The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  But what of the tracks he had found near the spring, twenty miles south? Those soldiers had been on their way to Monterrey or Mexico City, he decided, and their line of march could vary a few miles. But this trail over which the cannon had been drawn had to be the most direct route to the outpost at Meoqui. Nobody in his right mind, pulling an ungainly field piece over rough terrain, would travel more miles than he had to. Gil followed the tracks for a mile and soon found the proof he sought. There were many older tracks underlying the most recent ones. He rested his horse until it was safe for the animal to drink, and then he rode south in a slow gallop, bearing the bad news. Gil met the herd halfway to the spring where they would bed down for the night. Ramon and Van rode ahead to meet him, and listened grimly as he told them what lay ahead.

  “The next couple of days, then,” said Van, “will either see us past the outposts at Monterrey and Meoqui, or in the hands of the Mex army.”

  “That’s how it stacks up,” said Gil, “but don’t spend all your time just worryin’ about that. Once we leave that spring runoff, it’s a good twenty miles to the next water. Even if we push ’em hard, the last half a dozen miles we’ll be risking a stampede every foot of the way. They’ll be dry, ornery, and one whiff of that creek will have ’em on the run.”

  “At least they’ll be headed north,” said Van, “and that’s the way we want ’em to go.”

  “Dust,” said Ramon, shaking his head. “Soldados see dust, mebbe hear estampeda.”

  “He’s dead right,” said Gil, “but even if that fails to draw them to us, we’ll still be directly in their line of march while we try to gather the stampeded herd. One way or another, if we lose ’em and they scatter along that creek, I look for trouble. Soon as we bed down for the night, I’ll warn the other riders.”

  August 22, 1843. On the trail north.

  Gil was awake long before dawn. Rosa was rolled in her blankets next to him. Last night, while he had explained the possibility of a clash with Mexican soldiers, he had seen the fear in Rosa’s eyes. She hadn’t forgotten, and when she had spread her blankets next to his, he knew why. Now, as he looked at her in the dim starlight, she sat up.

  “Soldados,” she said softly. “Soldados come. Soldados kill.”

  “Rosa,” he said.

  She crept over next to him. Fully dressed, except for his boots, he tucked his blanket around her. Soon she slept. He suspected she’d slept as poorly as he had, and he sat there longer than he’d intended, because he hated to awaken her. Ramon sought out Gil at first light. He knew the day’s drive would be a killer.

  “Mebbe we go now,” said Ramon. “Not eat.”

  “No,” said Gil, “we’re going to eat a hot meal and enjoy hot coffee, because we may be until after dark getting to the next water. Eat while you can; we may be in a cold camp tonight.”

  When they moved out, Estanzio and Mariposa pushed the horse herd harder than usual. It would be hardest on the longhorn cows, the cow’s stride being shorter than that of a bull. Gil had seen to it that most of the cows had been moved to the front of the herd. If they lagged, they risked being hooked from the rear by the impatient bulls and steers. Gil soon decided it was a tactic he’d never use again, if they ever made it to water. Some of the cows, tired of having their rumps and flanks raked with horns, decided to solve the problem by simply quitting the herd. It kept the flank riders sweating, as one cow after another made a run for it. Not being too smart to begin with, cows never seemed to learn do from don’t. The same ones kept quitting the herd, and had to be forced back into it.

  “My God,” Van groaned, “this is worse than first day on the trail with a new herd.”

  Gil had to agree. By noon he doubted they had traveled even ten miles. He had made a costly mistake, so he sought Ramon’s help, and they set about correcting it. They reversed the order, moving the longer-strided bulls and steers to the front, and the cows to the rear.

  “Estanzio and Mariposa will continue to drive the horse herd,” said Gil. “Ramon will take one flank, and Juan Padillo the other. The rest of us will eat dust at drag. Keep the cows bunched and moving. Double your lariats and dust their backsides.”

