“I’m willing,” Mac said. “The closer we get to the Brazos, the more likely there’ll be fewer streams or springs.”
Port Guthrie halted the wagons to rest the teams, and during the interval, Red passed the word on to the rest of the outfit about the nearness of the creek and the spring to the south.
“Short drive today,” said Red, “maybe a little longer tomorrow, but plenty of fresh water.”
After resting the teams, the caravan rolled on. Spirits were high, and Red was a hero for discovering water for the next two days. He lagged behind, much embarrassed. Since they reached the creek a good two hours before sunset, there was time to water all the mules and horses and to prepare and eat supper.
“Buck,” Mac said, “tomorrow you can ride ahead, checking out the terrain and looking for water. We’re expecting you to do at least as well as Red did.”
“He did so well today,” said Buck, “I think he should be our permanent scout, all the way to Austin.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Red shouted.
The night was clear, and except for an occasional distant coyote, there wasn’t a sound to disturb the tranquility. Silver stars winked down, adding their light to that of a pale quarter moon. Sometime after midnight, Trinity crept away to join Mac on watch.
“It’s too nice a night to waste it sleeping,” said Trinity.
“I reckon the short drive today was what we all needed,” Mac said. “Are you sure it’s the moon and stars keepin’ you awake, or is it the nearness of Fort Griffin?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” said Mac. “Is it not botherin’ you just a little, what you might learn there?”
“Perhaps just a little,” she conceded. “The others feel a little spooky, too. Despite all our brave words and resolutions, we can’t help wondering what we’ll do if . . . if things aren’t like we were told.”
“You’re having some doubts because of that soldier we buried, I reckon.”
“I suppose that’s it,” said Trinity. “Before coming west, we . . . well, we didn’t know anything about the grim realities. We just . . . never thought of the army shooting its own men, I guess.”
“It’s a hard life,” Mac said, “and it takes strong men to survive. The others . . . well . . . they fall out. They’re generally the first to die on the field of battle. Surviving that, they usually don’t accept discipline well, and spend a lot of time in the stockade. Finally they’ll throw caution to the wind and run for it. Now you’re wondering if the man you’re searching for might not have yielded to temptation and met a predictable end.”
“Yes,” said Trinity. “I’ve been talking to Hattie, Elizabeth, and Rachel, and there’s one thing on which we all agree. For one reason or another, our men all ran away. We believe if they did it once, they’d do it again, so we believe we haven’t been told the truth.”
“So if you learn they deserted under fire and were gunned down by their own men, will it make you feel better?”
“In an odd sort of way, yes,” Trinity said. “When a woman marries, regardless of how irresponsible the man is, she can’t help wondering if there wasn’t something she could have done to save him.”
“So you’re wondering if he was truly beyond redemption, unable or unwilling to conduct himself as a man among men.”
“Yes,” said Trinity. “You’ve put our feelings into words. When a woman marries, she wants to believe in her man, and to respect him, even if he’s dead. Is it wrong for us to feel that way?”
“I don’t believe it is,” Mac replied. “If these men died under less than honorable circumstances, then you’ll know their answer to any difficulty was to just run away.”
“But what are our chances of learning the truth? Do you think the post commander will be honest with us?”
“I don’t know,” said Mac. “If he hasn’t told you the whole truth, it’s likely because it isn’t a pretty picture, and he’s tried to spare you.”
“We don’t want to be spared,” Trinity said. “We already suspect the facts are going to be ugly, but we deserve to hear them.”
“In that case,” said Mac, “if you get the runaround, I’ll do what I can to get to the truth for you.”
“Thank you,” Trinity said. “All of us want to put this part of our lives behind us, and we can’t do it until we know the truth.”
The next morning, as the wagons were about to move out, Buck saddled his horse.
“Saddle me a horse,” said Rachel, “and I’ll ride with you. Trinity and Hattie have had all the fun.”
