The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “One day,” said Ramon, “mebbe two, caballos, vacas be ready.”

  “Stay where you are as long as you can,” Clay cautioned. “I want them well away from Matamoros before we make our move.”

  “There be many,” said Ramon. “We kill?”

  “No,” said Clay, “I have a better idea. We’ll allow them a day’s ride from Matamoros, and then we’ll move in after dark. Solano, Estanzio, and Mariposa can silence their sentries. You, me, and maybe a couple of the others will grab the officer in charge. With a gun to his head, we’ll disarm, the rest of them. Then we’ll give the lot of ’em a dose of what they’ve been givin’ Gil and Van. We’ll tie their hands behind their backs, put them in their saddles, and take ’em south about fifty miles. We’ll let ’em loose, but we’ll bring their horses back with us. Afoot, they’ll be a week gettin’ back to Matamoros. By then we’ll be in Texas.”

  “Is good,” said Ramon. “Many soldados conscripts. No want to fight.”

  September 7, 1843. South of Matamoros, Tamaulipas.

  Ramon had delayed the trail drive as long as he could. It was the third day since Gil and Van had arrived at Matamoros. It bothered Ramon that Gil and Van might be held at Matamoros until the trail drive reached the military outpost. That would effectively destroy all their plans. Instead of facing a smaller detail of soldiers taking Gil and Van to Mexico City, they would be up against every soldier at Matamoros.

  General Paradez had left Mexico City with twenty-four men, a far cry from the number he had requested. He needed a show of force, something to add luster to what he perceived as his tarnished reputation. He had deposed that idiot Santa Anna just in time to lose every captive Tejano from Mexico City’s prison. But alas, had he not compensated for that? Before his mounted soldiers stumbled no less than ten of the Tejano dogs who had been released from the prison. His soldiers had captured them as they sought to reach the border, and he had no choice except to march them on to the outpost at Matamoros. But their capture was a mixed blessing. Exhausted and afoot, they had slowed him down.

  Now, Paradez was headed for a showdown with Major Farias, and he didn’t relish the prospect. Farias and his men had been in the field for months, and it was past time for them to return to Mexico City. The trouble was, Paradez had needed forty-three men to fully relieve Farias and his men, and he had only twenty-four unwilling conscripts. That meant eighteen of Farias’s men would be stuck at Matamoros or Monterrey for months. Worse, Paradez had no officer to replace Farias, and carried orders forcing the major to remain in the field with the new recruits. Even after so long a journey, Paradez decided he would remain at Matamoros only one night. It would be all he could stomach of that pompous asno, Major Farias. He was bad enough anytime, but give him a legitimate complaint, and he would be unbearable.

  Clay Duval wasn’t the kind to sit and wait. While Solano kept close to Matamoros, Clay and Angelina often rode eastward. Clay believed it was time for more soldiers to be arriving from Mexico City.

  “A company of soldiers ridin’ north,” said Clay, “ought to give us some idea as to how many soldiers will be returning to Mexico City. When new recruits are sent into the field, I figure an equal number of men will be sent home. I look for them to take Gil and Van with them.”

  It seemed the Mexican army was fulfilling Clay’s prediction when Clay and Angelina observed General Paradez and his twenty-four soldiers riding north. But their elation was short-lived, for stumbling along ahead of the soldiers were no less than ten ragged, exhausted captives!

  “My God,” groaned Clay, “the Mex bastards caught ’em.”

  “Maybe it’s…maybe they’re not the same ones we set free,” said Angelina.

  “It’s them,” said Clay grimly. “They were caught too far north to have this bunch of soldiers turn around and take them back to Mexico City. This means they’ll likely be sent back with the next soldiers ridin’ south.”

  “Then we shall free them a second time,” said Angelina angrily, “and this time, they’ll cross the border with us.”

  “They will,” said Clay, “and every man with his gun smoking. We’ll make good use of those soldado rifles and pistols. Right now, even with those men afoot, they ain’t more’n two or three days out of Matamoros. Maybe four days from now, I expect Solano to ride in and tell us the journey to Mexico City is under way.”

