Slowly, Mac dismounted and helped Susan to the ground. "No use killin' our horses. We've a long ride ahead of us. Let's fix some grub."
"You fix it," Dal said. "I'm going to scout around."
Mac Traven walked inside and looked around. He felt sick and empty. Ma, pa, ... Gretchen. Even Jesse. All gone. What kind of a man was this Ashford, if he was the one behind this?
The house looked smaller than he remembered, but there were still curtains in the windows and the rag rugs ma used to make. They had not taken those.
He got out a frying pan and sliced bacon into it. He looked around when Susan came in. "I'm sorry about your dog."
"He was a good dog, Susan. Never bothered anybody. He helped us a lot with the cattle. I never knew him to bite anybody, but I guess when those men grabbed my sister he tried to make a fight."
"What will you do?"
"Go after them, Susan. We will have to go after them."
Dal came in through the open door. "There's a light in the window over at the Wyatts'. When I topped the rise west of here I could just make it out."
"The way their house sets down in the hollow they might have missed it. If Aunt Maddy is over there that might be a good place for Susan to stay."
Susan looked at him, and tears came into her eyes. "You will leave me?"
"Have to, Susan. We've got to chase after those men, and when we catch up there will be shooting. It will be no place for a little girl.
"But you'll love Aunt Maddy. She's not really our aunt, but everybody calls her that. There's only one trouble with it."
Dal looked around from where he was pulling off his boots. "What's that? Aunt Maddy's a great old girl."
Mac looked very serious. "If we leave Susan there we won't know her when we get back. The way Aunt Maddy likes to cook she'll have Susan so fatted up we won't know her. She'd be round as a pumpkin!"
"I would not!"
"Maddy Wyatt sets a good table. She's never so happy as when she's feeding somebody. She likes to bake an' cook, and she's always putting up jars of fruit, vegetables, whatever."
"They're travellin' fast, Mac. Looks to me like they're just hittin' the high spots close to their line of travel. I'd say they're headed for Mexico, and I know that was in Ashford's thinkin'. Go there, build up their strength, and come back."
"He's crazy! The South has had enough of war. So has the North."
"Not according to him, Mac. He's a fanatic. He'll stop at nothing."
"Dal?" When his brother looked up he said, "Dal, what about Kate?"
Chapter Four.
"I've been thinkin' about her. Maybe we should ride into town?"
Mac shook his head. "There's no time, Dal. We'll stop by Maddy's and see if she can take care of Susan. If all's well and she can, then we'll just have to leave word. We're three or four days behind now."
At daybreak they rolled out of their blankets and picked up what they needed. Dal fixed the door and they fastened it shut to keep the weather out.
Maddy Wyatt was in the doorway shading her eyes at them when they came down the slope into the hollow where her ranch-house stood. Aunt Maddy Wyatt was fair, fat, and forty ... or maybe fifty. She had a wide, friendly smile, rosy cheeks, and a booming laugh.
"Recognized you! I says to myself there's nobody sets a saddle like them Traven boys! Has to be them! And what a relief you're here now. Light an' set!"
"Can't, Maddy. We're ridin' after our folks. What happened here?"
"I don't rightly know what happened at your place. I was out in the brush huntin' a sertin hen that had laid her eggs out yonder when I heard shootin'. I figured it was Injuns, so I fetched my Sharps and bellied down in the ol' rifle-pit up yonder. Sure enough, they come around.
"There was seven of them, mostly in parts of uniforms, but no proper sojers. I know sojers when I see 'em, an' one time or another, I've knowed a-plenty.
"They come down the slope yonder, and I let the ol' Sharps lack dirt in front of them. They pulled up quick, and I got me an idea then they wasn't lookin' for a fight. They wanted all they could git but without a fight.
"They hollered at me but I made 'em no answer. Let 'em worry. I didn't want 'em to know I was a woman alone or that there was only one of me. That ol' rifle-pit was well dug, an' I had me a way out from behind and down into the canyon and the trees behind, an' a good field of fire.
