All Guns Blazing

by Doug Thorne

  That was when his horse went out from under him.

  By the greatest ill-fortune the animal stepped into a prairie-dog hole, and with a loud cracking of bone crashed forward, mane over tail. Carlisle himself was flung in a wide arc, hit the ground hard and rolled, once, twice, maybe a dozen times.

  He knew he was finished for sure, then. He staggered back to his feet, the world spinning before his half-glazed eyes, and stumbled towards the horse, intending to make a grab for his heavy buffalo gun. At the same moment he heard hoof beats behind him, coming fast and rapidly growing louder.

  As he turned around, Hennessy drew level with him, hauled rein, drew his Colt and took aim. Carlisle stared up at him, the breath stuck in his tortured throat. Is this how it went, then, when a man had no hope of rescue? A man like Hennessy came along and shot him dead?

  Carlisle’s eyes went wide as Hennessy fired the gun, and it was a long few seconds before he realized that Hennessy had been aiming at the fallen horse, determined to put the creature out of its misery while he still could.

  Then Hennessy was shoving the weapon away, kicking one foot out of the near-side stirrup and shoving his left hand down toward him. ‘Come on!’

  Knowing it was crazy to do so, Carlisle shook his head. ‘That nag won’t get far, carryin’ double!’

  Hennessy bawled, ‘We ain’t got the time to argue about it!’

  ‘Then git!’

  Hennessy told him what he’d told him earlier. ‘Your choice.’

  Time seemed to suspend itself then, as they looked at each other, with the sound of hard-running Indian ponies and throat-scraping war cries growing closer behind them.

  At last Carlisle moved. He toed in, grabbed Hennessy’s wrist and swung up behind him, and seconds later the horse, gamely carrying double the burden, started ploughing back towards the settlement.

  Arrows zipped after them through the late afternoon air, and the screeching yips and cries of the blood-hungry Indians sounded as if they were coming from right behind them. Hennessy’s horse suddenly stumbled under the double weight and Carlisle shouted, ‘I told you we wouldn’t get far!’

  Hennessy bawled, ‘Shut up!’ He didn’t have the wind to say any more.

  The horse righted itself again, kept going. And now there came a new sound into the mix – a sudden, angry volley of rifle fire.

  Alerted by Bat Masterson, buffalo hunters had answered the call to give the newcomers the covering fire they so desperately needed. Two Indians flew backwards off their horses. Another Indian snapped his neck when one .50-calibre slug ripped through his horse and the animal went down, throwing him.

  Then O’Neal, followed by Hennessy and Carlisle, ran their winded mounts through the crumbling fortifications and into the relative safety of Adobe Walls itself, and more or less poured themselves out of their saddles to stand weak-legged and gasping for air in front of Hanrahan’s saloon.

  As if by mutual consent, the assembled buffalo hunters gave the distant Indians another fusillade just as Billy Dixon and Mike Welch appeared in Hennessy’s line of sight and ushered all three of them into the saloon. ‘By God,’ breathed Billy, ‘you fetched a peck o’ trouble with you! But I’m glad to see you in one piece, Cal.’

  ‘I’m glad to be in one piece.’

  ‘Ketchum’s crew?’ asked Mike.

  Hennessy shook his head. ‘We were too late.’

  ‘They’re retreatin’!’ Bat Masterson yelled from outside.

  Hennessy leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. That figured. The Indians wouldn’t like the odds now, nor the fact that their enemies had better cover than they did. But this thing was going to get worse before it got better. The Indians would try their luck again, sooner or later.

  He heard Jim Mclnnery yelling for the others to cease fire and save their ammunition. A few moments later Adobe Walls fell absolutely silent but for the furious barking of the Scheidler brothers’ Newfoundland dog.

  He opened his eyes again to find Bermuda Carlisle staring at him. The stocky little man was sporting an angry bump on his forehead, an injury he’d picked up when he fell from his horse. ‘Reckon I’d’ve been finished for sure if you hadn’t come back for me,’ he said in his low, gravelly voice. ‘I’m obliged.’

  Hennessy just nodded.

  Billy and Mike, meanwhile, were already thinking ahead. Going back to the doorway, Billy called out, ‘All right, you men, come gather round!’