  There was immediate improvement. The cows escaped the bite of the lariats by staying bunched and keeping up with the leaders. That ended the epidemic of bunch-quitting. The August sun bore down, and the dusty flanks of the longhorns darkened with sweat. So did the dusty shirts of the riders. Far beyond the Sierra Madres the sky was being painted a dusky rose by the westering sun. The wind had been out of the northwest all day. Gil caught Ramon’s eye and pointed to the west. Ramon shook his head. At least there would be no storm, with the promise of water brought by a deceitful wind.

  “Now what?” Gil wondered. He was riding drag, and the flank riders had signaled a stop. Before he reached the point, Gil could see what had caused the delay. Estanzio was riding toward the herd, his rifle at the ready. Before him walked a pair of terrified Mexicans, one of them leading a mule. The mule’s load had been diamond-hitched over a pack saddle. Ramon rode behind Estanzio, and it was Ramon who spoke.

  “Hombres go to Monterrey,” he said.

  Estanzio had reined up, and his captives stood there looking for the world like what they probably were—a pair of dirt-poor farmers on their way to town to trade the little they had for food. Gil rode past Estanzio and spoke to Ramon.

  “I know it’s bad news, Ramon, but there’s no help for it. Tell Estanzio to let them go.”

  Ramon walked his horse alongside Estanzio’s and spoke in Spanish. The Indian, saying nothing, eased his rifle off cock and slid it into the boot. Ramon spoke to the Mexicans, and their relief was pathetically obvious. Departing in haste, they were almost dragging the mule. Van had arrived in time to see them leave. Before he could ask, Gil answered his question.

  “They’re going to Monterrey.”

  “So are we,” said Van, “once they’ve spilled their guts to the soldiers. I don’t often disagree with you, big brother, but I’d have hog-tied that pair, took ’em with us, and let ’em go at the border.”

  “Just one more thing you’d have to explain to the soldiers,” said Gil. “Everybody to your positions. Ramon, move ’em out.”

  The sun slid behind the Sierra Madres, and even with no wind, it seemed mercifully cooler. Gil judged they had traveled fifteen miles; three quarters of the way to water. First he spoke to Ramon, then made his way along the strung-out herd to the rest of the riders. Rather than risk a dry camp, they would push on. There was no trouble with the horse herd, but the longhorns grew restless. They were tired, they were thirsty, and while they weren’t all that smart, they knew day from night. It was time to drink, to graze, to rest.

  “Keep them bunched,” Gil shouted. “Keep them moving.”

  Some of the herd, especially those near the drag, tried to turn back. Strong in their memory was the water and good graze of the night before. Even without the moisture-laden wind, they were becoming hard to handle. Gil rode ahead, catching up to the horse herd.

  “Estanzio,” he said, “you and Mariposa take caballos to water. Let them drink, then take them to graze.”

  Estanzio nodded. Once the longhorns scented water, they were likely to gore anything or anybody in their way. While the longhorn herd was limited to the shorter stride of the cows, the horses had no such restriction. They could reach the water, drink, and be safely grazing before the longhorns arrived. The cattle might stampede toward the water and scatter from hell to breakfast, but at least they wouldn’t take the horse herd with them. Once the sun was down, darkness seemed to descend on them immediately. There would be a moon later, but that was no help now. It was the first time they had trailed the herd after dark, and the longhorns seemed confused. Even as they plodded along, they began bawling their weariness, frustration, and thirst. At first only a few protested, but like coyotes, the others joined in until there was a bovine chorus such as none of the riders had ever heard.

  “My G
od,” said Van, “the way sound travels at night, the Mex soldiers in Monterrey will know we’re here, without them Mex farmers sayin’ a word.”

  The melancholy chorus continued, seeming to swell in volume. They were three hours past sundown when the leaders thought they smelled water somewhere ahead. Gil and Ramon tried in vain to slow them, but finally had to ride for their lives to avoid being trampled. The riders followed in the wake of the stampede. There was no hurry now.

  “At least they won’t be scattered over half of Mexico,” said Van. “We’ll find ’em somewhere along the creek.”

  “Yes,” said Gil, “but however long it takes to gather them, that’s time we don’t have. We’re right in the line of march for soldiers going to or from Meoqui. If that’s not enough, by tomorrow evening that pair of farmers will have reached Monterrey. It’ll be a miracle if we get through without being spotted by soldiers from Monterrey or Meoqui.”