"They hollered an' I said nothin', but when they moved again I put a bullet at one's head. Sorry it was, but I missed. Burned him. Maybe got his ear - I saw some blood on the ground after. Anyway, they taken off.
"I'd had a chance to bunch my stock into the brush, and they could see nothin' worth takin', and they decided it was no use gettin' somebody killed.
"Later, I fetched my horse an' scouted your place. The tracks told me there was a passel of 'em and sure enough, they'd caught your folks by surprise. They shot up your pa real bad and left him for dead. Your ma's taken him to the doctor in Austin. They wounded Jesse, too, but took him along, and they got your sister, Gretchen. They just threw 'em in the back of a wagon with other girls they'd been pickin' up in their raidin'."
Aunt Maddy glanced at Dal. "They had Kate, too. Frank Kenzie tried to put up a fight, but -"
"Kenzie? How's he figure in this?"
"Well," Aunt Maddy glanced at him, "you was reported dead. Ever'body said you'd been killed. Kenzie started comin' around. He's got himself a nice place over east of here, and he was huntin' a wife. He was sparkin' Kate."
Dal swore and spat.
"You can't blame her. You've been gone four years and was supposed to be dead. What's a girl to do?"
"She could wait. She could have give me a chance to get home."
"A dead man? No woman who's as much woman as Kate is going to want a ghost. She wants a man. Not that I'd say Frank Kenzie shaped up alongside of you, but around these parts a girl can't pick an' choose."
"What happened?" Mac demanded.
"Kenzie tried to stop 'em, and one of them slapped him with a six-shooter alongside the head. He taken it an' kept comin', so he was hit a couple of more times. They broke his arm and laid his scalp open and just rode off with Kate."
"Can you take care of Susan for us? She'll tell you what happened. She's the girl of a man I fought alongside."
"Susan? You just bet I will! Mighty lonesome around here sometimes. Susan, you just get down and come in. I got a special room for you, and I've got a barrel of cookies in yonder. Well, most of a barrel, anyway."
Mac caught Susan's hand and squeezed it. "You help Aunt Maddy now. We'll bring your mother back or know the reason why."
Mac led the way south at a spanking trot. It was a country of rolling hills, the grass green with springtime, and the hills were dotted with clumps of oak.
Later, when watering their horses at a stream, Dal commented, "Wished I had me one o' them Blakeslee Quick-Loaders like you've got. The two of us could fight a war."
"We'll keep our eyes open. Maybe we can find some soldier bound for home who needs a dollar or a drink."
Since the renegades had kept from main trails, hiding in the hills and moving steadily south, they saw travellers only occasionally. Each time they came upon a camp, Mac and Dal studied it with care.
"Six or seven, maybe eight women along," Mac said, "and they keep 'em bunched up and under guard. Whatever he plans to do with them he's not letting them be molested now.
"See here?" Dal indicated several tracks around a separate fire. "Their tracks are plain enough. See the heels? And over here's where a guard was settin'. You can see his heel marks there and where his rifle butt rested on the ground."
"We've gained on 'em," Mac commented. "I figure we're less than three days behind them. Maybe only two."
"Ashford's a soldier, we can't be forgettin' that. He will be havin' a rear-guard out, especially as he will expect to be chased by somebody. We've got to ride mighty careful. Be just like him to set up an ambush."
"That there," Mac co
mmented, "looks like Jesse's track with the women. See here? He had that busted spur, always hung a little lower than the other. There's the mark of that spur."
"It's been four years," Dal said, "but that surely looks like his track. At least he's up an' around. He'll be watchin' his chance - we know that. I just hope he doesn't take too much risk until we get close up to help."
In the gray of morning they rode west along a deep draw and topped out several miles from the trail. From the ridge Mac used the field glasses he'd brought back from the War.
"Nothin'," he said, "but I say we ride wide of the trail."
They made coffee over a small fire in a hollow under some trees. Neither felt like talking. "I'm dead for sleep," Dal said. "You take first watch?"