“I don’t know how much fun it’ll be,” Buck replied, “but you’re welcome to go along and find out.”
They rode out, taking some hoo-rawing from Mac, Red, and Haze. Trinity, Elizabeth, and Hattie just looked at one another and smiled.
“Are we going to try and find two days’ worth of water?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know,” said Buck. “We’ll see how far the next water is from the spring Red found. If we can find water a day’s drive beyond the spring, then maybe we’ll try and find some for a third day. That’ll equal what Red did, and it might take us within a day or two of the Brazos River.”
“How will we know it’s the Brazos?”
“I hear it’s so crooked it doubles back and almost meets itself,” Buck said, “and it’ll be plenty wide.”
Keeping their horses at a mile-eating slow gallop, they soon reached the spring Red had located. They dismounted well before reaching it.
“We’ll have to hold the horses a few minutes,” said Buck.
“Why?”
Buck laughed. “Tenderfoot. If they don’t cool down first, the jug-heads would gorge on water and kill themselves.”
“I’m sorry I seem so dumb,” Rachel said, “but there’s so much to learn.”
“But you’re willing,” said Buck, “and that’s all that matters.”
After watering their horses and drinking their fill, they continued riding south.
“How much farther are we going to ride?” Hattie asked.
“Not much farther,” said Buck. “I had hoped we might—”
Somewhere ahead, a horse nickered, and Rachel’s horse answered. Buck reined up and caught the bridle of Rachel’s horse. Seizing his Winchester from the saddle boot, he dismounted. Rachel slid out of her saddle and stood beside him.
“Who could it be?” Rachel asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” said Buck, “but whoever it is, they know we’re here. Stand fast.”
The horsemen—soldiers—rode into a clearing in a column of twos and reined up.
“Advance and identify yourselves,” one of the lead riders shouted.
“We’re friendly,” Buck shouted back, but he kept the Winchester under his arm.
“Maybe they’re from Fort Griffin,” said Rachel.
“I reckon,” Buck said. “Come on.”
Leading their horses, Buck and Rachel went to meet the soldiers, who had remained in their saddles. There were ten men, the lead riders being a lieutenant and a sergeant. They waited for Buck to speak, and he did.
“I’m Buck Prinz, and this is Rachel Price. We’re part of a six-wagon outfit, and we’re on our way to south Texas. We’re scouting ahead, looking for water.”
“I’m Lieutenant Beale, and this is Sergeant Adler,” the officer said. “We’re on routine patrol from Fort Griffin. You’re maybe four or five miles north of the Brazos, and beyond that another forty miles is the fort. Will you be stopping there?”
“Yes,” said Buck. “It’s good to know the Brazos and the fort are that close. We’re obliged.”
“Have you seen any Indian sign?” the lieutenant inquired.
“Considerable,” said Buck. “In Indian Territory, we met Quanah Parker and maybe five hundred Comanches, but they left us alone.”
“My God,” Lieutenant Beale said, “the post commander will want to hear about this.”
“I reckon our wagon
boss will meet with him when we reach the fort,” said Buck. “We should be there in another week. How is the water situation between the Brazos and the fort?”
“Several streams and a good spring,” Lieutenant Beale said. “Just continue due south.”
He gave a command, wheeled his horse, and the soldiers followed him back the way they had come.
“I’m surprised he didn’t have more questions,” said Rachel.
“So am I,” Buck replied. “It was fortunate, you being with me. They must have taken us for settlers.”
“But they’ll know better, once we reach the fort,” said Rachel.
“Yeah,” Buck said, “thanks to the damn telegraph.”
Buck and Rachel rode back to meet the wagons, and the rest of the outfit was amazed to learn of their nearness to the Brazos and Fort Griffin beyond.
“I’m glad the army didn’t ask our business in south Texas,” said Mac. “Maybe we can get into and out of Fort Griffin without everybody there knowing of our purpose and our freight.”
