The two carts came close and halted the patient oxen, no doubt glad of the rest. The four men stared down at her as Abbie, acting out her role, clasped her hands with apparent joy and thanked the kind men who had arrived in time to save her from the desert.
They looked at her and looked at each other, more than one with an evil grin on his ugly dirty visage.
Finally, one with stained yellow teeth and a livid scar extending from his right eye across his cheek, exclaimed, ‘Well! Who’s going to be the first to take her? If you men are shy. I’ll be the one to give her a taste of love from a real man!’ And he rose in preparation to descend from the cart.
Abbie turned away as though in fright, drew her pistol and swung back moving the gun back and forth to cover the four men. ‘Not today, chico! Just get your hands up in the air, all of you!’
Scarface made the mistake of moving towards her and Abbie placed a shot an inch above his belt buckle. Knowing the nature of the men on the carts and fully aware of the grim work in which they were engaged, she had no compunction in delivering what would undoubtedly be a mortal wound. He clasped his stomach and screamed in agony as he stared down at the blood rapidly covering his grubby hands.
Momentarily frozen by the effect of her one shot, Abbie looked at the anguished features of her victim and for a brief moment took her eyes off the other three Mexicans. She was brought back to reality as she heard the snick-snick of a shotgun’s ears being hammered back and the piece being swung in her direction. Frantically, Abbie threw herself down and rolled to the right so that she was hidden from view by the oxen.
She vanished as the shotgun roared. Both loads of buckshot cut the air where Abbie had been standing micro-seconds before and she rose from where she had rolled in time to see the shot-gunner frantically attempting to recharge his muzzle-loading weapon. There was no hesitation on Abbie’s part. Her pinfire had remained locked in her two-handed grip as she had performed the movements to save her life and she rapidly triggered two shots at her adversary. He stopped suddenly in his reloading operations and, as though tired, slumped sideways and fell to the ground. Meanwhile, during the shooting the two drivers had sat open mouthed with their hands high in the air.
At the sound of the shots, the remainder of the posse came boiling up out of the hollow where they had been concealed. They surrounded the carts, whooping and congratulating Abbie on the success of her plan. Meanwhile, the two drivers, visibly shaking, sat very still with their hands above their sombreros as their compatriot’s agonies were reduced to a steady whimper as he quietly expired.
Abbie called for Felipe. ‘Now, Felipe! This is where we will be relying upon your skills of interrogation. I want to know where the raiders’ camp is located. About how many men are there? How many guards surround the camp and where they are located? Furthermore find out if there is any kind of password needed to enter the camp?’
As Felipe turned, she grasped his arm, ‘Felipe, you might add that if they attempt to lie to me or anything they say turns out to be false we will turn them over to the Indians – actually to Minny, who would just love to decorate their skins with that razor-sharp Bowie that she carries!’
Hearing her name mentioned. Minny came forward and; recognizing the word ‘Bowie’, drew the knife and flourished it menacingly to the now terrified Mexican drivers.
Felipe spoke to them in the most severe manner he could muster, stating the information that he wanted to extract by listing them point by point on his fingers and periodically pointing to Minny and her ever-constant Bowie knife. They responded excitedly, evidently telling him all that he wanted to know, clasping their hands together and periodically making the sign of the cross to emphasize that every word that they uttered was the truth. No doubt they were also praying that they would not be turned over to the terrible squaw who stood there brandishing her wicked-looking knife with an evil grin upon her face.
At length Felipe turned to Abbie and produced an accurate picture of all that he had obtained from the two petrified drivers. ‘Señorita Abbie, these men tell me that it is a three-day journey for them from the hacienda to the gang’s location close to the border. They could not tell me in miles, but only in the time needed to drive a team of oxen there.
‘There are usually about twenty men in the camp and they have at least two on guard, one facing the northern trail and the other facing the Rio Grande, which is in sight to the south.
