Pinfire Lady Strikes Back

by P J Gallagher

  CHAPTER NINE

  Several hours later, the posse had put more than twenty miles between them and the site of the Reitz massacre. The sun was beginning its slow descent to the western horizon when a compact group of riders was spotted coming north towards them. Abbie ordered her posse to spread out so as to present less of a target and they rode cautiously forward with their hands hovering near their guns.

  When about 100 yards separated the two groups of horsemen they simultaneously halted and then Abbie, following the example of a tall bronzed man of the northbound riders, urged her horse forward and halted when less than twenty feet from the stranger. He was dressed in range rig with a wide slouch hat pushed back on his forehead. He saluted.

  ‘Good afternoon, Ma’am. Captain McHugh’s the name, fourth detachment Texas Rangers. May I ask you who you are and where you’re going?’

  Abbie smiled at this gravely toned representative of Texan law and suddenly realized that she and her posse were possibly in conflict with local regulations.

  ‘Well Captain! I’m Captain Penraven, first name Abbie, appointed to command this posse from Colorado City. We have been hunting down the bandits who raided ranches and communities up in our area.’

  McHugh looked at Abbie and raised his eyebrows in polite disbelief. ‘You’re leading this posse, Ma’am? First of all may I suggest that down here we normally have a man doing a man’s job? Gunplay is no work for a lady! Secondly, you’re now in Texas and therefore it’s our state organisation, the Texas Rangers, that is responsible for law and order, not self-appointed posses, which frequently end up in trouble and then we have to save their skins!’

  Abbie tensed as she listened to his disparaging remarks and silently told herself to cool down as the Ranger continued. ‘Lucky we found you, Ma’am, as you may have got yourself in one hell of a fix, begging your pardon, Ma’am. It’s fortunate that you came this far south without problems as there is one large bandit gang operating out of an abandoned mission north-west of here and Lord knows what would have happened to you if you had run in with that bunch!’

  Abbie laughed and enquired sweetly, ‘Tell me, Captain, would that be the gang led by a man who calls himself El Caudillo?’

  ‘Why yes, Miss Abbie, if I may call you that? Yes. Have you heard of him?’

  ‘I think, Captain, we had better dismount and order our respective groups to make camp. I have a lot of information to impart to you.’ And Abbie signalled back to her posse to relax and make camp, a move that was echoed by the Rangers.

  Later, as Abbie sat nursing a welcome mug of coffee produced by Minny, Captain McHugh came over and, after accepting a drink of the hot sweet liquid, suggested a trifle abruptly that he would like to hear what it was that his hostess had to say.

  ‘Well!’ Abbie began and then paused looking at the Texan with a half-smile. ‘I think that you should know that the outlaw gang of La Cruz at the old abandoned mission, no longer exists. We wiped them out except for a few stragglers who have been hunted down. The only one remaining at large is Benito Gomez himself, who called himself El Caudillo, and we know where we think that he is heading.

  ‘Captain, perhaps I had better start at the beginning.’ Abbie quickly glossed over her exploits and various gunfights, merely describing leading the wagon train to Colorado City, the attack of the bandits and the subsequent experiences of her column of eighty men and women and the role played by the cannon in dislodging the outlaws from La Cruz. She ended her tale with the events of the last few days, ending with the sad story of the gruesome fate of the Reitz family and her knowledge of the perpetrators.

  As Abbie ended her account to a now more than slightly bemused Ranger, one of his men, a sergeant, arrived from their camp. He saluted his commanding officer and was preparing to render a report when he noticed the lady sitting there so quietly. His jaw dropped open and, forgetting himself, he burst out with, ‘Holy Mackerel! It’s the Pinfire Lady! I saw you at Bent’s Fort when you faced Paul LaRue!’

  He turned to McHugh, speaking excitedly with the words just tumbling out. ‘You should have seen it, Cap’n. She was cool as ice water. Put two slugs into his black heart so close you could cover ’em with a dollar! An’ that ain’t all.’