  All but Jim Mclnnery and Bat Masterson came in to listen to what he had to say. They stayed outside to make sure the Indians didn’t come back. The rest of the men, their blood still up from the recent action, wanted to enjoy their moment of triumph, but Billy had other ideas.

  ‘That wasn’t much of a scrap,’ he began. ‘Wasn’t even big enough to be called a skirmish. But it was sure as hell a taste of what’s still to come.’

  He eyed them all, his expression bleak. ‘Hank an’ them other fellers Cal went to warn, they’re dead. That makes six of us the Indians have accounted for since yest’day – that’s to say, six we know about. So if they’re aimin’ to get us good an’ mad, they’re doin’ quite a job of it.’

  Mike took over. ‘But we ain’t gonna oblige ’em, you men. Hear me? We might hate ’em, and we may hanker to kill ’em to even things up a little. But we ain’t gonna lose our heads over this. We can’t afford to. We got to stay calm, let them make all the mistakes!’

  ‘Let ’em come!’ yelled a man in the crowd. ‘They’ll find gunpower an’ lead awaitin’ ’em!’

  As a cheer rose up from the others, Hennessy thought bleakly, So will we, mister.

  So will we.

  With a heavy heart, Quanah Parker watched his men return to camp and wished there had been more of them. And as he listened to the wailing of the squaws who had all too suddenly become widows, he told himself that, at such a price, today’s victory could hardly be called a victory at all.

  The stern line of his mouth grew tighter still as his hooded eyes moved toward Isatai’s tipi. Had Isatai not said they would be invulnerable to the white man’s bullets? Why, then, had the magic of the Sacred Powers deserted them? Had he, Quanah, done something to displease them? Or had there been something false to Isatai’s claims all along?

  It was, he thought, quite likely. And yet there was the evidence of his own eyes to consider. Eagle Hand had fired a pistol at Isatai, and Isatai’s magic had made the bullet fall harmlessly to the dust. This he had seen for himself.

  He could see also by the triumphant smiles on the faces of Eagle Hand, Windwalker and the others that they shared none of his misgivings. All that mattered to them was that they had finally struck back, and that it was good to have done so.

  ‘Our people have made a fine start, Quanah,’ said Satanta, coming to stand beside him. ‘And yet your expression is one of sorrow. Why do you not celebrate?’

  ‘Because I think of those brothers whose faces I shall not see again,’ Quanah replied simply.

  Satanta shook his head. ‘You think too much, my friend. Sometimes it is all you do. You say you lead the Kwahadis, and yet most of the time you do not lead them at all, but leave such matters to the likes of lsatai. You should take command, as you did when first you sought to burn the white man’s stockade to the ground!’

  Quanah turned on the Kiowa so fast that Satanta flinched, and Lone Wolf, standing nearby, quickly hurried over to prevent a confrontation. ‘I wish no strife with you,’ Quanah said in a low hiss, addressing himself to Satanta. ‘’You are a guest here, an honoured guest. But to take such a tone with me does you no honour. You do not take another man’s hospitality and then fire words like arrows to injure him.’

  ‘That was not my intent,’ Satanta replied stiffly.

  ‘Nevertheless those words do injure,’ said Quanah.

  ‘And for that reason you would be wise not to speak them again.’

  The returning warriors slid from their horses, enjoying their moment. Only then did Isatai appear fro
m the smoky darkness of his tipi. He was completely naked and, as usual, had daubed his skeletal frame from top to toe with ochre-yellow paint.

  As a crowd began to gather around him, he called in a solemn voice, ‘I welcome you home, my brave warriors! You have struck a mighty blow this day! But I see that not all of those warriors who rode out this morning have returned, and this saddens my heart, because it tells me that those who died chose not to believe the assurances of the gods!’

  Hearing that, Quanah stepped forward with a frown. ‘What is that you say, Isatai?’ he demanded.

  Isatai turned to face him, as if only now becoming aware of his presence. ‘It is a question of belief, my chief,’ he explained glibly, still loud enough for his audience to hear. ‘These men – Eagle Hand, Windwalker and all the others you see here before you – they believed the word of the gods and trusted in them … and so they have returned, whole and unharmed.’