‘They tell me that when they recognize certain landmarks they leave the main trail south and travel for about half an afternoon until they reach the camp. I’m sorry, Abbie. I could not obtain more details but neither has a watch or clock so they have to determine the time by the sun and when they get hungry. I tried to get details so we could draw a sketch map but these are two very ignorant peons. They did not understand what I meant about a map.’
Abbie smiled at the rather crestfallen boy and assured him, ‘Never mind, Felipe! I think that you’ve done very well.’
She called for two lengths of line and had a noose fashioned in each piece. The two drivers stared and shook their heads in horror, believing that they were to be hanged. Abbie, through Felipe, quietened their fears and instructed them to don the nooses with the knots at the back of their necks. They were then to slide the ropes down their backs inside their shirts and two of the Rangers tied the free end to the body of their respective cart. Thus haltered, they were safe as long as they sat in their driver’s seat. But any excessive movement and they would strangle themselves.
‘Now, amigos, I want you to drive the carts just the way you always have. I’ll give you further instructions when we get nearer to the end of our journey. To make sure that you keep your minds on the job,’ Abbie paused and indicated Minny, ‘This Ute señorita will be in charge of both of you and will make sure that you play no tricks! Do you understand?’
Felipe gave a graphic translation of what Abbie had said and glumly the two drivers swore by all the saints that they would do their very best to comply with all the Señorita Minny’s instructions.
Abbie gave instructions that the two deceased guards were to be buried off the trail in a little arroyo.
‘There’s to be no grave markers. It is not nice, but it’s important that nobody coming south should see anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps when we are coming north again we can then mark the spot.’
With one of the two Ute braves ranging ahead and scouting the countryside, the posse headed south, their speed limited by the lumbering ox-drawn wagons. Due to the latter, the time tended to pass slowly which gave Abbie time to consider and reject various plans of assault on the raiders’ hide-out. At length she formulated a scheme that, with good timing, stood a reasonable chance of success.
On the last evening before the day when the carts would normally arrive at the camp Abbie called the men together – except for the two prisoners still watched over by the ever-vigilant Minny.
With all the men listening attentively, Abbie outlined her plan to attack the raiders in their hide-out.
‘Now, as you know, the enemy will be expecting the ox carts laden with supplies that they cannot get by raiding or foraging. Now I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the story of the Trojan War but those two carts are going to be our Trojan Horse.’
Most of the men looked puzzled, so Abbie gave them a brief outline of the famed story, explaining how the Greeks captured Troy by means of the men hidden inside the horse. ‘We are going to have four men, two to each cart, hidden under those canvas tarps and ready to emerge shooting when inside the camp.’
One of the Rangers interjected, ‘What about the northern lookout? He’ll be able to look down into those carts and could easily see that something is wrong!’
‘Good point, Joe! One of our Ute braves will have to locate that lookout and silence him before the carts reach his position. Then he’ll have to assume his role and signal the camp that the carts are coming. I gather from the drivers that there is no sort of code, j
ust a shout from up in the rocks. Our man should also contact us, using a mirror, when the carts have successfully passed the lookout position, and that will be the signal for the main party to move in close ready to storm in directly the shooting starts. Any questions?’
The men of the posse looked at each other and finally one asked, ‘Who are the four men who’re to be this here Trojan horse?’
‘Well Jake, I think that I’ll let you men decide that among yourselves. I personally think that the ones selected should be young and agile, and really good shots with both revolvers and long guns.’
And, adding a little bit of flattery, she added. ‘That’s the trouble, you’re all experts as far as I’m concerned. That’s why you’ll have to decide amongst yourselves. Draw cards if necessary.’ And Abbie turned away to allow the posse to decide who should be the four men.
The posse gathered around with the men speaking animatedly as they discussed the choices for the ‘Trojan Horse’ party. Finally, they called to Abbie and nominated their choices.
