The gunplay that had marked the later stages of her life in the west had in the main allowed her no choice; it was kill or be killed, and Abbie had never had a desire to die. The way that she automatically assumed a leadership role was more curious. Living as she did in an era where women were automatically expected to be subservient to men, it was certainly strange how the vast majority of them willingly permitted her to take command. Was it because she had a military childhood in an environment where people of her caste just gave orders and in the main they were promptly carried out, or was it something deeper? Was there something within her that prompted her to challenge the mores of the society into which she had been born?
Abbie mentally shrugged her shoulders. There were simply no answers to her self-analysis. She knew in her heart that her father would have been proud of her achievements, though possibly a trifle dubious of the gunfighting reputation of his little daughter.
That brought her to thinking about another aspect of her life. Was there any room for romance and marriage in her life? Although she knew that she had all the healthy yearnings of a young female, Abbie smiled a trifle wryly at the thought of any man who would care to enter into a relationship with a gun-slinging pistolera. On the other hand, she did not want to live out her existence as an old maid.
Unable to find solutions to any of the things she pondered over, Abbie wrapped herself in her blanket and drifted into a shallow sleep.
The following morning plans were made to return to the ranger camp at Trinidad. The discovery of a large quantity of leg irons in one of the huts solved the problem of how to restrain the prisoners. Each was securely shackled and conveyed northward, six to a cart, with the posse members spread out on either side. In vain, the prisoners complained that they were cramped, that there was no room for them to sit. Abbie was remorseless and had Felipe remind them that the alternative was to be shot on the spot. That would solve the problem for everyone! After that suggestion there was silence.
The buildings were torched and the column headed north with the ox carts. The journey was slow and tedious, governed by the speed of the plodding oxen, and the last leg was a night march so that prying eyes were less likely to report their arrival at the Ranger camp to the hacienda.
Captain McHugh was elated by the success of the mission and was eager to hear Abbie’s report as soon as she had dismissed the posse after having seen to the prisoners and cared for the livestock. She rendered a detailed description of their journey and the attack, emphasizing the roles played by various members and not forgetting the supreme sacrifice made by Bert Thompson, the dead Ranger.
As they spent the evening reviewing the situation, there was an unexpected but pleasant interruption as the reinforcements guided by Fred Lawson arrived at the camp. Such was Abbie’s reputation in and around Colorado City that Jack Harding had had no difficulty in raising a further column of hard-bitten riders. In addition, there were several more Ute braves and, of course, Wilf Bateson and his team of five gunners and their cherished two-pounder. The newcomers were made very welcome and did not take long to settle in as they went around greeting men they already knew and in turn being introduced to the original real Texas Rangers.
Meanwhile, Abbie and David McHugh continued with their review of the outlaw situation. McHugh described how he had more or less placed the outlaw hacienda under an interdict. That is, by using a continual screen of riders, he had prevented anyone from Trinidad going out to the hacienda and therefore revealing any information regarding the Ranger camp or their activities. Due to the limited number of riders, it had been a wearying time but with the reinforcements from the north the task should be easier.
The second thing he had done was to have the hacienda under perpetual observation, noting any coming or going of the inhabitants. Once a party of Indians, identified as Comanche by their appearance, had visited the ranch and when leaving they had been accompanied by more than a dozen riders, Mexicans or Americanos, together with a train of pack mules. McHugh surmised that the contents of the mule packs were probably some of the looted material from the raids south of the border.
‘Now here’s a curious thing, Abbie! Among the riders from the fort was a man dressed differently. I tried to get Lone Wolf the scout to describe his apparel to me but we lacked common words. Well I was reading a book of Sir Walter Scott – Ivanhoe – that I’d picked up several weeks ago and hadn’t had time to read until recently. The book was illustrated and was open when Lone Wolf made his report. He looked down at the picture in the book and his eyes literally bulged. He pointed to the knight and the breastplate he was wearing, pointed in the direction of the Hacienda and back at the picture, saying “hombre, hombre!”, telling me that one of the outlaws was wearing armour!’