Mac Traven was tired. He added a few small sticks to the fire and taking his rifle walked up on the knoll to look around. The night was very still, not a breath of wind. He looked off to the south. Sound could carry a long way on such a night but they were much too far away. Still ...
The stars were very bright. He listened, ears straining for the slightest sound.
Somewhere off to the south a coyote talked to the night, protesting his loneliness to the stars. Mac got up and walked to a leaning tree, standing beside it.
He reviewed in his mind what they knew of the attack on their family and ranch. There was more to this than had appeared. The man who had wounded Dal had been riding Ranch Baby, and Dal had said the man who shot him had known he was shooting at Traven, so he must have taken part in the raid on the ranch.
Perhaps the man had had a falling-out with Ashford and had set off on his own when his trail crossed Dal's. There might be others splintering off from Ashford and his crowd, other men eager to kill any Traven who could connect them to the attack on the ranch.
There was trouble in Texas. Further east the Regulators and the Moderators were killing each other, with almost nightly shootings. The Comanches had been raiding, and bandits along the border and from the Neuces country had been raiding ranches, stealing horses and cattle, and generally taking advantage of the fact that most of the young men who might oppose them were still not home from the War.
The Rangers, and there were too few of them, would have their hands full.
Asking help from the sheriff would have been a waste of time, as he did no more than he had to and was no friend to the Travens, anyway. Whatever was done they must do themselves.
On cat feet, he scouted around the camp, pausing to listen several times, and then glancing at the Big Dipper to see what time it was, he went back into the hollow. The pot was on the fire, and he poured a cup. The night was growing cold. He sipped his coffee slowly. This was the time they should all be working, trying to get the place in shape and brand what cattle were running loose. Times were bad, and they were not going to become financially secure without a lot of hard work. There was no way pa and Jesse could have kept up with the increase in cattle. Branding on the open range was a long, hard job, with much riding. If Kate was still free she and Dal would be setting up for themselves, and Dal would have a share coming.
Mac walked back to the fire and sat down in the shadows facing it. He did not stare into the flames, knowing it would take too long for his eyes to adjust to sudden darkness if someone came up on them. He leaned back against a tree, the Spencer across his lap.
What about pa and ma? He would have felt more comfortable if he and Dal could have taken the time to ride up to Austin to see how pa was recovering. It had to be tough on them, the attack on the ranch, pa getting shot up, not knowing what would become of Jesse and Gretchen, and them thinking Dal was dead too. But he knew that they had made the right decision to keep following Ashford's trail.
The first consideration was to free the captives before they reached Mexico, if possible. Yet what could the two of them do? The camp would be well guarded, and some of the men in that camp were probably as good at scouting as either he or Dal.
"We could use some help," he muttered, half aloud. "We surely could."
But who would help? Maddy had said Kenzie had a broken arm and did not seem too eager, anyway. None of the others had acted like they wished to be involved in any way. Some of them did not like him because he had elected to fight for the Union, and a lot of the people around town now were strangers. Newcomers had been drifting in since the War, without ties to the community. In the old days one man's trouble was trouble for all, and all pitched in and helped no matter whether it was an Indian fight, a barn raising, or a buffalo hunt.
He added fuel to the fire, moved back into the trees, and listened to the night ... all was still. It was time he called Dal to take over, but his mind was in no condition for sleep. There were too many problems.
When they came up with the renegades they must first scout the camp. His field glasses would help in that, but he must use them with care and never when a reflection might be seen. If they could study the layout, there was a chance they might Injun into camp, free the girls, and get away.
Seven or eight girls? No chance. One of them would bump against something, fall, gasp or something. It would be the same with seven or eight men. The odds were against easing that many out of camp. One, even two, but not seven.
From the tracks he had observed, the girls all seemed to be riding in the wagon.
Cut the wagon out and get away with it? Maybe when the marchers were all scattered out? There would be times, there always were on such treks, when going over a hill, through a draw, or something when most of the men would be out of sight of the wagon. That was something to be hoped for, but one could not plan that way.
