♦●♦
Every man on the Circle Dot E was posted on sentry duty the next night. Some were several hundred yards from the buildings, wherever there was enough cover to conceal them. The rest were stationed around the houses, stables, and outbuildings. Nate was posted behind the main stable, along with Morey Carson and Tom Tomlinson. With them were several men from the ranch: Hunt Knudsen, the head wrangler, Harry Cole, a veteran cowboy, and two of the younger cowboys, Zack Ellesio and Justin Bendlak. When it came to an Indian or outlaw attack, it didn’t matter how young or old a man was. He had to help defend himself and his comrades. It didn’t much matter to renegades how old a man was, anyway. They’d kill an eight-year-old as readily as a full-grown man, without a second thought. In the main house, some of the women were prepared to pass out ammunition and reload rifles for the fighters. Others were in the kitchen, ready to tend to any of the wounded.
“Tom, you’ve fought Indians before, haven’t you?” Nate asked.
“I reckon a time or two,” Tom answered. “Why?”
“I’m just wonderin’. What time do you think they’ll hit us?”
“With Indians, you never know. A lotta times they’ll strike at dawn, when folks are tired from watchin’ for ’em all night. But to others, it don’t really matter. We’ll just have to stay sharp. Boy howdy, I could sure use a smoke.”
Captain Quincy had ordered no smoking, lest the glow of a cigarette or the whiff of tobacco smoke give away a man’s position.
“I can’t offer you a smoke, but you can take a swallow of my whiskey,” Morey offered, pulling a flask from his shirt pocket and holding it out.
“Not right now, Morey, thanks,” Tom said.
“Well, don’t mind if I do,” Morey said. He uncorked the flask and took a good-sized gulp.
“You should probably lay off that stuff for a bit, Morey,” Tom cautioned. “You seem to hit it pretty heavy.”
“It helps me keep my wits about me,” Morey answered. He took another drink.
“Nate, when I found you down by the Rio, I sure as heck never figured I’d be fightin’ alongside you,” Zack said. “I’m real glad you Rangers are here.”
“Yeah,” Justin added. “We’d have been overrun and all of us killed for certain if you weren’t. There’s not a chance we could’ve held off a bunch like Black Dog’s without help.”
“Your guns are gonna come in handy, too,” Nate said.
“You boys might want to quiet down, so we can hear them Comanch’ when they do come in,” Hunt said.
“Hunt’s right, boys,” Cole agreed. “They’re just as likely to sneak up on us, real quiet-like, rather’n ridin’ in whoopin’ and hollerin’ like the Devil.”
The men waited for the attack until well into the early hours of the morning. Despite their anxiety, their eyelids grew heavy as sleep tried to claim them. After long hours of gazing into the night, wondering if every movement in the shadows was a Comanche warrior sneaking up on them, weariness was taking its toll. Several times, Nate found himself nodding off. He had just shaken himself awake once again when the night was pierced by a screech of terror, followed by the crackling of rifle fire and the hoof beats of fast-ridden horses. Hard on those came the war whoops of Black Dog and his Comanches.
“Here they come. Up and at ’em, boys!” Tom shouted, as the Indians crested the rise. “Make every shot count.”
He waited until the marauders drew closer, leveled his rifle, and shot. An Indian pony went down, his rider rolling off, hitting the ground, and springing to his feet. Tom shot him through the chest. This time, the Indian went down for keeps.
Within minutes, Black Dog’s warriors seemed to be everywhere. Bullets sought out their victims, arrows flew through the night, to bury themselves in their targets. Nate aimed and fired as fast as he could, only pausing to reload. His Winchester’s barrel grew hot. Around him, the other men were also fighting a pitched battle. Without warning, Nate heard a sound he would never forget, the sound of an arrow thudding into human flesh. Morey Carson fell back, dead, with that arrow in his chest.
Kyle Newton came running from the corner of the barn. “There’s too many of ’em,” he shouted.
“Get down, kid!” Hunt yelled, too late. An arrow buried itself in the lanky young cowboy’s belly. Kyle grunted, doubled over, dropped to his knees, then pitched to his face. Zack took careful aim at the warrior who had gotten Kyle. He pulled the trigger, and the Comanche went down, with a bullet in his stomach.
