“Maybe three more trips,” Mac said. “The trees are down, and it won’t take as long out in the cold.”
But when they rode out for the fourth time, the snow had started anew. The stand of pines was only a blur in the distance, and the trail they had beaten out was rapidly disappearing. Suddenly Mac’s horse nickered and reared, and he fought the reins, trying to calm the animal. When Mac had brought the frightened horse to a trembling standstill, the other horses were equally spooked. In vain the men looked for the cause, but couldn’t see more than a few feet in the swirling snow.
“We’ll lead ’em the rest of the way,” Mac shouted.
Like phantoms, the prairie wolves came out of the swirling snow. Mac drew his Colt and shot one of the brutes, missing another when his horse spooked. His three companions fared no better, as their horses reared and plunged. One of the wolves sank its fangs deep in Red’s thigh, and he smashed the beast’s skull with the muzzle of his Colt. The vicious attack ended as abruptly as it had begun. Three wolves lay dead, while three more vanished into the blinding swirl of snow. Slowly the trembling horses settled down.
“How bad, Red?” Mac asked.
“Bad enough,” said Red. “Anybody else hurt?”
“No,” Haze replied. “Buck and me didn’t get a scratch.”
“Mount up,” said Mac. “Let’s get back to camp. Red’s wound needs attention, and the teamsters need to know of these wolves. The varmints could leap off the arroyo rim onto the mules. We’ll have to build another fire and double the watch.”
“We thought we heard shots,” Port Guthrie said, as the Texans rode in, “but you was downwind from us.”
“You did hear shots,” said Mac. “Prairie wolves jumped us. We killed three, but three more escaped. One of them chomped down on Red. Port, you and all your men take your Winchesters and get out there among the mules. Keep your eyes on the arroyo rims. Lose just one mule, and we’re in trouble. Haze, you and Buck start another fire up yonder near the head of the canyon. Red, get over there near the fire and peel off your Levi’s. We’ll have to get some disinfectant into that wolf bite, pronto.”
“I’ve had nursing experience,” Rachel Price said. “Bring me any medical supplies that you have. Hattie, come help me.”
Mac dug around in Port Guthrie’s wagon until he found the medicine chest that had become a necessary addition to a freighter’s supplies. Rachel had spread a blanket near one of the fires, and had already removed Red’s boots and Levi’s. Hattie had a pot of water on the fire. Rachel took the medicine chest from Mac, opened it and began sorting through the items within.
“I don’t see any bandages,” said Mac.
“We won’t need them,” Rachel replied. “My father was a doctor, and always preached against binding animal bites. They’re puncture wounds, and must heal from within, and it’s impossible for them to drain properly if bandaged.”
“Ma’am,” said Mac, “I never stand in the way of somebody that knows more than I do. Go on and patch old Red up.”
“Reach me that quart of whiskey,” Red said, his eyes on the open medicine chest.
“No,” said Rachel. “Not unless you become feverish.”
“I’m already feverish,” Red complained.
“I don’t think so,” said Rachel, touching his forehead.
“Damn,” Red growled, “no consideration for a wolf-bit man.”
Mac laughed, while the women pretended not to have heard him. Hattie brought the pot of boiling water and Rachel cleansed the wound. She then poured whiskey over the puncture wounds.
“Lie there and let the alcohol soak in,” said Rachel. “In a while, I’ll pour on some more of the whiskey. There may still be infection, but it’s all we can do.”
Buck and Haze had a third fire going, and the horses and mules needed no urging, for they gathered in as close as they could.
“The varmints are still out there,” said Haze, “and they’re upwind from us. The wolf smell’s ridin’ the wind.”
“We’ll have to keep our eyes on the rims,” Mac said. “Let a couple of wolves leap off among these mules, and they’ll light out down this arroyo like hell wouldn’t have it.”
“Yeah,” said Buck, “and the damn wolves wouldn’t ask for nothin’ better. Snow bein’ deep as it is, they’d drag them mules down pronto. Come the thaw, we wouldn’t find anything but mule bones.”