  August 23, 1843. South of Tampico.

  Solano rode out in the dim starlight. Before they resumed their journey, he would scout ahead. The farther north they traveled, the greater the danger, and the more of a hindrance the cart became. It was presently concealed in a coulee where Clay Duval and Angelina awaited his return. They were in need of a horse and saddle, and when the opportunity presented itself, Solano would have both. It was part of his purpose in riding out ahead of each night’s departure. The wind was from the north, and before he had ridden far, he smelled smoke. Picketing his horse, he continued on foot. Soldados always built a fire big enough to roast a vaca, he thought, and this bunch was no exception. He counted twelve of them. Circling their camp until he found where the horses were picketed, he sought one whom he could reach without alarming the others. He approached a black, muttering his “horse talk” just loud enough for the horse to hear. It was a friendly, comforting sound the horse found familiar, and once Solano had the animal safely away from the camp, he returned. Quickly he examined the saddles by feel, choosing one that was not military, one that had a rifle in the boot. He pulled picket pins on the rest of the horses, took the saddle, and faded into the night. Circling the camp, he retrieved his own horse and rode back to the coulee where Clay and Angelina waited. Solano swung out of the saddle and passed the reins to the Texan.

  “Leave cart,” said Solano. “Go, pronto.”

  Angelina’s saddle was still in the cart. Solano quickly saddled the third horse, and Angelina mounted. When they rode out, Solano led them far wide of the soldier camp. Once they were a mile north of it, Solano passed his reins to Clay.

  “Hold,” he said. “Cougar come.”

  With that, he was gone. When he was within three hundred yards of the soldier camp, he loosed the eerie, spine-chilling cry of a cougar. The horses lit out south, some of them tearing right through the camp itself. Victim to a flying hoof, one soldier cried out in pain. Others cursed, and one emptied his pistol into the night. Solano returned to where Angelina and Clay waited. Without a word he took the reins from Clay, mounted his horse and led out.

  August 24, 1843. Mexico City.

  General Paradez, having defeated Santa Anna, was furious. Expecting a hero’s welcome, he had returned to Mexico City to find the town laughing at him and his newly appointed liberal administration. Not only had they been forced to break into their own prison, they had found their jailer dead, and every gringo in the prison had been freed. Poor Antonio Mendez—found dead and half naked—had been disgraced, and his family had disappeared. General Paradez himself had gone to the Cocodrillo café to question the old Mexican woman who owned it. He had accomplished little, except to scare her out of her wits. She knew nothing about the girl, except her first name—Angelina—had no idea where she was from or where she might have gone. General Paradez pounced on one of his hapless aides.

  “I will depart for Matamoros, Tamaulipas at dawn,” he said. “I will take a hundred soldiers with me.”

  “But my general,” the aide stammered, “we do not have a hundred soldiers!”

  “Por Dios!” bawled Paradez. “Then I will take as many as we have.”

  Using the little information that he had, Paradez issued an arrest order on the girl he knew only as Angelina, charging her with the murder of Antonio Mendez. There was a reward of five thousand pesos. Dead or alive.

  When Gil and the rest of the outfit reached the creek, they found it full of longhorns. Many of them, having drunk their fill, grazed along the banks. Estanzio and Maripoisa splashed their horses across the creek. They had wisely driven the horse herd to the other side, grazing them well beyond the stream.

  “Nothing more we can do tonight,” said Gil. “Come first light, we’ll gather them as quickly as we can and move out. No fires tonight. The usual watch, but when you sleep, don’t get too comfortable. Since we don’t know what to expect, we’ll have to be ready for anything.”

  Gil was up at first light. There were bunches of longhorns grazing along both banks of the creek. He doubted the gather would take long. Still, it would lessen the daylight hours they would need to reach the next water.

  “Ramon,” said Gil, “I’m going to take my usual ride, because we need to know what’s ahead. Water especially. They don’t seem too scattered, so I reckon you can gather them quickly. Move out as soon as you can.”