  He was quite prepared to go on at great length detailing Abbie’s gunfighting exploits but she raised one hand and brought his flow of laudatory phrases to a halt. ‘Sergeant, I don’t believe that Captain McHugh really wants to hear my life story just now. We have more important things to discuss,’ and the sergeant, apologizing for his interruption, rendered his report to McHugh, saluted and left.

  A perplexed Captain McHugh looked at Abbie in amazement, pulling at his moustache as he digested the information he had received from his sergeant, ‘Well, if that doesn’t beat the band! What I’ve just been told kinda alters things somewhat.’ He stared down at the campfire, lost in thought as he considered the situation. Finally, he thought of a solution.

  ‘Miss Abbie! Or should I call you Captain Penraven. How would you like to be a temporary member of the Texas Rangers? As such you could legally swear in your posse to assist you in the hunt for Benito Gomez.’

  Abbie thought for a moment and decided to accept McHugh’s offer since it would legalize their position in Texas, and come to think of it, she recalled that Texans were very sensitive about all matters concerning the Lone Star State. ‘Very well, Captain. I graciously accept your suggestion.’

  Both groups of riders were called together and the situation was explained to them. Then Abbie stood before the captain and raised her right hand while her left held a small Bible as she swore an oath that she would uphold the laws and constitution of the State of Texas, after which Captain McHugh stated, ‘By the authority invested in me I hereby declare that one, Abigail Penraven, is henceforth a member of the Texas Rangers.’

  And with a wide grin, he seized Abbie’s right hand and shook it saying, ‘Congratulations, Ma’am. You’ve just made history!’

  He produced a five-pointed star engraved with the words ‘Texas Ranger’ and was just about to pin it on her left breast when the impropriety of such an act prompted him to thrust it at Abbie saying, ‘Here! Maybe you’d better pin this on!’ The doughty Texas warrior displayed a blush visible through his sunburnt features.

  The two groups were dismissed and Abbie and Captain McHugh sat down to plan a concerted campaign. ‘Abbie, you say that you believe that Benito Gomez may well have gone to Trinidad. It’s quite probable that you’re correct in that surmise but tell me, what do you know about Trinidad?’

  Abbie confessed that the only member of her posse who had even heard of the place was Felipe, and in his case he had merely overheard confederates of El Caudillo mention the place during the period when he was an unwilling gang member.

  ‘Well, Abbie, you might as well know, my orders were to clean out El Caudillo’s nest up at La Cruz and if successful I was to take my contingent down and get rid of the Comancheros of Trinidad.’

  ‘Comancheros?’ queried Abbie. ‘Are they a branch of the Comanche tribe, Captain McHugh?’

  ‘Abbie! The first name is David, commonly called Dave. As one Ranger to another, I guess we can drop the formalities. And in reply to your question regarding these men of Trinidad, no they are not themselves Indians, but a bunch of no-good renegades who have robbed, stolen and murdered in order to trade with the Comanche.

  ‘You should know there are other Comancheros, simple Mexicans and half-breeds, who merely take a few items out into the plains and take the risk of dealing with the Comanche but these ones of Trinidad are most definitely a thorn in the side of the Texan government. We suspect them of robbing ranches and travellers in order to obtain products, clothing, tools, jewellery and weapons, especially guns, with which they trade with the Comanche and also the Kiowa. So, Captain Abbie! We are going to break up their little game and it won’t be easy. This is what I propose.’

  Dave McHugh suggested that they ride as one column of close on
twenty-five riders and upon entering Trinidad they split up into groups of three or four and circulate through the town, making their presence felt.

  ‘This is all very well, Dave, but what about Benito Gomez? He is our prime reason for being here!’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Señor Gomez. He’s a failure and these Comancheros don’t take too kindly to one of their ilk who comes among them as a fugitive. In fact he may not even be alive at this very minute.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  His words were very prophetic. As the column rode down the dusty main and only street in the town of Trinidad, they were greeted by the sight of the face-blackened figure of El Caudillo, hands tied behind his back, toes pointing down to the ground as his limp body swung gently in the western breeze. He had been hung from the arm that projected above the upper open door of the livery stable. His fate gave Abbie a shiver as she recalled being faced with a similar end back in Paradise back on the Mountain Division Trail just over a year ago.