Abbie interrupted him excitedly, ‘Last year we encountered “Old Iron Shirt” and his band of Comanche just south of Colorado City. In fact, Jack Harding, my foreman, took a long-distance shot at him and hit him in the shoulder. Could he be leading a band around here?’
Captain McHugh shook his head, ‘No, Abbie! That Iron Shirt got his comeuppance in the May of this year when he and his men were in a fight with Rangers and settlers. He was most undoubtedly killed and the shirt, which was chain mail, not a breastplate, was broken up and divided among the men as a souvenir of the fight. This fella, we’ll call Young Iron Shirt, was most definitely a white man posing as an Indian, probably pretending to be the reincarnation of the dead Comanche. Most of the braves, being superstitious, would be in awe of such a person. Meanwhile, what’s our next move? Or rather, pardner, what’s your next move, since this bullet wound, though healing, still won’t permit me to ride.’
‘Let me have a few moments to get my thoughts in order and I may be able to propose a possible scheme.’ She fell silent, her head bowed forward with her sun-bleached hair glinting in the light from the campfire.
McHugh watched her silently, trying to suppress the affectionate feeling that he was beginning to feel for this English girl. He knew that he was fond of her and was overjoyed when she had returned from the expedition to the south. On the other hand, he was mindful of his wife and two small children that he had left behind in the cabin on the banks of the Brazos River and the vows that he had made. His thoughts were interrupted when the subject of his thoughts raised her head.
Abbie had already given their next phase of the operation considerable thought and she succinctly outlined what she thought would be the best plan of attack.
‘I think that the best plan would be to attack Young Iron Shirt when he and his followers are out in the open. If they are behind the walls of the hacienda and we have to storm the premises we are likely to take unacceptable casualties, which I for one do not want. How long was Young Iron Shirt away on his last foray?’
McHugh consulted a page in his notebook. ‘Our scout told me that the sun rose and set five times before he returned to the hacienda. I would suspect that his next trading expedition would be shortly.’
‘Right, so if we can silently gain control of his headquarters while he is away visiting his Comanche customers we can present him with quite a problem upon his return, especially if we have half our force available to surround him from the desert side. He’ll be pinned between two fires, the walls of his own hacienda manned by our men and the guns of our mobile force.’
In general terms Captain McHugh indicated that Abbie’s plan was sound. ‘But,’ he cautioned. ‘Do we have enough men to mount such an operation?’
They both pondered the issue of manpower, coming to the conclusion that with Abbie’s original posse, the Texas Ranger patrol, the new posse members from Colorado City and the Utes – not forgetting the gunners of Wilf Bateson’s detachment – they could muster close on fifty fighters minus a prison guard and someone to assist the wounded men remaining in camp.
They decided that the walking wounded such as McHugh himself and George Lawson, together with young Jed Oldberg and one Ranger, would be enough to guard both
the leg-shackled prisoners and the camp. When the last three mentioned were called and instructed on their role in the coming operation there were immediate protests at being left behind, especially on the part of young Jed who was anxious to prove himself in Abbie’s eyes. A little flattery on her part soon mollified the boy and he puffed with pride at being compared to the Texas Rangers.
The next thing was to receive swift information directly Young Iron Shirt and his riders left the hacienda together with Indians and the mule train. To this end, another scout was sent out to locate the one keeping the hacienda under observation with orders to report as soon as Iron Shirt left once more. Meanwhile, the assault force was ordered to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.
There was one thing more to be done. Abbie, after consultation with Captain McHugh, sent Felipe into La Trinidad to quietly enquire if there was a Mexican musician in town who was accomplished on a bugle or trumpet. If such a person existed he was to bring him back to the camp.
‘OK, Abbie! Perhaps you’d better spell out in more detail the operation by means of which you are intending to gain control of the hacienda!’