When Mac returned to see about Red, he was asleep, his head on his saddle, a blanket spread over him. Rachel wasn’t there, but Hattie was.
“We gave him some laudanum,” Hattie said.
“I’m glad he’s in good hands,” said Mac. “The rest of us will have to look out for the wolves.”
There were distant howls during the night, borne on the wind, but the wolves didn’t appear. The day dawned cold and gray, with no evidence the snow would let up anytime soon. Hattie Sutton had spent the night at the fire, with Red, but there was no fever.
“All our luck ain’t bad,” Haze observed. “Old Red could of come down with a raging fever and drunk all the whiskey.”
“I wouldn’t be crowin’ about our good luck just yet,” said Port Guthrie. “If this snow was to let up this very minute, we’d be stuck here a week ’fore we could move these damn wagons.”
“Maybe longer,” Saul Estrella observed. “If it don’t warm up, the stuff could just lay there for two or three weeks.”
These gloomy possibilities did nothing to raise morale within the camp, and in the late afternoon the wolves began howling again.
“Lord,” said Trinity, “I’ve never heard anything so mournful, so terrifying.”
“Stay in between the wagons and the arroyo overhang,” Mac cautioned. “It’ll likely take all of us to keep them away from the mules and horses.”
“We have rifles,” said Hattie.
“I’ll be able to get up and stand watch,” Red said.
“I don’t think so,” said Mac. “I think you’d better stay off that leg for another day or two. How about it, Rachel?”
“I think so, too,” Rachel said. “Hattie can stay with you.”
“In that case,” said Red, “I’ll set here as long as I can. Just hand me my Winchester, and I’ll shoot wolves, layin’ on my saddle.”
Three times during the night, the wolves ventured close enough for the watchful men to see their eyes looking down from the arroyo rims. They fired, but there was no reason to believe their shooting had been accurate. Sometime before dawn, the snow ceased and in the faraway vastness above them, a few stars crept out of hiding, their silvery brilliance exploding into tiny points of light. Nobody had slept much as long as the wolves had been a threat, and during the long nights, Rachel Price and Elizabeth Graves had spent some time getting to know the Texans. Elizabeth had shared coffee with Haze Sanderson, while Rachel had talked at length with Buck Prinz. Buck spoke to Mac about them.
“Them females is talkin’ more and more like they believe the army told it straight, and they likely won’t find their men alive. If they don’t, and they end up at Fort Griffin all alone, what’s goin’ to become of them?”
“If they show up at Griffin with no men in sight,” Mac said, “soldiers will be fighting over them. Are you gettin’ ideas?”
“Maybe,” said Buck. “If nobody’s there to claim Rachel, who’s gonna stop me from droppin’ my loop on her, if I can?”
“Not me,” Mac said, “but you’re a fiddle-footed Texan with nothin’ but a horse, your saddle, and the hundred dollars you’ll have, if we reach Austin alive. That ain’t a hell of a lot to offer a woman.”
“Hell,” said Buck, “you think I don’t know that? She’ll be gettin’ me, Buck Prinz.”
Mac only grinned at him in a manner that was downright insulting. Buck swore under his breath and silently vowed to begin spending more time with Rachel Price.
The dawn broke clear and cold, with the sky so intensely blue, the eyes ached, just looking at it. The wind had died, and when the sun ros
e in golden splendor, its warmth came as a welcome surprise.
“I think,” said Port Guthrie, “when a little of this snow melts, we’d better drive these mules out on the plains so’s they can get at some grass. This twice-a-day ration of grain is ruinin’ us.”
“We can likely buy more at Fort Worth or Fort Griffin,” Emmett Budd said.
“Likely we can,” said Guthrie, “if we’re willin’ to pay for it out of our pockets.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Budd said. “We’d best get them jug-headed varmints to some grass, an’ cut back on the grain.”
“We’ll have to take them back across the river, to the Kansas plain,” said Mac. “Snow will begin meltin’ there first. That’ll mean splitting our force, some of us staying with the wagons, the rest ridin’ herd on the mules.”