“You know better than that,” Red said. “That lieutenant will have figured us out by the time he reaches Fort Griffin. South Texas wasn’t exactly the garden spot of the world, in its prime, and there ain’t a damn thing there now to lure settlers. They’re all ridin’ the Union Pacific, looking for range in Colorado, Wyoming, and beyond.”
“Red,” said Haze, “you sure know how to take a little good news and plumb turn it around. If Fort Griffin’s aware of these arms and ammunition being wagoned to Austin, they got no reason to expect those wagons to go out of their way gettin’ there. I think we can all agree that if we’d traveled a mite more to the southeast, we could have bypassed Fort Griffin entirely.”
“Damn it,” Buck said, “there’s no sense in us gettin’ hot over what we’re expecting to run into at Fort Griffin. My old granny always said don’t fret about tomorrow. If you’ll just think on it, there’s a blessed plenty of things to worry about today.”
“I reckon we’d better take that advice,” said Mac, “and move on to our water for tonight. We’re still a week from Fort Griffin, even if everything goes well.”
Fort Griffin, Texas. November 20, 1873.
“I think we’ll make our camp here on the Brazos,” Mac said, “and be sure some of us are with the wagons at all times. I’ll ride to the fort and talk to the post commander.”
Trinity bit her tongue. She wanted Mac to ask for permission for herself, Hattie, Rachel, and Elizabeth to meet with the officer in charge, but thought better of it. There was much at stake here, with a possibility of trouble because Mac had gone out of his way to bring the wagons to Fort Griffin, when he might have taken a shorter trail to Austin. They were close enough to the fort for Mac to walk, and he did so. The sentry at the gate had seen the wagons approaching, and he was waiting for Mac.
“I’m Mac Tunstall, wagon boss, and I’d like to talk to the post commander.”
“That’ll be Captain Stockton,” the sentry said. “Sergeant of the guard!”
“This is Sergeant Lassiter,” said the sentry, when the sergeant arrived. “Sergeant, Mr. Tunstall, the wagon boss, wants to talk to Captain Stockton.”
“Come on,” Lassiter said.
The commanding officer’s quarters was an old log house. Lassiter knocked, received permission to enter, and did so. The captain stood up, Lassiter saluted, had it returned.
“At ease, Sergeant,” said Captain Stockton.
“This is Mac Tunstall,” Lassiter said. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Very well,” said Stockton. “You’re excused, Sergeant.”
Lassiter went out, closing the door behind him. Stockton nodded toward a trio of oak ladder-back chairs that faced his desk. Mac took one of the chairs, while Stockton sat in the leather-upholstered chair behind his desk.
“I’ve heard of you, Tunstall,” Captain Stockton said, “but frankly, I’m surprised to see you here. This is hardly the shortest way to Austin.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Mac, “and I have a reason for coming this way. I had a vain hope that the nature of this drive might not become common knowledge.”
“The . . . ah . . . nature of your drive was leaked in Kansas City,” Captain Stockton said. “I do not believe this represents negligence on the part of the military.”
Mac thought the man was overly defensive and a little smug, but there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing him. There was another way to get in a dig or two.
“Like I told you,” said Mac, “I had a reason for traveling this way. We encountered four ladies in Dodge City who had business here. Being Easterners, they had no business undertaking such a journey alone. We allowed them to travel with us, and since they’ve come this far, I believe you should at least talk to them.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Captain Stockton said, all civility vanishing. “Who are these, ah, ladies?”
“Maybe you’ll recognize the names,” said Mac, with a hint of a smile. “Trinity McCoy, Hattie Sutton, Rachel Prinz, and Elizabeth Graves.”
“Yes,” Captain Stockton said, “I feel as though I know them well. I have nothing to say to them that I haven’t already said by letter.”
“They have the feeling,” said Mac, twisting the knife, “that you haven’t told them the whole truth, and that’s why they’re here. They’re not satisfied.”