‘Well it would be nice if we could capture the buildings without suffering any casualties, but I don’t know whether that is possible. This is what I’m proposing. We take our force by night and create a cordon right around the hacienda with the men just out of sight. We position Wilf Bateson and his cannon aimed at the southern wall.
‘Just as the sun is rising, Wilf will send one shot slamming into the adobe of that southern wall and then he and his men quickly move their piece to a new position just out of rifle range facing the main gate on the east side. At the same time, the cordon moves in closer with the men continually shifting around to make it difficult for defenders to determine the size of the attacking force. Felipe and I will ride forward and call upon the defenders of the hacienda to surrender. I will tell them that if they lay down their arms they will be treated decently. However, if they resist then the order will be “no quarter” and all will be put to the sword.
‘Felipe will give a signal to the group standing by the gun and at that moment our trumpeter will start playing “The Deguello”. I’m told that every Mexican knows the story of the battle of the Alamo and how that piece of music was used to signal that there were to be no survivors. I would inform the leader of the defenders that if they had not surrendered by the time our musician ends “The Deguello” then the consequences will indeed be dire for him and his men. I just hope that Felipe can unearth a bugler or trumpeter.
‘David, I know it is a big bluff and they may not fall for our tricks but it’s worth a try. And I’m sorry having to use a reference to an incident which is almost sacred to all Texans but we have to put absolute fear into those men in the hacienda.’
David McHugh looked at Abbie in awe and more than a sense of bewilderment, ‘Abbie Penraven! I always was led to believe that young ladies raised in your Victoria’s England were genteel creatures but you have the mind of an Apache horse thief! Where on earth do you get these notions from?’
‘Well! You forget that I was raised in India as the daughter of a serving officer. My father always permitted me to be present when he was entertaining his fellows and so I sat demurely and soaked up all sorts of military information not normally available to the average girl or boy for that matter!
‘Anyway, I’m not important! Let’s just get this operation under way!’
Shortly before they and the rest of the camp sought their blankets, Felipe turned up. In tow he had a small frightened fellow countryman clutching a tarnished brass trumpet.
‘Señorita, I heard this man playing in one of the saloons and so when he left I politely asked him if he would accompany me to the Ranger camp. He assures me that he can play any piece of Mexican music ever written and he volunteers to work for the Rangers. Don’t you, Tomasio?’
As he said this last remark Felipe raised the Navy Colt that was hidden down his right leg and waved it suggestively at his companion, who stared back, giving the appearance of a small rabbit confronted by a fox.
Abbie realized that Felipe had used the old Royal Navy method of obtaining volunteers and had pressganged Tomasio at the point of a gun. Quickly, she smiled at their musician and, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder, indicated that he would be well paid for his little performance.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Time dragged as they waited for a report from one of the scouts and finally in the late morning of the fourth day one of the Ute braves appeared and described how a band of Comanche, together with Young Iron Shirt, ten of his men and a full dozen heavily laden mules had headed north into the Staked Plain.
Captain McHugh called to Sergeant Campbell, ‘Sergeant, organize a last hot meal and get the men ready for a night march.’
The sergeant saluted and hurried away to comply with the orders which, of course, included all men present as the newcomers had earlier taken the oath as temporary Texas Rangers. As darkness fell over the land, the column moved out, twenty men in the vanguard followed by the artillery piece and then the remainder of the force. The order was ‘no talking’ and both Abbie and Sergeant Campbell rode up and down the column enforcing the command.
First light found them encircling the hacienda, a chain of silent mounted statues just beyond the estimated distance of rifle range. To the south stood Wilf Bateson, a lighted linstock shielded but ready to be thrust into the primed touch hole of the gun whose barrel was aimed squarely at the adobe wall, a dark mass against the lighter desert background. His men knelt around their piece ready to serve it with additional powder and explosive shells if required.
