The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Rosa,” he shouted. “Rosa, are you there?”

  She tried to answer him, but her cry was choked off. Somebody was with her, restraining her! He threw his shoulder to the door, and it didn’t give in the slightest. It was seasoned oak, and after half a dozen attempts, all he had gained was a sore shoulder. The flames behind him began to crackle, and clouds of smoke stung his eyes. He searched desperately for something heavy enough to break down the door. Turning back to the smoke-filled parlor, he found the floor—thanks to the heavy rug—totally engulfed in flames. He ran through them, feeling the heat through the thin soles of his boots, until he reached the fireplace. There was a slender iron poker, and he rejected it as useless. Logs had been laid in preparation for a fire, and it was on the way. He grabbed one of the cedar logs from the fireplace, but it was short, light, and useless. He threw the rest of the logs out onto the burning floor and grabbed one of the heavy andirons. They were “bull heads,” with the familiar head atop each of the tall uprights. While it was an awkward object, it was iron, heavy enough to suit his purpose.

  Again he ran through the fire, feeling it singe his eyebrows and hair. Grasping the ponderous andiron by the upright, just beneath the bull’s head, he swung it like an ax against the stubborn door. Despite the solidness of the door, he felt something give. After a second blow, he could see a crack between the door’s edge and the jamb. The door itself hadn’t budged, but he was tearing loose one end of the bar and whatever secured it. When one of his blows sent the door suddenly crashing against the wall, catching him off balance, all that saved him was the heavy andiron he hefted for another blow. Rosa cried out as a pistol roared and lead sang off the andiron, ripping into the ceiling. Grasping the pistol was the biggest Mexican woman Gil had ever seen. She could have taken the horns of a bull and thrown the animal, without it having a chance. In a single motion he slammed the heavy andiron down on her moccasined feet, then grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the pistol. He forced the muzzle of the pistol toward the ceiling, and again the weapon roared. Fisting her free hand, she slugged Gil just below his left ear, and he almost blacked out. But he clung to her arm, and slowly but surely, forced her to drop the pistol. Before it hit the floor, she had a dagger in her left hand. Gil wasn’t expecting that, and when she made a pass at him, the tip of the blade slashed the front of his shirt.

  Gil caught the wrist of the hand wielding the knife, and a new struggle began. She brought up a vicious knee, and Gil twisted just enough, quickly enough, to spare his groin. But there was one element neither of them had counted on. A pistol roared, and Gil’s bull-strong antagonist stiffened. Gil backed away. Her fingers went limp, she dropped the dagger, and fell facedown. On the floor sat Rosa, clutching the smoking pistol in both her small hands.

  “El Diablo bruja,” said Rosa.

  Dropping the pistol, she sprang to her feet and ran to Gil. He caught her up and stepped out the door, only to encounter an inferno of flames. He turned back to the room they’d just left, but there was no exit, not even a window.

  “Rosa,” he cried, “there must be a kitchen. Where?”

  She pointed to what seemed a solid wall at the other end of the first bedroom. He found the outline of a cleverly concealed door, but how in tarnation did it open? He kicked it hard, but it held. Gil put Rosa down and turned back to the other room, where the andiron lay. Taking his hold again, he swung the thing against the concealed door. Something moved on the other side, and he struck another blow with the andiron. Two more battering blows with the andiron snapped the lock. There was the kitchen, with its barred back door, but before he reached it, the entire back wall came down! Part of the roof came with it, and Gil moved away with Rosa just in time. When the dust cleared, Gil and Rosa stepped out into the sunlit morning. Van and Long John were coiling their lariats, and Ramon led Gil’s horse.

  “We was gettin’ a mite concerned about you,” said Van, grinning.

  “You should be,” said Gil. “That’s the second damn roof that’s fell on me in an hour.”

  “Hit the saddle and let’s ride,” said Van. “Clay and the others are up the trail a ways, waitin’ for us. Swing wide of the guardhouse; the hombres with rifles tried to get me and Long John in a cross fire, but a couple of ’em run headlong into Clay, Ramon, and the others. That’s two we won’t have to fight at the border.”

  They rode west of the burning building until they were well away from the outpost. Then they turned northeasterly until they reached the path the stampede had taken. There they turned north, toward the border.

