, and he held it up to the firelight.
“Looks like a birthdate on this side,” Gil said. “It’s April fourth, 1810.” He turned it over.
“It is the star he spoke of,” said Rosa, peering at it.
“There’s an inscription beneath it,” said Gil, “and it’s in Spanish. Read it, Rosa.”
Taking the silver disk, she read: “Destino en Cristo eterno.“*
“If’n ye don’t mind,” said Long John, “I’d mighty like t’ have that.”
Gil nodded, and Rosa passed the big silver coin to Long John, who let it drop into his shirt pocket. The second coinlike object that had caught Rosa’s attention was as large as the first, but it was some kind of medal, its golden face gleaming dully in the firelight. Gil took it from Rosa, and after looking at both sides, whistled.
“My God,” Gil said, “this is a medal presented by the Queen of England, in 1832. When Bo was twenty-two, he was knighted by the queen!”
“Bo was special,” said Rosa softly, “and we lost him before we really knew him.”
At that point Sergeant Gannon and Lieutenant Maynard rode in, wearing range clothes. They would stay the night, prepared to ride with the outfit in the morning. One of the riders had recovered Long John’s saddle from the dead horse. The Cajun took a blanket from his roll, spread it out, and began cleaning one of his Colts. Finished with that, he cleaned the second one. Finally he cleaned Bo’s, and then fully loaded all three weapons.
“Long John,” Gil said, “we’ll ride at first light. Sergeant Gannon and Lieutenant Maynard will be riding with us. They know where this outlaw hideout is, and they have a plan that could bury those owlhoots under tons of rock.”
“I ain’t wantin’ ’em buried under tons o’ rock,” Long John growled. “I want the murderin’ coyotes gut shot an’ dyin’ slow.”
“They’re goin’ to die,” said Gil, “but they’re forted up in a canyon, and we may have to take them any way we can get them. They’re twenty-five miles south of here, and I want us under way before first light.”
“Damn shame there’s no moon,” Van said, “or we could have gone after them tonight.”
“Sergeant Gannon and Lieutenant Maynard have enough black powder to blow the canyon walls,” said Gil, “and we’ll need daylight to set the charges. Besides, I don’t want any of us killed trying to
sneak in there. This way, there’s no risk.”
“I’m turnin’ in,” said Long John. “Count me fer the second watch.”
The rest of the outfit watched with interest as the Cajun got his bedroll, spread his blankets, and stretched out with his head on his saddle. Long John and Bo had always taken first watch, but tonight was different. In the small hours of the morning Long John would need a horse, and the surest means of getting one without any fuss and bother was to nighthawk on the second watch.
His hand gripping the butt of Bo’s Colt, the Cajun waited for the start of the second watch, and the time when he would ride south. Alone.
Long John’s nighthawking companions were Gil, Rosa, Juan Padillo, Pedro Fagano, and Vicente Gomez. There was no talk. They were all painfully aware of Bo’s absence, and their lack of communication allowed Long John to keep to himself.
It was Rosa who first missed Long John, and spoke to Gil. “He has gone after the outlaws!” she cried.
Gil spoke to the rest of the nighthawks, and even to Mariposa and Estanzio, but none of them had seen Long John for a while. A long while, Gil suspected. Rosa was probably right. Long John, damn his stubborn Cajun hide, had ridden downriver to face Perra Guiterro and his outlaws alone. Gil quickly awakened the riders from the first watch, along with Sergeant Gannon and Lieutenant Maynard.
“Long John’s gone after those outlaws,” Gil said. “Van, I want you, Rosa, Ramon, Juan Padillo, Mariposa, and Estanzio to remain here. The rest of you, saddle and let’s ride. We may already be too late.”
“I wish to go with you,” Rosa cried. “I am afraid for Long John.”
“So am I,” Gil said, “but whatever he aims to do, he’ll have done by the time we get there. I want you here; I have enough to concern me.”
Before she could respond to that, he led out, followed by eight fighting men, including Sergeant Gannon and Lieutenant Maynard. Since the military duo knew where the outlaw stronghold was, they just followed the Colorado. Gil had set the pace, riding at a fast gallop. When they reined up to rest their weary horses, the first rosy rays of dawn were touching the eastern sky. Suddenly there were three shots, a pause, and then two more.
The California Trail Page 27