George Lawson, the remaining ranch hand from Abbie’s ranch, whose brother had headed north to raise more men, was the posse’s first choice. He was joined by three Rangers: Tom Budner, Bill Wilson and Red O’Hara, the last being an outwardly shy lad of nineteen who Abbie was assured was the fastest gun of them all.
The posse rode on and eventually, on the afternoon of the third day, turned off the main trail and made their way over a barely discernible track toward the raiders’ lair.
The accident happened quite suddenly. As Bill Wilson’s horse was picking its way daintily among the rock-strewn trail, it disturbed a solitary rattlesnake taking advantage to sun itself on a warm slab of stone. The horse’s hoof landed close to the reptile and it reared its head, hissing angrily with its little forked tongue flickering back and forth. Bill’s horse was startled by the snake and leapt sideways in fear, with the unfortunate rider being thrown from the saddle. Several of the posse members chuckled at Bill’s mishap and then fell silent as he rose to his feet clutching his right arm and grimacing with pain.
‘Dammit! I’ve got a busted wing! What the hell are we gonna do now?’ Bill’s medical analysis of the result of his accident was only too evident as he stood there with his right arm bent at a most abnormal angle.
His arm was splinted and put in a sling made from his polka dot bandanna. Abbie looked down at him quizzically, ‘Well Bill it would seem that you have withdrawn from the Trojan horse party rather suddenly.’
She smiled at the crestfallen Ranger to take the sting out of her remark. ‘Now we need somebody to take your place and I’m nominating that the fourth person will be me! No arguments, gentlemen,’ as a chorus of protests broke out. ‘My mind is made up so let’s just get ready for this attack!’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Abbie lay uncomfortably on the rough-hewn boards that formed the bed of the Comancheros’ cart that was conveying her closer to the outlaw hide-out every minute. Hidden under the canvas tarpaulin that concealed both her and George Lawson, the late afternoon sun beating down upon their canvas roof created an oven where the heat underneath was unpleasantly oppressive, causing both of them to be constantly bathed in perspiration.
It was no consolation to know that the occupants of the other cart were undergoing the same unpleasant experience. Adding to their ordeal was the fact that both carts had been used to convey the clothing of the slain victims and the boards, having been soaked with blood, attracted all the flies in Texas.
The flies, the odour, the overpowering heat, the thumps and jolts as the cumbersome cart lurched its way onward, coupled with the constant screech of one axle desperately in need of lubrication, made each of the four long for the journey to end.
Apart from a few whispered comments, each of the four endured their purgatory in silence. They all awaited with eager anticipation the distinctive repeated cry of the desert red-tailed hawk uttered by the Ute brave that would indicate that the northern sentry had been put out of commission and that he had taken his place.
At long last the cry came. Abbie drew her Pinfire pistol and whispered to Lawson, ‘Get ready, George!’
To their Mexican driver she said with a significant jerk at his noose, ‘Now, Pablo, no tricks! Stop the cart in the usual place and just sit still! We’ll do the rest.’
By doing a contortionist act and squinting, she was just able to peer forward and see between the fat legs of Pablo and the rear ends of their two oxen. There was little to see at first and then glimpses of roughly built structures as the two carts arrived at their destination. Pablo called out a polite greeting of ‘Buenos días, señores,’ which was answered by a curt inaudible reply. The cart was brought to a halt and Abbie threw back the tarpaulin.
For a split second she was blinded by the sudden glare of the western sun and as she rose to her feet the trio of Mexicans standing close to the cart reacted violently to her sudden appearance. One reached for the pistol nestled in his sash, while the other two reached behind them for the long guns propped against a hitching rail. Abbie triggered two snap shots at the pistolero and dived over the far side of the cart where, kneeling, she fired another two rounds at the riflemen. Meanwhile, George Lawson had swiftly followed her example and also fired at the Mexicans before joining her and firing under the cart. With a loud wail their driver fell backwards into the bed of his cart, where he tried to flatten himself against the boards.