  ‘And the rest?’

  ‘Doubters,’ Isatai replied regretfully. ‘They showed no belief, no trust, and were punished for it.’

  Quanah opened his mouth to debate that, but instead said nothing. To argue with the shaman now would be to set his people even harder against him, for the gods and those who spoke for them held more sway than did he, a mere half-breed. He dare not call Isatai’s words into question, and they both knew it.

  Turning his back on Quanah, and dismissing him with the gesture, Isatai once again addressed the crowd. ‘This is but the beginning of a great victory for our people,’ he said. ‘We will strike again and again, until we have driven the hated white man from our lands! This the Sacred Powers have foretold!’

  As a cheer went up from Isatai’s audience, Quanah was reminded yet again that Isatai was a man who would sooner lead than counsel. And again he remembered Satanta’s recent criticism. You say you lead the Kwahadis, and yet most of the time you do not lead them at all, but leave such matters to the likes of Isatai. He saw now that Satanta had spoken only the truth.

  It was clear, then, that this was the time to lead, or have that leadership taken from him by another.

  On impulse he stepped forward, and almost immediately the yipping and cheering faded to near silence. Isatai glanced at him, fury at the interruption showing briefly in his sunken eyes, until he lowered his head and took a deferential pace backward.

  ‘Tomorrow.’ Quanah said slowly, ‘before the rising of the sun, we will take the battle to the white man at the place he calls Adobe Walls. We will kill all of his number there and by the time we are finished there will be nothing left to say that such a place ever existed! And if more white men dare to invade our lands, we will kill them also! White men, Yellow-Legs, we will wage war on them all until we are victorious – and I will lead you to that victory!’

  Once again the assembly erupted in a roar. Quanah’s words were greeted by the enthusiastic yip and screech of war cries, the waving of lance and bow and rifle and hatchet, and Isatai, trying gamely to mask his true feelings, could not quite hide the fact that he hated the adulation his chief was now receiving.

  Quanah turned and walked back to Satanta and Lone Wolf, his shoulders squared, his chest out-thrust, his heart pounding. Regarding both men, he said, ‘Are you with us, my friends?’

  Satanta and Lone Wolf exchanged a brief, excited glance, after which Satanta nodded. ‘We are with you, my brother. We are with you!’

  Billy Dixon pulled the half-smoked quirley from his mouth and flung it away in disgust. The strong Spanish tobacco usually soothed him, but not today. Today there was no soothing to be had.

  ‘An’ that’s another thing,’ he grumbled. ‘If them redskins want to mix it up, that’s fine. We’ll mix it with ’em. But why drag it out? Why not come an’ let’s get to it?’ Then, hearing himself, he quirked a sour smile at his companion. ‘Aw, hell. Much more of this an’ I’ll be as crazy as Hagerman.’

  Around them the stockade was quiet in the fading daylight, and those men not assigned to keeping watch on the plains beyond the patched walls were mourning their dead in the saloon, mess-hall or barracks.

  ‘This thing had to come to a head sooner or later,’ Hennessy pointed out softly.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ replied Billy. ‘An’ you knew it all along. That’s why you quit the business, ain’t it?’

  Hennessy looked off across the desert. It looked so lonely, but he couldn’t help wondering just how empty it really was. ‘It was always a lousy job,’ he said after a moment. ‘But it paid well, and we were killing for a reason. We put meat into folks’ bellies and fur coats on their backs. But somewhere along the way all that changed. Easterners started killing the buffalo for sport. Sport, for God’s sake! Men like you and me were hired to kill ’em just to spite and deprive the Indians. We weren’t hunters after that, Billy, we was just plain murderers.’

  ‘I don’t call it murder to kill a buffalo.’

  ‘No. But watching the Indians starve to death because we killed or spoilt all their meat, watching their women get so weak they couldn’t feed their young ’uns, destroying them that slow, hard way … that was murder.’

  Billy frowned. ‘But they’re only Indians.’

