Across the Rio Colorado (11 page)
Read Across the Rio Colorado Online
Authors: Ralph Compton
Mary laughed, despite herself, and immediately felt guilty. Just as she had so recently accused McQuade of doing, she was making light of potential tragedy.
“Ike thinks McQuade's plan will work,” said Maggie. “Chance is a careful man, Mary. A thinking man.”
Creeker and his companions had been marched to a teepee and shoved inside. There they had remained, uncertain as to their fate.
“Damn it,” Slack complained, “it'll be dark in another hour. What in tarnation are they goin' to do with us?”
“Was I you,” said Rucker, “I wouldn't be in no hurry to find out. I got a gut feelin' this bunch has plans for us we ain't goin' to like.”
He was more right than he knew. It began with the low throb of a tom-tom, growing in intensity until darkness shrouded the valley. At that time, the Kiowa came for them, and in the flickering light from a series of fires, they could see the line of stakes, each with a pile of brush at its base.
“My God,” said Ellis. “My God.”
Groat laughed. “You'd better call on somebody that knows you.”
Each of the men was taken to a stake. They were backed up and their hands released long enough for them to be bound to the stakes. There they stood, as the tom-tom throbbed louder, each beat like the ticking of a deadly clock. Suddenly there was the drum of hoofbeats, shouting and shooting, and a veritable avalanche of horses
and mules. Kiowa teepees were toppled, fires were scattered, and Indians scrambled to catch the wildly running horses. But when the shooting began, the horses were forgotten, as a dozen Kiowa fell dead or dying.
and mules. Kiowa teepees were toppled, fires were scattered, and Indians scrambled to catch the wildly running horses. But when the shooting began, the horses were forgotten, as a dozen Kiowa fell dead or dying.
“It's our turn,” McQuade shouted.
Leading the charge, McQuade rode to the farthest stake where Creeker stood, unable to believe his eyes. Bowie in his hand, McQuade was out of the saddle in an instant, slashing Creeker's bonds.
“Get on that horse and ride toward the northwest,” said McQuade.
Creeker didn't have to be told twice. There was no saddle, but he kicked the animal into a fast gallop. A Kiowa came after McQuade with a lance, only to stumble and fall, as a distant marksman saw the danger. In seconds, McQuade and his companions had set the captives free, and all of themâsaved and survivorsâwere in the clear. While the thunder of hooves had begun to recede, there were still distant shouts and the sound of gunfire, evidence that McQuade's men were doing their job well. The moon was rising, and when the devastated Kiowa camp was well behind them, McQuade and his companions reined up. Within seconds, Creeker and his companions joined them. It was an awkward moment, for not a man among the rescued doubted he had been given back his life. McQuade spoke.
“You men can keep the horses until you've recovered your own. We've stampeded the horses and mules far enough to allow you some time. I'd suggest you get at it as soon as it's light enough to see. You'll want to move on, before those Kiowa find their horses.”
“McQuade,” said Creeker, “you're the whitest man I ever met. We'll get these horses back to you. I'm givin' you my word.”
McQuade said nothing. He rode away, his companions following. Creeker and his nine companions sat their horses, and it was Rucker who finally spoke.
“After what I been through, I ain't of a mind to take
any lip from Rufus Hook. We got a full moon for maybe another four hours. I say let's catch up to that stampede and get our horses and mules tonight. By God, I ain't wantin' to be anywhere close, when that bunch of Indians gather up their horses.”
any lip from Rufus Hook. We got a full moon for maybe another four hours. I say let's catch up to that stampede and get our horses and mules tonight. By God, I ain't wantin' to be anywhere close, when that bunch of Indians gather up their horses.”
“Rucker,” said Slack, “that's the most sensible thing you've said in all the years I've knowed you.”
Being of a single mind, circling the Kiowa camp to the north, they rode away, seeking their horses and mules. More than five miles east of the Indian camp, the three factions of McQuade's outfit came together.
“Anybody hurt?” McQuade inquired.
“Not a man in my bunch,” said Eli Bibb.