By this time the other Rangers had emerged from their cart and were busy engaging still more of the raiders, who spilled out of the weathered shacks for all the world like outraged wasps responding to an upturned hive. Fortunately, many had appeared drawn by the noise but were not immediately prepared to tackle an enemy since most of their assortment of guns had to be loaded and primed. They dropped back into doorways and behind walls to ready their pieces.
A thunder of hoofs heralded the arrival of the rest of the posse, who quickly threw themselves from their horses and delivered independent fire at any unfortunate outlaw who allowed himself to be seen.
Felipe, following earlier instructions, called upon the raiders to throw out their guns and come out with hands held high above their heads. Fully half of the Mexicans started to comply with the order, which was delivered repeatedly in Spanish. Guns clattered onto the ground in front of the track but as they arose to surrender a harsh voice, cursing continually, ordered them to fight on.
The fighting for control of the outlaws’ hide-out became a confusing medley of shots, shouting, screams, and cries of pain as lead bullets found their marks, and curses all overlaid by an increasingly thick cloud of grey smoke pungent with the odour of bad eggs.
Abbie and George, working as a team, quickly determined that the three Mexicans who had reacted violently to their presence were no longer a problem and moved quickly to reload their revolvers. For Abbie, this was a simple matter of punching the empty shells from the cylinder of her pistol and reloading from her pouch. George carried a spare primed cylinder for his .36 calibre Navy Colt but he had to knock out the barrel wedge, disassemble the pistol, remove the fired cylinder and replace it with another from his jacket pocket before he was ready for action once more.
Abbie waited patiently. When George nodded that he was ready, they rolled under the cart and dived for the doorway of a shack, in front of which lay the three dead Mexicans. The shack was empty. They then commenced a shack-clearing operation, moving from building to building on their side of the track, winkling out and shooting or disarming any outlaws they encountered in their progress. The pair were joined by the erstwhile occupants of the other Comancheros’ cart and the deadly quartet made short work of the opposition.
Cries from across the dusty track indicated that the posse members on that side were having equal success and a blocking force of three men who had ridden right through the hide-out thwarted any attempts of outlaws to break out towards the Rio Grande. At length the shooting and the noise died down and there was relative silence.
Abbie’s men began to emerge from their firing positions when there was a roar of defiance and a blood-stained figure rose from behind a water trough. He began screaming in Spanish his hatred of all gringos as he started shooting wildly to where Abbie was standing amid a knot of her men. His first shot thudded into a post of the building behind them, his second brought a curse from George Lawson as he buckled at the knees and the next moment the outlaw fell backwards, lifeless with two of Abbie’s 12mm bullets in his head.
Now was the time to collect the prisoners and count the cost. A full dozen of the raiders had surrendered and were sitting disarmed with their hands on their heads. A thorough search of the hide-out discovered fifteen dead outlaws for a cost of one dead Ranger and four men wounded, including George Lawson. None of their wounds was sufficiently serious that they would be unable to ride.
The wounded of both sides were treated and the dead buried. The lone fallen Ranger was given a grave on a slight rise to the east of the outlaw hide-out and the spot marked with a cross, while the unknown dead raiders were buried in a mass grave excavated by some of their former comrades under the watchful eyes of armed guards. One building was found crammed with booty stolen from Mexicans south of the border. There was simply no way of determining the ownership of these pathetic articles and so Abbie reluctantly ordered that the building be dowsed with cooking oil found in a make-shift kitchen. The storeroom was to be set on fire when the posse commenced their trek north the following day.
That evening after the short but sharp battle to secure the outlaws’ hide-out, Abbie sat sipping a welcome cup of coffee. Rather than a sense of elation at the success of her mission, a reaction had set in, and she was in a sombre mood as she reviewed the many steps in her life that had brought her to this present position, starting with the infidelity of her late husband Bertie Penraven, and how the role of gunfighter and leader had been gradually thrust upon her. Were these qualities actually thrust, she reflected, or did she seek them out?
Pinfire Lady Strikes Back Page 9