  A few miles to the south, General Paradez and fifteen weary soldiers had stopped to rest. The cool of the night had departed. They looked longingly toward the north, in the forlorn hope that wish might become reality, that somehow the long miles ahead might diminish. Paradez at first thought his eyes deceived him. It could not be smoke; it was only morning vapor the sun would soon burn away.

  “Fuego,” said one of the soldiers, pointing. “Humo.”

  They marched on, and when the sun rose, the smoke to the north of them was even more obvious against the blue of the sky. The rising column seemed suspiciously near the outpost toward which they traveled. While the soldiers were curious, they looked at General Paradez and the grim set of his jaw, and wisely kept their silence.

  Clay and his riders reined up when they reached the path the stampede had taken.

  “It’s been long enough,” said Clay, “for them to be ahead of us.”

  “If we are to cross the border safely,” said Angelina, “we must do it together. Perhaps they face difficulty of which we are unaware.”

  “Is so,” said Ramon.

  “Let’s go, then,” said Clay. “If they need us, we’ll be there, and if they don’t, we’ll meet ’em headed this way.”

  Clay cut his eyes to the horse he led, which bore the critically wounded Solano. They had lost their edge—surprise and darkness—and God knew what awaited them at the border. Suddenly, two rifle-bearing soldiers darted out of the woods ahead. Too late, they discovered the riders bearing down on them. Clay drew and fired, with Ramon a second behind.

  “That means our amigos are still there,” said Clay. “That pair of coyotes aimed to sneak around and do some back-shooting. Ramon, ride in and let ’em know we’re here. If you need us, fire a shot and we’ll come a-running.”

  There were no more unexpected soldiers and no warning shot from Ramon. Clay heaved a sigh of relief when Gil, Van, and Long John rode into view. When the trio reined up, Clay grinned at Gil and the bright-eyed, disheveled Rosa. Ramon was amused; he knew what was coming.

  “Amigo,” said Clay, “she’s a beauty, but she’s a mite young for you.”

  “Give her another fifteen years,” said Gil. “I’ll wait. Solano is—”

  “Alive,” said Clay, “but hard hit. If we don’t soon take care of his wounds, he won’t last the night.”

  “All the more reason for us to cross the border pronto,” said Gil, “whatever it takes.”

  “I expect it’ll take a fight,” said Clay. “That’s why there was only three or four soldiers throwin’ lead at us. We had darkness on our side, and they couldn’t see to shoot, so they left just enough rifles behind to slow us down. Now we’ll have the whole damn bunch waitin’ for us at the border, and us in broad daylight.”

  “It wasn’t Solano’s fault they cut him down before he could scatter the horses,” said Van.

  “I know that,” said Clay. “It could have happened to any man; it’s just one of those things we couldn’t allow for. It was the best way, though, just stampedin’ the herd across the Rio, with us ridin’ behind. Now we got no herd to ride behind.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” said Gil. “Matamoros is thirty miles south of the border, and the outpost is south of Matamoros. You couldn’t keep a stampede going for thirty miles if the world was on fire.”

  “You may be right,” said Clay. “Ramon, who did you leave in charge of the herd?”<
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  “Juan Padillo,” said Ramon. “He got cow savvy. No leave amigos.”

  “Let’s ride, then,” said Clay. “Maybe we can put some new life into that stampede.”

  They hadn’t ridden far when they met Juan Padillo. He was leading the mule that had belonged to the trio of Mexicans who had waylaid Gil.

  “Estampeda leave him,” said Juan. “He cry, raise hell.”

  “Mulo!” cried Rosa. “Want mulo!”

  “Juan,” said Gil, “we’ve just found a need for him. You can have him, Rosa, but you’ll have to wait for a saddle and bridle.”

  “No need,” said Rosa happily, “for bueno mulo.”

  “Juan,” said Clay, “you didn’t ride back to bring a lost mule. Where’s the herd?”

  “Caballo tired,” said Juan, “vaca tired. No run. Find arroyo, they wait. Soldados want fight, they wait.”

  “Well, by the Almighty,” said Clay, “I ain’t one to disappoint a man that’s spoilin’ for a fight. Let’s ride!”