  Life is very ironic, thought Abbie. There hangs the reason for us coming south from Colorado City. Theoretically we should now be able to turn around and return home. But we’ve made a further commitment and honour demands that we stick to the bargain made with the Rangers.

  Captain McHugh halted his column and, turning, gave his pre-arranged instructions. ‘OK Rangers. You can fall out and stretch your legs for a bit. We will assemble by that old adobe church in two hours’ time. Fall out.’

  As previously arranged, the column broke into small groups of three or four and began to circulate along the main street, some dropping into stores and checking their wares, others sampling the cantinas and saloons, though with strict orders to keep their drinking down to a bare one or two beers. Knowing the Texas attitude towards black and Indian folks, McHugh advised that the Ute braves and Minny remain squatting by the horses, where hopefully they would not be harassed or verbally abused.

  Unfortunately this turned out to be wishful thinking on the captain’s part. Hardly had the rangers spread out through the town when a small crowd of in the main shiftless saloon barflies began to gather and to make comments about the stoic Indians, who attempted to ignore the ribald and bawdy epithets that were flung in their direction.

  Abbie, together with Felipe and Fred and George Lawson, the brothers from her ranch, had gone into a general store and were just looking around fingering the bolts of cloth on the counter and making small purchases of candy and tobacco when one of them heard a commotion coming from the direction of the plaza where their horses were tethered.

  Hurriedly paying for their purchases, the four of them made their way back to the plaza to find their Indian comrades were standing hemmed in beside the horses by a gang of shouting jeering men, who pushed at the Utes screaming abuse and spat in their faces while referring to them as butchers and stinkin’ scalp-hunters, while their victims merely stood with their arms folded and tried to ignore their persecutors.

  As Abbie and the other three reached the scene, one of the bystanders grabbed hold of Minny, crying out, ‘Hey fellas! I got me a lil’ old squaw! Les’ see what she looks like without all that fancy get-up on!’ And he ripped her shirt down the front with the intent of totally disrobing her. Minny, her patience long exhausted, pulled her pistol and shot the tormentor in the upper leg. There was a deathly silence among the mob as the other Utes also drew their guns and stood covering the unruly crowd.

  ‘Stand fast everyone!’ Abbie’s voice rang out. ‘Don’t anybody make a move because if you do it will probably be the last thing you’ll ever do. Now what has happened here?’

  The female voice coming from the crowd’s left side deflected their attention from the Indians and their drawn guns, and the anger they felt subsided as they saw a chance of more sport. The earlier silence was broken by roars of coarse laughter and ribald comments as, turning, they saw before them the slightly built figure of a young woman dressed in buckskins, wearing the Ranger’s tin star and packing a large revolver cross-draw style.

  Then the comments became personal observations regarding her and her role. ‘Hey look at this, a female Ranger. Don’t that beat the band! Quick fellas, better git home or the big bad Ranger’ll arrest ya an’ throw ya in the hoosegow!’

  And it got progressively worse, with suggestions of what individuals would do if they had an hour or two alone with Abbie, coupled with comments as to whether she actually knew how to use the gun she wore.

  Finally, one young dandy swaggered out from of the crowd, calling out, ‘Come on, lady Ranger! Let’s me an’ you have a lil’ old gunfight. I’ll try not to scare you too much!’

  As he said this, he turned and winked at his supporters, one of whom called out, ‘Go easy on her, Jed. She’s likely to wet her drawers any minute now!’

  Jed swung back, ‘OK. lady Ranger, let’s draw! Now!’ And he started to pull the Navy Colt he wore low down on his right hip.

  Abbie allowed him to half draw his pistol and then reluctantly drew with the lightning-fast movements that had made her notorious in the Colorado territory. Dropping into her familiar crouch, her right hand swept across and pulled her pinfire pistol in one fluid movement, quicker than most of the onlookers could see. As her pistol swung in front of her, the left hand curled around the frame ahead of the trigger guard while her left thumb brought the hammer back as her right forefinger squeezed the trigger.