“Nor mine,” Will Haymes said.
“The captives are free,” said McQuade, “and we've done all we can do. Let's ride.”
“You really think Hook's bunch will return our horses?” Gunter Warnell asked.
“I do,” said McQuade. “Anyway, they were horses we took from Gid Sutton and his outlaws, and I wouldn't begrudge any man a horse, here in Indian Territory.”
“I reckon it wouldn't have made any sense, cuttin' them loose and leavin' 'em afoot,” Ike Peyton said. “I wouldn't want to see any man burnt at the stake, unless it was maybe Rufus Hook himself.”
They all laughed grimly and rode on. Far to the east, Creeker and his companions had caught up to the tag end of the stampede, before the animals fanned out to graze.
“By God,” Ellis said, “if we don't never have another piece of luck, we can't complain. Would you look at that?”
The mules Rufus Hook had grudgingly allowed them to ride were there, and they still wore their saddles. With them were the other five mules Hook would need to draw his wagons.
“We'll take the varmints with us,” said Creeker, “while we look for the horses.”
They began finding the Indian mounts first, and they searched for another hour before locating their own horses. The animals had been together long enough to consider themselves part of a herd, and they all were grazing near the spring to which Creeker and his companions had followed the trail of the Kiowa and the stolen horses.
“Let's gather them up and get out of here,” said Dirk. “After gettin' back them five mules for Hook, the least he can do is have the cook rustle us up some supper.”
“That can wait,” Creeker said. “We got somethin' else to do, first. Get your saddles off them mules and onto your horses. Then take your lariats and fashion some lead ropes for that bunch of mules and these borrowed horses.”
Quickly they complied, but they didn't ride directly to Hook's camp, which was well beyond McQuade's. Instead, they rode on until they were challenged by one of McQuade's sentries. They reined up, and Creeker answered.
“This is Creeker and friends. We come to return ten horses McQuade loaned us.”
“Stand where you are,” the sentry replied. “I'll get McQuade.”
Mary had been awake when McQuade had returned, and assuring herself that he was safe, she had gone to sleep, not concerning herself with him further. McQuade sat on the wagon's lowered tailgate, wide awake. He would begin his watch at midnight, and before he could get to sleep, he would have to get up again. He heard the sentry's challenge, and Creeker's response. But the sentry didn't have to leave his post, for most of the men who had participated in the rescue were still awake. By the time McQuade reached the sentry's position, Ike Peyton, Gunter Warnell, and a dozen others were already there.
“Ride on in, Creeker,” McQuade said.
Creeker and his companions did so, reining up near the wagon circle.
“We took advantage of the full moon, and found our horses,” said Creeker. “I ain't a man to forget. We're obliged.”
Without another word, they rode away, and only when the hoofbeats had faded into the night did any of McQuade's outfit speak.
“McQuade,” said Ike, “I've been around them that spoke from the Good Book, but I never knowed a man that lived it any better than you.”
McQuade said nothing. He returned to the wagon to find Mary awake.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“We loaned some horses to the men we took from the Kiowa,” said McQuade. “They were returning them.”
“I'm sorry I was cross with you before you rode out,” she said. “Am I forgiven?”
“I reckon,” said McQuade.
“I'm awake now. Why don't you join me?”
“Do I have to take off my hat, gunbelt, shirt, britches, and boots?”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Damn,” McQuade sighed, tugging at his boots.
There was considerable surprise within the Hook wagon circle, when Creeker and his companions rode in with all the stampeded mules and horses.
“I must say I am impressed,” said Xavier Hedgepith. “I fully expected the lot of you to be murdered and scalped, leaving us short ten more mules.”
“At least we got some hair to lose, Hedgepith,” Groat said. “That's a hell of a lot more than can be said for you.”
“Shut up, the lot of you,” said Hook. “So you recovered the horses and the mules.”
“Yeah,” Dirk said, “but in escapin' the Kiowa, we lost our weapons. What do you aim to do about that?”
“Not a damn thing,” said Hook.