  24

  The arroyo to which Juan Padillo led them was at least ten miles south of the border. The sanctuary was not a box canyon, but it had water and graze. And a sentry! Everybody—especially Gil and Van—was surprised to find on duty one of the ragged, bearded Texans that General Paradez had recaptured near Tampico.

  “Dos guardias,” said Juan Padillo. There would be a second sentry at the north end of the canyon.

  Despite their precarious situation, they felt better. With twenty-four riders, they had a chance, and only the critically wounded Solano dampened Clay’s spirits. He feared that his friend would never see Texas, that Solano would be left in a lonely grave somewhere south of the Rio Grande. Gil and Van Austin shared his concern.

  “Clay,” said Gil, “let’s see what we can do for Solano. Ramon still has half a canteen of the pulque we made when Van was shot. We can at least boil some water, cleanse the wounds, and pour some of this cactus poison into them. Then before we move out, we can bind some pulque-soaked pads over the wounds. It might mean the difference between him living and dying.”

  “You’re right,” said Clay. “Those Mex soldiers know we’re here, and if they decide to come after us, they won’t have to follow our smoke.”

  “They won’t bother us here,” said Gil, “unless we stay the night. Come dark, the advantage is all theirs. They could put men on both walls of this canyon, and with no danger to themselves, cut us down in a cross fire. They know we have to cross the border, and they aim to be there waiting for us.”

  “I’ll start a fire and boil the water,” said Angelina.

  “I purely don’t believe those Mex soldiers are all that organized,” said Gil. “They don’t even have an officer in charge, unless it’s Major Farias. I found Diaz, their commanding officer, dead in his cabin, and the almighty General Paradez is somewhere to the south, nursing blistered feet.”

  That drew a laugh, even from Mariposa and Estanzio.

  “When old Paradez gets back to that outpost,” laughed Clay, “he’ll still be afoot. We got all his horses, and the corral is empty.”

  “I ain’t never had hoss stealin’ agin me,” said Long John.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” said Van. “They got enough on us to back us against a wall and have us shot a dozen times, without ever gettin’ to the horse stealing.”

  “Ye shore know how t’ comfort a man,” said Long John.

  By the time Angelina had the water hot, Clay and Gil had Solano off his horse and his wounds bared. The Indian still clung to life.

  “At least there are exit wounds,” said Gil. “It’s hell on a man when you have to dig into his wounds with a Bowie, searchin’ for the lead.”

  “Yeah,” said Clay, “and when it don’t come out clean, there’s a chance it struck a rib and was deflected into some vital organs.”

  “For this I am thankful,” said Angelina, “but he still could die from the wound in his side.”

  “Woman,” said Clay in mock anger, “it ain’t proper for you to be lookin’ at a pore hombre that’s out of his head and out of his britches.”

  “He is my friend,” said Angelina, “in or out of his britches. Now if you will allow me, I will cleanse and tend his wounds.”

  Rarely did anybody get Clay Duval’s goat, and if the girl hadn’t been dead serious, Gil and Van would have laughed. Western men had a habit of laughing in the face of any calamity, even death. If Angelina Ruiz were to become a Texan in every sense of the word, she was going to have to develop a tolerance for cowboy humor.

  “Ma’am,” said Clay, with a grin, “I never seen a woman that couldn’t outdoctor a man, when it come to fixin’ wounds. You just patch ol’ Solano up like you think it oughta be done.”

  Angelina did, pouring the pulque into the open wounds and then covering them with pads soaked in the fiery liquor.

  “If he can survive that poison poured into his open wounds,” said Van, “he ain’t got a thing to worry about.”

  When Angelina had finished dressing Solano’s wounds, Clay and Van again wrapped him in blankets. Amazingly, the Indian still had no sign of fever, and his pulse was stronger.

  “He will live,” said Angelina.

  “We already have a fire,” said Gil. “Let’s have ourselves a decent meal before we make our run for the border. Anything but corn mush.”

  Ramon and Juan Padillo had been rough-tallying the longhorns, while Mariposa and Estanzio had tallied the horses. The result was far better than any of them had expected.

  “We have two hundred horses,” said Gil. “Twenty-five are soldier horses, and the rest are Mendoza. And we still have at least forty-four hundred longhorns.”