“Got that one, anyway,” Zack muttered. “Kyle, that’s for you, pardner.” Alongside him, Justin also took a shot at a warrior on horseback, riding straight at them. His bullet somersaulted the brave off his horse, to lie motionless in the dirt.
“I got one too, Zack!” he shouted. “Hit him dead center.” He aimed and fired again. His shot took a Comanche in his side. The Indian slumped over his horse’s neck, hung on for a few strides, then lost his grip and slid to the ground.
From above, there came a screech of pain, when Tom Clancy, the cowboy assigned to the hayloft, took a bullet in his gut. He doubled over, fell from the loft, and landed at Justin’s feet.
“They…they got Tom,” he stammered, staring at the dead cowboy.
“Just keep on fightin’, or they’ll get all of us, dead center,” Tom said. “And I’m kinda fond of my scalp. I don’t cotton to the notion of it hangin’ from a Comanche’s coup stick.”
“I don’t imagine any of us hanker for that,” Hunt said.
Tom took another shot, cursing when it missed his target. The Indians were more wary now, not moving in quite so closely, choosing their targets more carefully. Zack grunted when an arrow sliced along his ribs.
“You all right, Zack?” Nate asked.
“I…I think so,” Zack answered. “It feels like it’s just a deep cut. It hurts like blazes, though.” He took another shot, and yet one more Indian rode out of the fight, slumped over his horse’s neck, with Zack’s bullet in his shoulder.
All around the Circle Dot E, desperate battles were taking place. Men on both sides went down, with bullets or arrows in them. The Comanches concentrated their attack on the ranch house and the main stable, hoping to drive off the horses there. A flaming arrow embedded itself in the house’s roof, instantly igniting the tinder-dry cedar shakes. Brian Hennessey was stationed on the roof for just such an eventuality. He dropped his rifle, grabbed the wet blanket alongside him, and rushed to smother the flames. He had no sooner gotten them extinguished when a bullet took him in the back. Brian arched in pain, fell, and rolled off the roof, to land face down in the dirt. A Comanche leapt from his horse, brandishing a skinning knife. He grabbed Brian’s hair, intending to take his scalp. A bullet from the house cut him down. He crumpled, falling across Brian’s lifeless body.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the Indians retreated, whooping and hollering in triumph. They had overrun the men defending the horse corral, chased out the horses, and were driving the stolen animals in front of them as they disappeared into the night, hurried along by bullets from the Rangers and ranch hands.
“You reckon they’ll be back, Tom?” Nate asked.
“I doubt it,” Tom answered. “They got what they wanted, a whole bunch of horses. But I’ll guarantee you one thing. They ain’t seen the last of us. Cap’n Quincy’ll have us ridin’ after ’em come first light. For now, it’s time to count our losses and lick our wounds. How you doin’, Zack?”
“I’ll be okay,” Zack assured him. He pulled off his bandanna, folded it, and stuffed it inside his shirt to slow the blow of blood. “Just need to get myself patched up, and I’ll be good as new.”
“How about you, Justin?”
The young cowboy had a bloody gash just above his left ear, where a bullet had torn off a piece of flesh, as well as a good-sized chunk of his hair.
“I should be all right, too,” Justin answered. “I’ll bet I’ve got a heck of a headache come mornin’, though.”
“I w
ouldn’t take that bet,” Tom answered. “I reckon we’d better get you both up to the house, and get you taken care of. There’s nothin’ we can do for Morey.”
“Nothin’ we can do for Harry, either,” Hunt said. “They got him, too. Guess we’ll have some buryin’s come mornin’.”
The veteran cowboy had fallen with an arrow through his throat.
♦●♦
Captain Quincy had taken charge of the rescue efforts, once the Comanches had gone. Nine Circle Dot E men, including Brian Hennessey, were dead, with several more wounded. Among the Rangers, besides Morey Carson, Dan Morton and Joe Duffy had also been killed. Their throats had been slit by Comanches who had slipped up on them, while they were guarding the perimeter of the ranch. Captain Quincy had a bloody left arm, and Diego Sandoval a bullet hole through his thigh.