  Gil didn’t feel comfortable leaving them to do the gather without him, but he was concerned, not only about water and graze for tonight, but how near they might be to Monterrey. He had ridden less than ten miles when he came upon something that was a total surprise. It was a small lake, the result of some unseen source, and it didn’t look to have ever been dry. It was an ideal campsite, and there was evidence of old fires. Soldiers perhaps, but they would have to take that chance. Even with the time it took to gather the longhorns, the trail drive could easily reach this water before dark. With that assurance, he rode on. He still must find water for tomorrow, and that old premonition that warned him of impending trouble began to stir.

  18

  “Is good,” said Ramon as they brought the last bunch of cows into the newly gathered herd.

  “We lucked out on that one,” said Van. “Now let’s get ’em on the trail. We don’t know how many miles we are from the next water.”

  Watered and grazed, the herds trailed well. Van watched Bola ride off up the creek they were leaving. He was leading an extra horse.

  “Hunt deer,” said Ramon.

  It was a welcome change from a diet of bacon and beans. Van had come to appreciate Bola’s unique talent. It was especially useful in country where a rifle shot might bring an enemy on the run. When Bola eventually caught up to them, the led horse bore the carcass of a deer. The sun was still more than an hour high when they reached the lake Gil had discovered.

  “That’s it for today,” Van said. “We don’t know how far we are from the next water, but there’s no hope of reaching it before sundown.”

  “Mebbe far,” said Ramon. “Gil not come back.”

  “We’re always havin’ to track him down and keep him from gettin’ his ears shot off,” said Van. “Maybe I’d better ride out a ways and see if he’s in trouble.”

  Gil was having problems, but nothing he couldn’t handle. After leaving the lake, he had ridden almost ten miles without finding water for the next day’s drive. Suddenly his horse put its left foot into an unseen hole. Gil dismounted, examined the leg, and found the skin broken. When he led the horse a few steps, it limped.

  “Well, old son,” he said, “if you can walk, I’ll walk with you.”

  Walk they did, the black favoring the sore leg. It was the horse Solano had chosen for him, and Gil wouldn’t have taken a thousand dollars for it. When the sun had set, purple shadows crept over the land, and the only sound was the sigh of the wind and the sleepy chirp of birds. Man and horse plodded on.

  In his concern for Gil, Van almost didn’t see the soldiers in time to avoid having them see him. He was only minutes from camp, and the trail drive was only min
utes from discovery. The soldiers rode in columns of two, and while he had been unable to see them all, he believed there were twenty or more. There was no way to avoid discovery; the dreaded time was upon them. All he could do for Ramon and the outfit was give them a few minutes’ warning. He turned his horse, and when he was far enough ahead of the soldiers, he urged the animal into a gallop. He rode in at twilight; it would be dark within minutes.

  “Soldiers,” he told them, “ridin’ in from the northwest.”

  “Many?” Ramon asked.

  “Too many,” Van said. “I couldn’t see ’em all, without them seein’ me. There’s got to be twenty or more. Change your story a little, Ramon. Don’t mention Santa Anna. Just say this is the Mendoza outfit, and the horses and cows are for use by the Mexican army. The trail drive is on its way to Matamoros, Tamaulipas. That has to be the larger of the two outposts.”

  Van hated to pile all the responsibility on Ramon, but it was their only hope. He must remain in the shadows, lest his blue eyes give him away. If this bunch of Mex soldiers decided to stay the night, they were finished, for his and Gil’s identity was a secret he doubted could stand the light of day. But a more immediate worry was Gil himself. If he was in trouble, he was on his own, for they couldn’t help him. When the soldiers rode in, it was even worse than Van had suspected. Including the officer in charge, there were forty-three men! The officer bore an alarming resemblance to Captain Ortega, fat and arrogance included. He halted his columns and walked his horse to within a few yards of where Ramon, Juan Padillo, and Estanzio waited. While he couldn’t see the multitude of longhorns, it was impossible for him not to be aware of their presence for there was a distant lowing and clacking of horns. The officer spoke in English.

  “I am Major Gomez Farias,” he said. “Perhaps you will explain who you are, where you are going, and the purpose of your journey.”