“You ain't exactly bubblin' over with gratitude,”
Groat said. “Maybe we'll just take them five missin' mules back where we found 'em.”
“I don't reward a man for doing his job,” said Hook stiffly.
“We didn't hire on to wet-nurse your damn mules,” Nall said. “Way we see it, we got five of your heehaws back, and they was the responsibility of your teamsters. Each of them mules ought to be worth a pair of pistols.”
“What about you, Creeker?” Hook asked.
“That's the way I feel too,” said Creeker. “We was captured by the Kiowa, and was lucky to escape with our lives. I speak for us all, when I say we don't ride another mile with this outfit, unarmed. You got all kinds of ammunition and weapons amongst the goods you're takin' to Texas. If you're that almighty cheap, then you can take the guns from our pay, but by God, we'll have weapons in the morning.”
“Agreed,” Hook said, “and you will pay for them.”
“We'll pay, then,” said Creeker, “and we'll remember your generosity.”
McQuade rode out at dawn, intent on getting as much distance as possible between his outfit and the Kiowa. Hook's wagons were a day behind, meaning that he was three days away from any margin of safety. Pacing themselves, resting their horses, the Kiowa could easily ride seventy miles in a day. It was five times the distance a wagon could travel, on a good day. Reaching the water he sought for the night's camp, McQuade turned his horse and rode back to meet the wagons. It was then that he saw the distant smoke against the blue of the sky. It was likely bad news for Hook's outfit, and possibly for McQuade's, as well. Not only did they have Kiowa on their trail, the “talking smoke” was sending word of white man's presence to the Kiowa somewhere on the trail ahead.
Hook's wagons were on the move, and every man of them, Hook included, watched the back-trail. The puffs
of smoke were even more evident to them, for they were closer. When they were forced to stop and rest the teams, Hook hailed Creeker.
of smoke were even more evident to them, for they were closer. When they were forced to stop and rest the teams, Hook hailed Creeker.
“What do you think the smoke means?” Hook asked.
“I ain't got that much Indian-savvy,” said Creeker, “but I'm guessin' these Indians has got friends somewhere ahead of us, and they're bein' told we're comin'.”
“Why couldn't you have simply recovered your horses, without incurring the wrath of every Indian in the Territory?”
Creeker didn't consider that worthy of a reply. He looked at Hook with a mixture of disgust and pity, and rode away.
Chance. McQuade's outfit had become seasoned enough, and his confidence in them had become such, that he believed they should be aware of what he suspected. When they next stopped to rest the teams, McQuade spoke to some of the men.
“We got off too easy last night. While we left the Kiowa afoot, and they may not find their horses in time to come after us, they're sending word ahead. Smoke signals have told other Indians we're coming.”
“We don't know what to expect, then,” Ike said. “They could strike while the wagons are all strung out on the trail, or after they're circled for the night.”
“I'm sure they'll come up with something creative,” said McQuade, “striking when we least expect it. We're most vulnerable while we're on the trail. They can swoop down on a few wagons, cut loose with arrow or lance, and then be gone before all of us can come together in defense. Ride with your pistols ready, with your children and wives keepin' their eyes open for an attack. When we take the trail tomorrow, we'll pull the wagons up three or four abreast, if the terrain permits. The shorter our line of wagons, the better our defense.”
While McQuade was concerned with the Kiowa ahead, Hook's outfit had problems with the Kiowa from the raided camp, who had recovered their stampeded horses.
Lora Kirby, Hook's “school marm,” hadn't slept with him in a week. Instead, she huddled in the wagon with the saloon women. Hiram Savage and Snakehead Presnall weren't much better, while old Ampersand, the cook, spent less and less time cooking. At supper time, the day after Creeker and his men had returned with the horses and mules, Hook called them together.
Lora Kirby, Hook's “school marm,” hadn't slept with him in a week. Instead, she huddled in the wagon with the saloon women. Hiram Savage and Snakehead Presnall weren't much better, while old Ampersand, the cook, spent less and less time cooking. At supper time, the day after Creeker and his men had returned with the horses and mules, Hook called them together.
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