Abbie was mounted on her faithful bay facing the closed main gate of the hacienda and accompanied by Felipe. Behind her, as a single link of that encircling chain, was their now not merely reluctant but openly terrified musician, who was being encouraged to perform his duty by the Bowie-wielding Minny.
It grew lighter and finally the sun peeped its head over the eastern horizon. Abbie raised a white handkerchief as a signal that could just be seen by the waiting gunners. When her hand dropped, Wilf lowered the glowing linstock to the waiting touchhole. The priming quill spluttered and then the piece spoke, bellowing out its message across the empty plains. At that relatively short range the boom of the gun was followed simultaneously by the crash as the shell smashed into the adobe and exploded.
The result was far more devastating than any of the attacking force had expected as when the smoke and adobe dust settled it could be seen that a vee-shaped hole reaching from the point of impact to the very top had been ripped out of the wall.
‘Load!’ ordered Bateson and his gun team ran through their oft-rehearsed drill of swabbing out and reloading their beloved gun with powder, wad and shot. As they completed, Wilf’s arm shot in the air, signalling to Abbie that their piece was ready to fire once more. At that signal Abbie rode forward with Felipe holding a white flag of truce on the end of his rifle. She drew her pistol, fired two shots in the air and waited.
From beyond the walls could be heard loud cries and curses in Spanish intermingled with voices speaking in English. Eventually a series of heads appeared peering over the walls of the hacienda and one close to the main gate cried out, ‘What you want?’
Abbie rode forward several paces, accompanied by Felipe. ‘My name is Commandante Penraven of the Texas Rangers and I am ordering you to surrender this hacienda. There is no escape. As you can see I have at hand 100 men surrounding you and artillery with which to smash your defences. You are to open the main gate and come out with your hands high in the air and line up against the front wall.’
As Abbie slowly and distinctly issued her instructions, Felipe translated them into Spanish so that there could be no mistakes or confusion as to her message.
She continued: ‘Those are my orders. If you chose to ignore them my bugler will play a little tune to help you make up your minds. I’m sure that most of you are familiar
with “The Deguello” and you know what it implies.
‘If my bugler comes to the end of his music and there is no surrender we will immediately attack and there will be no quarter given. You have the choice, surrender or die!’ And Abbie turned and nodded to Tomasio who, encouraged by a gentle prod of Minny’s Bowie knife, began a wavering version of the music, which however got louder and stronger as he continued.
Heads popped up and down as the defenders discussed their limited choices and finally, just before the tune commenced its finale and Abbie had begun to think that her ploy had failed, the gates ahead of her and Felipe swung open and a number of dejected men came forth, accompanied to their surprise by four women, who alternatively wept and screamed defiance in regard to their new circumstances.
As they lined up with hands high, Abbie rode up close and addressed the one who had spoken from the wall. ‘Have you brought out everyone? No tricks now! I demand the truth!’
The one she addressed, a short squat individual with long greasy hair and drooping mustachios, was eager to make himself agreeable to the new regime. ‘Sí Señora Commandante, we all agreed that we would surrender. That is except for one foolish man who insisted we should wait for el Jefe to return.
‘My knife settled the little dispute. He is lying in the courtyard.’ He smiled ingratiatingly up at Abbie.
She had taken an instant aversion to the creature in front of her and had mentally renamed him ‘Slimy’! She therefore ignored him and waved Sergeant Campbell forward. He detailed half a dozen men to take charge of the prisoners and began to move them back towards La Trinidad, where they would join the earlier captives resulting from the raid on the outlaw camp.
‘Not you, Slimy!’ stated Abbie as she separated him from the rest of the prisoners ‘Felipe! Tell him he is to remain and escort us through the hacienda.’
When Felipe translated this information to the greasy little Mexican he, rather than being honoured for being singled out, protested vehemently that his place was with his fellow captives and Abbie wondered why as she stifled his whining with a single ‘Silencio!’
Pinfire Lady Strikes Back Page 10