“The men in question—their husbands—are dead,” Captain Stockton said, “and that’s my final word on the subject. Since you brought these people here, Tunstall, I’ll expect you to take them with you, when you depart. Good day.”
“Not so fast, Captain,” said Mac. “If you refuse to cooperate, a complaint can be filed in Washington, with the Department of the Army. Why don’t you go ahead and dispose of this, ah, obvious misunderstanding before it becomes more complicated?”
“Since you have taken such an interest in this unsavory affair,” Captain Stockton said, “suppose I supply you with the gruesome details these ladies are so desperately seeking. It will then be up to you to satisfy their curiosity, telling them as much or as little as you see fit. But there is a condition. The subject will be closed, and you will take these ladies with you when you leave this area. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Mac.
“Very well,” Captain Stockton said. “As I have already told you, the men in question are dead. Or perhaps I should be totally honest, and say they are presumed dead.”
“Meaning that you aren’t completely sure,” said Mac.
“I am satisfied they are,” Captain Stockton said. “However, I’m going to relate to you the events as they took place that day these men disappeared. Then you decide.”
“Go on,” said Mac. “I’m listening.”
“Privates McCoy, Sutton, Price, and Graves were part of a seven-man patrol. Indians attacked, and while under fire, the four men in question deserted. By the time reinforcements arrived, two of the remaining men were dead. The third—a private—lived just long enough to tell us of the desertions. He had watched the Comanches surround the men who had deserted. Mortally wounded himself, he did not witness their eventual fate, but knowing the ways of the Comanches, I didn’t hesitate to declare them dead.”
“Missing, I believe,” said Mac.
“Damn it,” Captain Stockton snapped, “I tried to spare their kin, to put as kind a face on the situation as I could. It could have been far worse. Had they escaped the Comanches and later had been captured by us, I’d have personally seen to it that the four of them were sentenced to die before a firing squad.”
“But they escaped that,” said Mac, “and you feel cheated. Why?”
“When these four left their comrades to face the fury of the Comanches,” Stockton said, “they condemned three men to certain death. One of those men—the officer in charge of the patrol—was my kid brother.”
His eyes looked beyond Mac into a hell only he could see. He didn’t even notice when Mac left, closing the door behind him
. . .
*Beaver Creek.
CHAPTER 13
When Mac reached the gate, the sentry who had admitted him was there. The sergeant of the guard was there also.
“Is there any reason my outfit can’t visit the sutler’s store?” Mac asked.
“None that I know of,” said the sergeant, “but you’re not allowed beyond there without permission from Captain Stockton.”
“That’s as far as we’ll be going,” Mac replied.
The sutler’s was within sight of the gate. After the unpleasant meeting with Stockton, Mac had no intention of remaining at Fort Griffin any longer than necessary. Now he had to relate to Trinity, Hattie, Rachel, and Elizabeth what Stockton had told him, keeping his word to the captain. As Mac left the post, two men stepped out of the sutler’s store and watched him go.
“Seven wagons instead of six,” one of the men said, “but that’s got to be them.”
“Yeah,” said his companion, “and it’s a long trail from here to Austin. Anything can happen. We’ll stay here until they move out, makin’ sure which way they go. Makes sense they’d travel south to the Colorado and foller it to Austin.”
“Whatever direction they take, we’ll have plenty of time to get ahead of them and plan a reception.”
By the time Mac reached the wagons, everybody had gathered to hear what he had to report. He didn’t beat around the bush.
“Captain Stockton admitted our freight bound for Austin is common knowledge, and he blames the leak in Kansas City for that.”
“Hell, we know Watson Brandt was responsible for that,” Red said, “but what would have been his reason for usin’ the telegraph to alert the entire frontier?”
“None, that I know of,” said Mac, “but Stockton wasn’t in a good mood. He got on the bad side of me by insisting on knowing why we had come here to Fort Griffin, instead of taking a more direct route to Austin. So I told him.”
The Winchester Run Page 19