Some of the men with Ashford were guerillas of the type who rode with Quantrill or Bloody Bill Anderson - bad men, but good as any Injun when it came to working rough country in a fight.
He walked over and checked the horses. All was quiet. The horses were in good shape, and he and Dal would push hard today, closing the gap.
He went to another tree, further from the fire, and sat down. A voice spoke from the blankets. "What's the matter? You want to be on watch all night?"
"Figured you were tired."
"I'm tired, but so are you. Come on now, you get some sleep. You ought to know I always wake up on time."
Mac walked to his blankets and sat down, pulling off his boots, then his gun belt and spare pistol. His hat beside him, his head on his saddle, he looked up at the stars through the leaves. There was too much to think about, and he was never going to get to sleep. Dal might just as well have ...
He opened his eyes to the smell of coffee and the sound of a crackling fire. He sat up abruptly. Dal was at the fire and glanced over at him, his eyes twinkling. "I'd say for a man who wasn't tired you did a mighty good job of sleeping."
Mac shook out his boots to dislodge any stray scorpions, lizards, or tarantulas that might have taken refuge during the night.
He slung on his gun belt and walked down to the trickle of water beside which they had camped and splashed water on his face. He squatted beside the branch and after a minute, splashed more cold water on his eyes and rinsed his hands, then flipped the water from his face with his fingers and wiped his fingers dry on his pants.
"Coffee and bread," Dal said. "We've got to come up with some rations, partner."
"You're telling me? My stomach thinks my throat's been cut." He bit off a piece of the bread and took a swallow of the black coffee. "We're going to close in on them tonight. I've had enough of this. We've got to get that wagon away from them when all the girls are in it."
"Take some doin'. And hard to get away, after."
"You thought about something? Happy Jack Traven had a place down thisaway."
"When he was out of jail."
"I think maybe we could use him. He had friends among all them Neuces outlaws, too. Remember? He was always takin' up for them, feedin' 'em, hidin' 'em from time to time? We could use some help."
A pebble rattled among the rocks, and Dal rolled over behind a f
allen tree. Mac's Spencer slid forward.
"Nice of you boys to remember me, an' that coffee sure smells good!"
Happy Jack Traven wore a battered black hat and a smile on a face seamed by sun, wind, and years. "Mac? Put down that gun. You wouldn't be shootin' an old man, would you?"
"Come in an' set. You'll never get old, Jack. You're too mean. Where'd you steal that horse?"
"Now, Mac, that's unkind. You know I never stole no horse unless I needed him. This here's one your pappy give me."
Chapter Five.
"How did you find us?"
"Been watchin' for you. Your ma sent word about what happened at your place. You didn't think I was goin' to tackle that outfit all by myself, did you? I said to myself, says I, Them boys will come a high-tailin' it after their sister, an' they'll surely need help. So I been settin' an' waitin' while sort of keepin' track of that outfit."
"How far ahead are they?"
"Last night, about two days. Looks to me like they've taken a notion to go over to the Gulf Coast. At least, they've changed direction. Turned almost at right angles just after some gent rode into their camp on a paint pony. He was not a stranger to them, either. He just rode right in and went straight to the boss-man."
"I figured they were at least three days ahead."
"They been settin'. I figure they were waitin' for whatever this gent on the paint had to tell them.
"You know, most of those folks down below that border are mighty fine people, but just like with us, there's some that hangin' is too good for. There's folks down there will pay good prices for women, preferably white women, blondes at the top of the list.
"They'll buy men, too, black or white, to work in the mines. They don't let the officials know what's goin' on, or they find one they can pay off. Most of them live far out in the hills, and some are bandits, operatin' both sides of the border. I figure that's where they're headed for."
"Why would they head for the Gutf Coast?"
"Only thing that makes sense is that they figure to meet a ship over there. You know there's some fellers around who were smuggling slaves in through the bayous to New Orleans and the like. With the end of the War they're out of business, unless they find something else. They'll stop at nothing.
the Shadow Riders (1982) Page 3