“How bad we’d get hit, Cap’n?” Tom asked, once he and his partners reached the house. “We lost Morey, and two of the ranch hands.”
“That’s three more men we lost. They hit us bad enough,” Quincy answered. “But at least they didn’t get our horses, just that herd the boys drove in. We’ll be headin’ out after ’em soon as we bury our dead and tend to the wounded. That’ll be at false dawn. And we gave better’n we got. We killed at least a dozen Comanch’.”
“As many of my men as you need will ride with you,” Charlie Hennessey said.
“I appreciate the offer. We’ll see, once we’ve figured out for certain how bad off y’all are here,” Quincy said.
Louella Hennessey came onto the porch. Her eyes were red from weeping over her dead son, Brian. However, like most ranch wives, she was a brave woman, tough enough to handle the hardships and dangers of the Texas frontier. Despite her loss, she would maintain her composure.
“Captain Quincy, bring your men inside,” she said. “We’ll treat your injured. There’s coffee ready for all of you.”
“Much obliged,” Quincy answered. “C’mon, men, you heard the lady.”
Claire Hennessey came outside, to stand alongside her mother.
“Mother,” she said. “Have you seen Josiah?”
“No, why?” Louella answered. “Wasn’t he with you?”
“Not since just after the Indians attacked,” Claire said.
“The last I saw of him he was headed for the stable,” Nicolas Pearson said, from where he stood on the porch. “He said he wanted to make certain no Comanch’ got his pet pony. I tried to stop him, but he pulled away from me.”
“Josiah! Charlie, those Indians have Josiah!” Louella cried.
“Just take it easy. We don’t know that yet for certain,” Hennessey answered. “We’ll take a look around. I’m sure he’s hunkered down somewhere, hidin’ until he knows it’s safe. He’ll turn up.”
“We’ll give you a hand lookin’ for the boy,” Quincy offered. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hennessey. We’ll find him.”
Every man still able to walk fanned out to look for the missing boy. However, their search was futile. There was no sign of Josiah anywhere. His wiry pinto was also missing. Mrs. Hennessey was waiting anxiously on the porch when the last man, Hoot Harrison, returned.
“You didn’t have any luck either, Hoot?” Quincy asked him.
“No sir, Cap’n Dave. I’d say the boy’s gone,” Hoot answered.
“That means the Comanches must have him,” Louella said. “Captain, you have to go after them, right now. I’ve already lost one son tonight. I couldn’t stand it if I also lost another.”
Captain Quincy shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hennessey. We’d never be able to trail those Comanch’ in the dark, even with the full moon. Plus, it’d be too easy for ’em to ambush us at night.”
“But they have Josiah!”
“I know that,” Quincy answered softly, trying to reassure the frantic mother. “We’ll bury our deed, have breakfast, then start after ’em, soon as it’s light enough to see. Percy, my scout, is one of the best trackers I’ve ever worked with. We’ll find your boy, and bring him back. I promise you that.”
“But what if they get into Mexico before you catch up with ’em, Ranger?” Hennessey asked. “You’re not allowed to cross the Rio. If they make it across, we’ll never see Josiah again.”
“What Rio?” Quincy answered.
7
As did most isolated ranches in the West, where death was all too common, the Circle Dot E had its own cemetery in a far corner of the spread. With it being essential to get on the trail of Black Dog and his warriors before they could make good their escape, Captain Quincy and the Rangers would not be able to stay for the burial of the dead. Once the wounded had been cared for, the men killed in Black Dog’s raid were wrapped in blankets and laid out on the porch. A few prayers were said over them by Captain Quincy and Mr. Hennessey. It would fall to the men remaining behind to load the bodies in a buckboard, dig their graves, and bury them. Once the brief service was over preparations were made to pursue the Comanches. Horses were grained, their shoes checked, then saddled and bridled. Food was prepared, since there would be no breakfast, but only what would be gulped down as the men rode.
Reluctantly, Captain Quincy had to leave Diego behind, due to his wounded leg. Diego knew the territory better than anyone, but his wound would not allow him to do the hard riding required in this pursuit. The Rangers would have to rely on Percy Leaping Buck’s considerable skills as a tracker to locate their quarry. The captain had also wanted to leave Nate behind, but Nate convinced him his bruises were not serious enough to keep him out of the saddle.