“With snow drifted so deep we can’t move the wagons,” Port Guthrie said, “nobody else can move ’em, either.”
The women had heard most of the conversation, and Trinity McCoy spoke.
“We have weapons. We can remain with the wagons.”
“No,” said Mac. “Too dangerous. For this cargo, there are hostile Indians and outlaws who would murder their own mothers.”
“The problem with grazin’ the mules,” Buck said, “is that a dozen Indians flappin’ their blankets, or some renegades firm’ over their heads, could scatter them mules from hell to breakfast. If we was all out there watchin’ the mules, there wouldn’t be enough of us to prevent a stampede.”
“He’s right,” said Mac. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take. If we lose the mules, we’ll be as bad off as if we’d lost the wagons. The hostile Indians and outlaws will be as aware of that as we are.”
The temperature didn’t rise much, but two days of sun made a marked difference in the snow on the plains. The snow hadn’t drifted deep, for the incessant wind had swept it away. There was grass enough to reduce the graining of the mules to once a day. Guthrie and his teamsters—each man riding a mule—drove the animals back across the Cimarron to the Kansas plain. Mac and his companions remained with the wagons. It was Trinity who approached Mac with a request.
“None of us have had a bath since Dodge. We’d like to go down the canyon a little way and wash ourselves in the runoff. May we?”
She caught Mac totally off guard. She was actually asking his permission.
“I don’t like the idea,” Mac said. “With Port and his men watching over the mules, we must stay close to these wagons. Indians or outlaws could grab you and be gone before we could get to you.”
“Don’t think we don’t appreciate your concern,” said Trinity, “because we do. But we are all in need of a bath, and nobody’s bothered us but the wolves.”
“All right,” Mac said, “but it’s against my better judgment. Take your weapons, and if you see anybody, fire a warning shot and we’ll come running.”
They started down the arroyo, and a bend soon lost them to view.
“I’m with you,” said Red. “I don’t think they ought to be down there alone. How can I keep an eye on ’em, without losin’ my status as a gentleman?”
Haze laughed. “I didn’t know you was.”
“I reckon I’m as much of one as some other Texas polecats I could name,” Red said.
They waited three-quarters of an hour without hearing anything, and without the return of the women. Red finally broke the silence.
“I’m goin’ down there and fetch them back to the wagons.”
“Sure,” said Buck, “go blunderin’ down there and catch ’em all stark naked. That’ll do wonders for their feelings toward us.”
“I reckon we’ll have to risk that,” Mac said. “It’s still cold enough to be uncomfortable without something coverin’ your backside. They’ve been down there long enough.”
“They was supposed to fire a shot if anything went wrong,” said Haze.
“If anything went wrong,” Red added, “maybe they wasn’t able to get to a gun. Let’s get down there pronto.”
They rounded the bend on the run, and their worst fears became reality. The women were nowhere in sight. Their Winchesters lay with their clothes near the small pool where they had been bathing. In the sand near the water there were tracks of six shod horses.
“My God,” said Buck, “renegades got ’em.”
“Yeah,” Red growled, “and they wasn’t even allowed to take their clothes.”
“Well, let’s go after the varmints,” said Haze. “What are we waitin’ for?”
“We can’t leave the wagons unprotected,” Mac reminded them. “Haze, ride over across the river for Port Guthrie and his teamsters. Tell ’em to round up the mules and light a shuck back to the wagons. We have to track these varmints down before dark.”
The anxious Texans lost an hour before Guthrie and his men could round up all the mules and return to the arroyo.
“Keep your Winchesters handy,” Mac cautioned. “They’ll be expecting some of us to follow them, and that’ll mean splitting our forces. This could be a means of drawing some of us away, so they can attack the camp.”
“We’ll be ready with a proper welcome, if they try,” said Port Guthrie.
The six renegades had appeared so suddenly, the startled women were speechless. Not a word was spoken as four of the men dismounted. The women were seized, and each was clubbed unconscious with the muzzle of a revolver. Without regard to the cruel horn, each of the women was flung belly-down across a saddle, with one of the renegades mounted behind her. The six horses were kept to a walk until they were a mile downstream. From there they continued at a lope until they reached a distant boxed-end canyon. Two men on watch at the shallow end were armed with Winchesters.