  September 8, 1843. South of Matamoros, Tamaulipas.

  It was time to move out. Ramon was unable to justify delaying the trail drive any longer. He had managed to waste an extra day, and had spent most of it listening to Sergeant Aguilla’s complaints and threats. The drive had been moving northeasterly, but Ramon had cautioned Estanzio and Mariposa to watch for a well-defined trail from the south. Tracks of soldado horses traveling north meant it was time for the trail drive to turn north toward Matamoros. Sergeant Aguilla was riding with Ramon ahead of the plodding longhorns when Estanzio rode back to meet them.

  “Soldado horses,” said Estanzio. “North.”

  “How many day old?” Ramon asked.

  “Uno,” said Estanzio.

  “Hombre,” said Sergeant Aguilla, “I wish to see these tracks.”

  Aguilla followed Estanzio until the trail drive’s horse herd blended its tracks with those of the northbound soldier horses. Sergeant Aguilla back-trailed the soldier horses for a few hundred yards, reading the tracks. A pair of Aguilla’s veteran soldiers had followed. Aguilla turned to them, pointing to the tracks.

  “Twenty-five of them,” said Aguilla sourly, “and forty-three of us. Some of us will not be returning to Mexico City for a while.”

  His two comrades looked at him, trying to decide if he was joking. They looked at the tracks again, and decided he was not. They began cursing long and loud. Sergeant Aguilla laughed.

  Gil, Van, and Long John viewed their breakfast without enthusiasm. It consisted of corn mush and cold coffee.

  “It ain’t easy downin’ this slop,” said Long John, “now that they’s hope fer us bustin’ loose.”

  “One small problem,” said Gil. “We don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here until they take us south. You could get mighty lank after a couple of weeks.”

  “One other small problem,” said Van. “When they take us south, Rosa won’t be going with us.”

  “That won’t make any difference,” said Gil, “because we’ll be coming back this way once we’re free. I’ll find her if I have to level every damn building on this side of the Rio.”

  “Mighty strong sentiments,” said Long John, “fer a kid that ain’t even yourn.”

  “Until somebody puts in a stronger claim,” said Gil, “Rosa’s mine.”

  “Fer thirty-five year,” said Long John, “I ain’t cared a damn fer nobody’s hide but my own.”

  It was a callous thing to say. While the Texans said nothing, viewing Long John with disgust, they never forgot what he had said. Fate had a way of playing cruel tricks on a man, and before Long John Coons’s trail came to an end, he would remember and bitterly regret those words.*

  Major Gomez Farias had been at Matamoros less than twenty-four hours, and already Captain Felix Diaz was sick of him. Diaz, the post commander, had become skeptical of Farias’s strange story about the Matamoros-bound trail drive. Por Dios, after Santa Anna’s extravagance, Mexico could scarcely pay its soldiers the pittance they were promised. How then were they to pay for the thousands of horses and cows Farias had said were coming?

  “A week, now,” said Diaz, “since you encountered this strange trail drive. Do you not wonder why we have seen nothing of this caravana and the soldiers you left behind?”

  Major Farias slumped down in his chair and said nothing. While he outranked Diaz, the post commander was within his rights in questioning the whereabouts of a full third of Farias’s men. While Diaz made no accusations, his skepticism was obvious. Farias believed he was leading up to something, and Diaz proceeded to confirm his suspicion.

  “Major Farias,”
said Diaz, “General Paradez himself will soon arrive with soldiers to replace you and your company. For your sake, may your missing soldiers and this—ah, trail drive—reach Matamoros first.”

  “Madre mio!” shouted Farias, leaping to his feet. “If they do not arrive tomorrow, I will personally go after them!”

  But time and luck had run out for Farias. General Paradez and his soldiers arrived the following morning.

  21

  September 11, 1843. Military outpost at Matamoros, Mexico.

  Gil stood on the bench so that he could see out the small barred window. While he could see out little but the soldiers’ barracks, that seemed to be the scene of all the commotion. Most of the soldiers—Major Farias’s men—were outside. There were a few cheers, but mostly grumbling and cursing.