  Hennessy shook his head in disgust. ‘By Christ,’ he said. ‘You still don’t get it, do you? They live, they love, they laugh, they cry, they die, Billy. They do all the things we do. We even bleed the same colour. They’re us, damn you, and we’re them. The sooner folks on both sides get that into their skulls, the better off we’ll all be.’

  Billy made no immediate comment, because he knew, deep down, that Hennessy was right. ‘So you came to see me for old times’ sake and ended up gettin’ stuck in the middle of all this,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry about that, I truly am. This isn’t your fight, amigo, but you’ve got to fight it anyway.’

  ‘Not if the soldiers get here first.’

  ‘That’s a big if,’ Billy replied. ‘Got to rely on Bourke an’ his party gettin’ through to Dodge first, an’ from what Bermuda Carlisle tells me, that doesn’t look too likely.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope they make it, or sure as hell we’re on our own,’ said Hennessy, thinking, On our own – against God knows how many blood-hungry bucks.

  ‘I’m gonna try for some sleep,’ Billy mumbled. ‘Might not get a chance tomorrow.’ He nodded towards a solitary figure standing watch behind another section of broken wall thirty yards away. ‘If you’re still in the mood for talk, why not talk to him? I reckon he could stand it.’

  Hennessy raised his eyebrows. ‘Masterson?’

  ‘I know you ain’t got much time for him, Cal, but he’s not a bad ’un, once you get to know him, an’ he’s a damn’ fine shot, maybe even a match for you!’

  ‘He’s still wet behind the ears, Billy, and he’s got a lot of growing up to do. If he lives long enough, he’s going to do most of it in the next twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope he does,’ Billy answered. ‘’Cause he’s a good young feller, Cal. Given the chance, he’ll make an even better man.’

  While Billy headed for the barracks, Hennessy ghosted across to Masterson’s position. Hearing him come, Masterson turned his head and offered a subdued greeting.

  ‘Mind some company?’ asked Hennessy.

  Masterson looked surprised by the question. ‘Please yourself.’

  ‘I’ll leave you be, if you’d prefer.’

  He looked into Masterson’s eyes, barely visible now in the growing gloom, and tried to decide just how things were with the boy. He was scared, that was for certain. Scared and trying to hide it, just like the rest of them.

  ‘No, that’s all right.’

  ‘Good. ‘Cause I reckon there’s been a little ill-feeling between us, and it’s about time we cleared it up.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Hennessy nodded. ‘I’ll say it plain, Bat. You’re a kid. A know-nothing, wet-behind-the-ears kid. You look at things, but you don’t really see ’em. You listen to what people say, but you don’t really hea
r ’em. You’re young, and you think you already know all the answers. But I got news for you, boy.’

  Masterson had stiffened. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘They can’t hang you for it. It’s how we all start off. The smart ones eventually wise up and start to pay attention. The rest … well, they don’t usually last too long.’

  ‘An’ which kind do you suppose I am?’

  ‘Billy speaks highly of you, and Billy’s a good judge of men.’

  ‘Then Lord help me if I let him down,’ Masterson muttered before he could stop himself. He gave Hennessy a furtive glance and added belligerently, ‘Not that I’m scared!’

  ‘We’re all scared, Bat. I sure am. But when push comes to shove, I’ll stand my ground and do what has to be done – and I got a feeling you’ll do the same.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because as far as I can see, the only thing you’re missing right now is experience. The rest of it – honour, decency, loyalty, courage … those things you’ve already got.’

  Masterson shrugged. ‘I appreciate the sentiment,’ he said awkwardly, ‘but I didn’t need to be told that.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,’ Hennessy apologized, and made to turn away.

  ‘Hennessy,’ Masterson called.

  The taller man turned back.

  Masterson said sheepishly, ‘I’m a lousy liar, Hennessy. I reckon I did need to hear that, and I’m obliged.’ Abruptly he thrust out his right hand. ‘Best if we started over again, huh?’

  ‘Why not?’

  They shook, and the night wore on.

  Mounted astride his favourite spotted pony, Quanah stared across the stark, moon-silvered plain ahead. Behind him came Satanta and Lone Wolf, then Isatai, and behind them Eagle Hand and Windwalker and score upon score of Comanche, Kiowa and Cheyenne warriors, more even than the days in two whole years.