  “Uno mulo,” said Rosa.

  They laughed, and it was good that they were able to, thought Gil. This time tomorrow, some of them might be dead. They enjoyed their meal and put out the fire. Long John asked the question that was on all their minds.

  “The Injun’s been patched up, we know how many hosses an’ cows they is, and we et. Now when air we goin’ t’ Texas?”

  “When we do,” said Van, “let’s get the herd closer to the border before they run.”

  “That stampede was my idea,” said Clay, “and although it didn’t reach the border, we needed a diversion. Without it, you’d be stuck in a Mex prison till Gabriel blows his horn.”

  “We’re well aware of that,” said Gil. “You did what you had to do. We ought to be thankful the stampede didn’t reach the border, because we weren’t there to follow it across. Before we make any more moves, why don’t we scout the border and see what’s ahead of us? Unless somebody’s got a better plan, I’ll take Mariposa and Estanzio, and we’ll find out what we’re up against.”

  “It’s got to be done,” said Clay. “Just don’t let ’em see you, or it’ll tip our hand. They’ll know we’re gettin’ ready to run. I’d like them to think we aim to stay the night, that maybe we’ll make our play just before the dawn tomorrow. Let ’em think they have time to come here in the dark and pick us off in a cross fire.”

  “While we move as near the border as we can,” said Gil, “and make our move after sundown.”

  “That’s it,” said Clay. “They know we’re going to run, but they don’t know when. That’s all the advantage we have, so let’s play on it.”

  “It’s our best shot,” said Gil. “If we can get the herds close enough to the border without being discovered, this time we can take the drive on across. Then we’ll ride behind them, burnin’ some powder if we have to. If we can stall until after dark, like Clay says, so much the better.”

  “They were all in agreement. Two hours before noon, Gil, Mariposa, and Estanzio rode out. Bearing in mind Clay’s caution about not being seen, Gil allowed Mariposa and Estanzio to take the lead. When they bid him wait, he waited, holding the horses while the pair scouted on foot. They moved as silently as shadows, startling him when they suddenly reappeared. Finally, only Estanzio returned.

  �
�Leave caballo,” he said. “More soldado come.”

  Gil tied the horses and followed Estanzio. The soldiers, he decided, had set up their camp maybe three miles away from the border. Mariposa and Estanzio had slipped dangerously near, viewing the activity from a slope that offered no cover other than scraggly greasewood. It was an exceptional point of observation, the cover being so poor that nobody but a pair of Indians would have dared risk it. Then Gil saw the soldiers Estanzio had spoken of. They rode in from the northwest in a column of twos, and Gil counted thirty-two. One of them was an officer whose rank he was unable to determine from so great a distance. Estanzio caught Gil’s eye with a silent question. Gil nodded, pointing to the distant columns of arriving soldiers. He must remain long enough to determine what these new arrivals might do. If theirs had been a long ride, if they needed food and rest, they might do exactly as Clay had predicted, and wait for darkness. These men would swell the Mexican forces to more than sixty.

  Gil heard the officer give the order to dismount, then heard him dismiss the men. They immediately began unsaddling their horses. It was a good sign. Finally, Gil saw the newly arrived officer conferring with none other than Major Gomez Farias. Again Estanzio caught Gil’s eye, and Gil nodded. He followed Mariposa and Estanzio back to the horses, and they mounted. Kicking their horses into a slow gallop, they soon reached the canyon, where Gil made a quick report, followed by a recommendation.

  “Thirty-two more soldiers have arrived,” said Gil. “Either from border patrol or from Meoqui. We’re outnumbered almost three to one, and with the numbers on their side, they’ll believe they can take us anytime they feel like it.”

  “So they’ll hold off and hit us after dark,” said Van.

  “We can’t count on that,” said Clay.

  “No,” said Gil, “we can’t. This canyon makes a fine holding pen, but if we’re caught here in a cross fire—day or night—it’ll be the Alamo all over again. I believe we ought to have Mariposa and Estanzio watch that Mex camp until sundown. If they break camp and show any signs of comin’ after us before dark, we need to know. We dare not get trapped in this canyon with the Mex soldiers on the rims.”