  “They ain’t enough room fer us all t’ see out,” said Long John. “What’s all the fuss about?”

  Before Gil could reply, the outside door to the guardhouse swung open and one of their former guards entered with a ring of keys. He opened the iron-barred doors of three of the cells on the opposite side of the corridor. Into the guardhouse, prodded by soldiers, came ten dirty, ragged, bearded men. Their feet were bare, and some of them left bloody footprints on the stone floor. Four of the captives were herded into the first open cell, and the soldier with the keys locked the heavy barred door behind them. The second four prisoners were locked in the adjoining cell, and some of them immediately collapsed on the floor. The ninth man went into the third cell, but the tenth—and last—was unable to go any farther. He fell on his knees before the door. The soldier with the keys kicked him into the cell and then locked the door. The four soldiers then departed, the man with the keys going out last. Long John, Van, and Gil stood at the barred door of their cell looking at the unfortunates in the cells across the aisle. Gil wanted to question them, but they looked incapable of talking, more dead than alive.

  “Can’t be more’n a hour,” said Long John, “till they fetch us some kinda slop fer dinner. Them boys looks like they ain’t et sincet the Alamo.”

  One of the men in the cell directly across from them took hold of the bars and pulled himself to a sitting position on the stone floor. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, and there were times when it failed him completely.

  “Fed us…ever’ other day,” he mumbled. “Nothin’ for…the last two days.”

  “You’re close to feeding time here,” said Gil. “It ain’t like San Antone, but it’s considerably better than nothing.”

  “Lord God!” cried the newcomer, “if I could just see Texas again—any part of it—I’d feel…like Moses lookin’ at the promised land.”

  He lay back on the stone floor, exhausted. Several of the other captives had revived, and one of them took up where his comrade had left off. He was a bit stronger, and answered some of the questions Gil was dying to ask.

  “We was part of the Mier expedition,” he said. “If you ain’t heared of it, I’m most ashamed to tell. Two hunnert and sixty of us damn fools went acrost the river and challenged three thousand Mex soldiers to a shootin’ match. We was forced to surrender, them of us that wasn’t shot all t’ hell. While we was bein’ took to Mexico City, we busted loose. But we was afoot, in strange country, an’ without grub. They caught us agin, and this time there wasn’t no way we could git loose. We was took to Mexico City and stuck in a stinkin’ hole they call the dungeon. When it looked like we’d be there at least till the resurrection, this purty young gal shows up. This Mex jailer was shinin’ up to her, but she wasn’t carin’ about him. He couldn’t see it, but the rest of us could. This lady was there lookin’ for her man, an’ she found him. Nex’ time we see her, she’s alone, ’cept for that big beautiful ring of keys in her hand. She done her part, God bless her, but we couldn’t do ours. Twenty-five of them Mex bastards was on the way here, an’ they caught us just this side of Tampico.”

  Gil and Van looked at one another. They knew who the angel of mercy had been, and the man she’d gone looking for.

  “Only twenty-five soldiers?” Gil asked. “I was expecting more.”

  “God knows,” said the newcomer, “that’s enough. I’d as soon they just shoot me as t’ drag me back to that miserable dungeon.”

  “Speak fer yo’sef,” said Long John.

  “If they take you back,” said Gil, “I expect we’ll be going with you.”

  He shot Van and Long John a warning look. While these men were fellow Texans, Gil didn’t really know them. When the time came, they could all make their bid for freedom, but he wasn’t yet ready to divulge their secret. The guards brought their dinner, and poor as it was, the newly arrived captives fell to like it was a feast. When they had eaten, they slept.

  “I reckon I see what Clay’s got in mind,” said Van. “Now that these soldiers are here from Mexico City, some of them that brought us in will be ridin’ south.”

  “Yes,” said Gil, “and that’s why I thought there’d be more than the twenty-five that just rode in. Remember, Farias had forty-two men. He left fourteen of them with the trail drive, and the trail drive hasn’t shown up. If I was the Mex officer over Farias, I’m damned if I’d allow him or any of his men to rotate until those fourteen men with the trail drive are accounted for.”