  Jed hadn’t even cocked his Colt when the 12mm bullet slammed into his right shoulder, throwing him backwards and causing the gun to drop from his nerveless hand. He lay there terrified with his left hand clutching his shattered right shoulder as Abbie stalked towards him, her smoking pistol held firmly in one hand.

  ‘Well, young man. I think that you’ll agree that you may have made a little error of judgement,’ and turning to the awe-struck crowd she waved her pistol across them, prompting many to cringe, and ordered them to disperse and to take the other wounded man with them. ‘Remember! These Indians are fellow officers (Abbie stretched the truth a trifle here) and an attack on any of them will bring swift retribution. We’ll attend to Jed, now go!’ And the crowd departed hurriedly.

  She knelt by the wounded Jed and his face grimaced with pain as he sat there in the dust with blood trickling down between his fingers. ‘Sorry that I had to wing you. I tried to position that shot so that it wouldn’t smash any bones but one can’t be that accurate all the time. Let’s have a look at my work.’

  Abbie gently removed his left hand and, drawing her Bowie, slit his shirt to lay bare the wound that she had created. ‘Oh that’s not too bad, Jed. Is that your name? Now, is there a competent sawbones in town? If so we’ll take you to him. If not one of our men will dress the wound.’

  Jed Oldberg muttered his thanks and whispered that the only doctor in town would be probably drunk by this time of day. To tell the truth his mind was in a whirl. First he was shot by of all opponents a female gunslinger who, unlike gunfighters whom he had seen or of whom he had heard, didn’t stand there crowing and preparing to finish him off but rather seemed genuinely concerned about the wound that she had caused and expressed a desire in that strange clipped English accent to help him.

  Their brief conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a short figure in a long hooded cassock.

  ‘Permit me to assist you, señorita. My name is Padre Pedro. I am the pastor of that little church of Santa Maria over there. If you would care to bring the wounded boy over to my house I can attend to him since through the years I have cared for many wounded men.’

  ‘Thank you, Padre! We will certainly avail ourselves of your offer.’ Abbie turned to Fred and George Lawson, instructing them to remain with the Utes and to see that there was no further incidents, and having checked that Minny was fully recovered from her thwarted assault. Then she and Felipe helped Jed to his feet and, following the padre, they went to his small cottage beside the church. Inside, the groaning boy was lowered onto a long leather couch while Padre Pedro bustled
around making preparations to dress the wound.

  Abbie and Felipe looked around curiously at the sparse furnishings of the little priest’s home. There was a sturdy-looking table and two chairs with a rather worn armchair by an unlit stove. On the wall was a crucifix and a statue of the Madonna in a small niche fronted by a flickering candle. Several bookshelves with a collection of battered volumes and a tall cupboard in one corner, from which the padre brought forth his medical kit, completed their inspection.

  To take the patient’s thoughts away from the forthcoming medical administration, Abbie engaged Jed in conversation. Having ascertained that his full name was Jedediah Oldberg and that he was eighteen years of age, well nearly nineteen he maintained, she asked him how he came to be in Trinidad and what he did for a living. Jed admitted that he was a drifter. His parents had died in east Texas when he was about fourteen years of age and he had wandered west from town to town picking up odd jobs where ever he could. In his travels he had acquired an old Navy Colt and had practised with it until he thought that he was quite a potential gunfighter. ‘But nowhere as fast as you, Ma’am. How the h . . .’ he paused, ‘Sorry, Ma’am! How the dickens did you ever get so fast an’ so accurate with it?’

  Abbie smiled and suggested that Jed not worry about her skills with a gun for quite a while but concentrate on getting his shoulder better.

  As Padre Pedro came over bearing a bowl of steaming water and bandages, Jed completed their talk by telling Abbie that he’d originally come to Trinidad after learning that there was money to be made here, especially if one was good with a gun.

  Abbie and Felipe remained while Jed’s wound was being skilfully treated and then, after thanking the little padre for his help, they made their way back across the plaza to where all their comrades, Rangers and posse members had gathered after their two-hour circulation of the town. Most had found the population of Trinidad very tight-lipped and had not discovered any information about the Comancheros and their hide-out. The only significant item was Jed’s remark to Abbie that someone was apparently hiring gun hands.