Charlie Hennessey had demanded he, and as many of his men he could spare from the ranch, accompany the Rangers. His son Luke had also insisted to go along. His father finally convinced him he was needed at home, to stay with his mother and sisters, while his brother Brian was laid to rest. In addition, a contingent of fighters would need to remain behind, in case of another attack on the ranch. Luke would be in charge of those.
The gray light of the false dawn was a streak on the eastern horizon, the men saddling their horses, when Jim Kelly, Ken Demarest, Carl Swan, and Shad Bruneau rode into the yard.
“Cap’n,” Jim called to Quincy. “We were patrollin’ a bit north of here when we got word Black Dog was on the loose. We rode all night to try’n warn you.” He looked at the blanket wrapped bodies lying on the porch. “I guess we were a bit too late.”
“You were, Jim,” Quincy said. “He hit us hard last night. Killed several men—includin’ three of ours—Dan, Joe, and Morey. He also took Josiah Hennessey. We’re goin’ after him. Rope out some fresh horses, if you think you’re not too worn out to ride with us. We’re pullin’ out in five minutes.”
“Of course we’re ridin’ with you,” Jim answered. “C’mon, men, let’s get those mounts.”
While they waited for Jim and the others to get new horses and transfer their gear onto them, the men finished tacking up. Most of them lit the last cigarettes they would be allowed, until they caught up with Black Dog. Nate was stroking Big Red’s neck when Consuela came up to him. She had a sack in one hand, and a brightly colored, striped silk scarf in the other.
“Nate, I packed some extra bacon and tortillas for you,” she said.
“Why, gracias, Consuela. You didn’t have to go to all that bother,” Nate answered.
“It was no bother at all. I also have this scarf for you, to bring you luck, to remind you of me, and that I want you to come back to me, safely.”
She pressed the scarf into Nate’s hand. He took it and tied it around his neck, over the bandanna he already wore.
“I’m not gonna take this off until I see you again,” he promised her.
“Time to mount up and ride out,” Captain Quincy called. Jim and his men had returned, already sitting their horses.
“Be careful, Nate,” Consuela pleaded. She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“I will be,” Nate promised, as he swung onto Red’s back. “Hasta luego.”
“Vaya
con Dios.”
“Men, move out!” Captain Quincy waved the column of riders into motion. Nate suddenly realized Clarissa Hennessey was nowhere in sight. He had only a moment to wonder why, before Quincy increased the horses’ gait into a trot.
♦●♦
Captain Quincy and Lieutenant Berkeley rode at the head of the column, with Jeb right behind them. Alongside him was Jim Kelly. Hoot and Nate weren’t in their usual spots, at the rear of the company, riding side by side, laughing and joking. This time, Hoot was riding alongside Carl Swan. Nate and Tom Tomlinson brought up the rear.
“You’re not ridin’ with Nate, Hoot?” Ken asked.
“Nope.”
“You mind tellin’ me why?”
“Let’s just say he’s not the friend I thought he was, and let it go at that,” Hoot said.
“All right.” Ken gave a shrug. “I won’t put my nose where it’s not wanted.”
The sun burst over the horizon in glorious shades of orange, gold, and crimson. Percy rode up to Captain Quincy.
“I’m gonna ride ahead a bit, and see if I can get a feel for which way Black Dog’s headed,” he said. “Not that it appears it’s gonna be too hard to trail him. These tracks he’s leavin’ are pretty plain. It’s hard to hide the hoof prints of a whole horse herd. Besides, it doesn’t appear he’s in all that much of a hurry. I think he believes he killed just about everyone back on the Circle Dot E. I’d guess he has no idea anyone’d be on his trail this quick.”
“All right, Percy,” Quincy said. Percy put his pinto into a lope, and was soon out of sight.
“I sure hope Percy’s right, and we catch up with that devil and his bunch before too long,” Bob said. “They can make the Rio and be across in a couple of hours, if they’ve a mind to.”
“There’s also a thousand or more canyons, arroyos, and draws they can just fade away into, and disappear,” Jeb added. “Let’s hope Black Dog doesn’t do that. He can ambush us real easy, if he does.”
Lone Star Ranger Page 10