  “If Clay’s plan works,” said Van, “we know the soldiers with the trail drive won’t be showin’ up. Now if what you’re sayin’ is true, that means the rest of this bunch—some of ’em, anyway—will be back-trailin’ Farias, if only to account for the missing soldiers.”

  “Much as I hope I’m wrong,” said Gil, “it’s what I expect, and it’s going to complicate our plans. With the twenty-eight men Farias has, and the twenty-five that rode in today, that’s fifty-three. I doubt they’ll send more than a dozen men to look for the trail drive and the missing soldiers. That means we’ll still be locked in here, and this outpost will have more than forty men to defend it.”

  “Damn,” said Long John in disgust, “that means, ’sted o’ yer boys havin’ fourteen o’ them Mex bastards t’ git shut of, they’ll likely have twicet that many.”

  “Clay Duval is equal to that,” said Gil. “The problem is, unless some of these soldiers are sent back to Mexico City and take us with them, we’ll be stuck here behind bars. By now, Clay knows there’s twenty-five soldiers just in from Mexico City. Now if Solano reports a group of soldiers ridin’ away without us, Clay will have a good idea what’s wrong. He won’t know when—or if—we’re to be taken to Mexico City, and he’ll have no choice except to break us out of here.”

  General Paradez was not one to postpone an unpleasant duty. The moment Paradez and his twenty-four recruits had ridden in, Major Farias and his men had known what was coming. Paradez, once he had eaten and rested, met with Felix Diaz, captain and post commander. Diaz shook his head when told that eighteen men could not be rotated. That fitted in with the doubts he’d been having about this enormous trail drive Farias insisted was bound for the post at Matamoros. When they were so short of soldiers, why did they need more horses, and enough cows to feed all of Mexico? Captain Diaz told Paradez what he knew, stressing the fact that fourteen of Farias’s men were unaccounted for.

  “What I wish to know,” said Diaz, “is who authorized this trail drive, and how are we to pay for these many cows and horses? You know we are unable to pay our soldiers. There is but one man capable of such extravagance in the very face of bankruptcy.”

  “Santa Anna,” said General Paradez, and he uttered the name as though it were an obscenity. Throwing lavish parties for any reason or for no reason at all, Santa Anna had squandered millions.

  “That brings us to Major Farias,” said Diaz, and Paradez knew what he meant. Farias, while not a friend of the deposed Santa Anna, was part of the old regime. Since Farias had been in the field, at Meoqui, Paradez had been unable to get rid of him. Even now, with the shortage of men, the best Paradez had been able to do was extend Farias’s tour of duty at one of these distant outp
osts, where he had no influence. General Paradez was elated. When he returned to Mexico City, he would see that this obvious incompetence did not go unnoticed. He might yet rid himself of Farias.

  “I think,” said Paradez, “I will interrogate some of the men from Major Farias’s command. Then I will see Farias.”

  The party in question sat hunched on a chair before a window in the officers’ barracks. Farias wasn’t surprised when an orderly came to the enlisted men’s barracks and departed with four of his men. Farias cursed. So Paradez knew of the still-missing soldiers and of the trail drive. It was the ultimate insult, Paradez taking the word of common soldiers over his own. By the time Paradez finally requested his presence in the post commander’s office, Farias was seething. Closing the door behind him, he saluted and stood there wordlessly.

  “At ease, Major,” said Paradez. “You may sit, if you wish.”

  Farias continued to stand, his hands clenched behind his back.

  “I understand,” said General Paradez, “that somewhere to the southwest of Monterrey, you allegedly encountered a trail drive consisting of a herd of horses and several thousand longhorn cows. You were told this caravana was bound for this military outpost. You brought two gringo prisoners with you, claiming to have taken them from among the trail drive’s riders. You then left fourteen of your men with the trail drive. After more than a week, you are still missing a third of your command, and there is no trail drive in sight. This misterio does not alarm you?”

  “My general, I was about to ride out to seek the cause of the delay,” said Farias.

  “That will not be necessary,” said Paradez. “In the morning, I will ride until I find this trail drive, if it exists. I wish to know who authorized the delivery of this livestock.”