“Hey, Russ,” shouted one of the sentries, “send somebody to relieve me. I want me a better look at them females.”
“You’d best keep your mind on your business and your eyes on our backtrail,” Russ replied. “We’ll be havin’ company pronto.”
The renegades rode on to the blind end of the canyon, to a squat log cabin without windows. The canyon ended at the mouth of a cave, and the cabin extended two-thirds into it. With the canyon overhang above, the stronghold was virtually impregnable except from the front. At the very front of the cabin was a mud-and-stick chimney, and wood smoke curled from it. Another sentry stood on each side of the cabin, with a clear field of fire for three hundred yards. The six riders reined up, dismounted, and the four bearing the women carried their captives inside. A dozen men surged to their feet.
“Sit down, damn it,” Russ shouted. “This ain’t a party. They’re goin’ in that last room on the left, at the end of the hall. Any of you that’s got gear in there, move it out.”
Several of the men hastened to obey, while the rest stared at the four naked women who were regaining consciousness. Flung over the shoulder of the renegade Russ, Trinity seized the man’s revolver. But Russ was too quick for her. He flung her to the hard floor flat on her back, and the weapon skittered away from her. Dazed, she tried to sit up, but could not.
“Chug, Wilkerson, Gillis, and Taylor,” Russ commanded, “take ’em into that back room and kindle ’em a fire, and no messin’ around. Bar the door when you’re done, and grab your Winchesters. We got company comin’.”
The room was small, with no furnishings. Four bunks had been built against the log walls. There was a thin straw-tick mattress over wide, crisscrossed strips of cowhide. In a fireplace along an outer wall, there were a few live coals. One of the renegades produced a blaze with a few resinous pine splinters, adding larger logs as the pine caught.
Chug laughed. “I reckon they’re goin’ to need that fire, without clothes.”
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “I wonder how Russ managed that, bringin’ ’em back naked as skint coyotes?”
“Hell,” said Wilkerson, “I’m wonderin’ if we’re all goin’ to have our way with ’em. I ain’t had contact with a woman since we was run out of Wichita.”
�
��You ain’t likely to have contact with these, either,” Gillis said. “Russ aims to use ’em as hostages so’s we can take over them wagons. He ain’t the kind to mix business with pleasure.”
“Hey,” said Chug, “they’re wakin’ up.”
Trinity McCoy glared at them from the bunk where she lay, and there was no fear in her. She was furious.
“Haw, haw,” Wilkerson said, “we better git out of here. That one’s poison mean, and she’s ready to strike.”
They left the room, and Trinity heard a heavy bar drop in place.
“Oh, God,” Elizabeth cried, “I’ve never been so mortified. The brutes could at least have brought our clothes.”
“Not much point in it,” said Trinity. “I’d not complain if all we had to worry us was the humiliation of being dragged in here naked. I think we have bigger problems. After we have been used and abused, I doubt we’ll ever leave here alive.”
“But they’re holding us as hostages,” Rachel said. “You heard them. They’re expecting Mac, Red, Buck, and Haze to come for us.”
“I’m expecting them, too,” said Trinity. “I imagine they’re on their way. But whatever happens to us, they can’t surrender those wagons and their cargo to outlaws. Even if they gave up the wagons to save us, I don’t trust this bunch. They could still have their way with us, murder us all, and then attack the men at the camp.”
“My God,” Hattie said, “we know our men would save us if they could, but there’s so many of these outlaws . . .”
“Impossible as it all seems,” said Trinity, “those four Texans will get themselves shot down, trying to save us. I don’t intend for that to happen. We must do something to even the odds.”
“But what?” Rachel cried. “We’re naked, locked in, without a weapon.”
“Oh, but we do have a weapon,” said Trinity. “Fire. We’re going to give this bunch a choice. They can go out and fight, or have this place burned down on top of them.”
The Winchester Run Page 7