Across the Rio Colorado (16 page)
Read Across the Rio Colorado Online
Authors: Ralph Compton
The wagons again took the trail, and avoiding low places, were able to reach the area McQuade had chosen to circle the wagons for the night. While McQuade expected trouble from the Kiowa before crossing the Red, there had been no sign of them. Supper was over and McQuade had begun to breathe easy, when he was shaken by the sound of gunfire. It blossomed from behind the Burke wagon and was answered by a fusillade from the vicinity of Trent Putnam's wagon.
“Damn it, hold your fire!” McQuade shouted. “I'm within pistol range of both of you, and I'll kill the next man that fires a shot. Drop your guns, and come out where I can see you.”
It was just dusky dark, and McQuade had no trouble identifying Trent Putnam, as he crawled from beneath his wagon. From behind the Burke wagon, Luke emerged, followed by Andrew, Matthew, and Mark.
“McQuade,” said Andrew, “this is a private affair. Why the hell can't you mind your own business?”
“When lead begins to fly within the wagon circle, it is my business,” McQuade said grimly. “Now what's this all about?”
“I caught that snake-eyed Burke lookin' in through the back of my wagon,” shouted Putnam.
“No excuse,” said McQuade. “There's a canvas flap that lets down over the pucker. If it wasn't down, that's your fault. What do you have to say, Burke?”
“The pucker was open,” Luke said sullenly, “and I
didn't see nothin' but the two of 'em swilling whiskey from a bottle.”
didn't see nothin' but the two of 'em swilling whiskey from a bottle.”
“Maggie,” said McQuade, “take a look in the wagon and be sure Selma's all right.”
Maggie did, returning with a look of disgust on her face.
“She's passed out, dog-drunk,” Maggie said.
“Putnam,” said McQuade, “you and Burke have gone out of your way to be a bother to the rest of us, and I think it's time we extracted some punishment. Obviously, you don't like one another, and with all guns and knives aside, I want the two of you to have it out with your fists. When one of you can't get up, it's over. There'll be no stomping or kicks to the head.”
“That ain't fair,” Andrew Burke shouted. “He outweighs Luke thirty pounds.”
“Too bad,” said McQuade. “Luke will just have to fight harder.”
“Maggie,” Ike said, “this could get nasty. You women should go to your wagons.”
“Mind your tongue, Ike Peyton,” said Maggie. “I can't speak for the others, but I'll be here to the finish, if they strip one another naked.”
“So will I,” Ellen Warnell said, and her sentiments were echoed by other women who had overheard.
“Mary?” said McQuade.
“I'm staying,” Mary said. “I don't like either of them, but I like Trent Putnam least. I want to see Luke beat the hell out of him.”
“Shame,” said McQuade, raising his eyebrows, “that's no way for a preacher's daughter to talk.”
“Your fault,” Mary said. “You've corrupted me.”
Some of the women had added wood to the supper fires, and coffee was brewing, as the two men removed their shirts. Each eyed the-other in grim satisfaction. It was better than they had expected from McQuade. Burke made the first move, charging Putnam, who stepped aside and tripped him. There was some laughter, as Burke went
facedown in the dirt, for when he tried to get up, Putnam kicked him in the behind, flattening him again.
facedown in the dirt, for when he tried to get up, Putnam kicked him in the behind, flattening him again.
“Damn it, Luke,” old Andrew shouted, “don't just lay there.”
Luke rolled sideways, lest he be booted again, and got to his knees. But Putnam was waiting for him, and Burke was barely on his feet when the heavier man charged, driving his fist toward Luke's sweating face. But Burke seized the wrist, and taking advantage of the momentum, drove his right boot hard into Putnam's groin. Putnam screamed in agony, and as his feet left the ground, Burke released the captured fist. Putnam fell facedown in a cloud of dust, and lay there sobbing. Virtually falling from the wagon, the drunken Selma ran to him.
“Damn you,” the woman cried, her eyes on Luke, “you've killed him.”
“I reckon not,” said Luke, “but he may never be a daddy.”
The shocked silence McQuade had expected didn't happen. The women laughed along with the men. But Trent Putnam wasn't finished. He struggled to his knees, and finally to his feet. He stood there swaying like a tall pine in a high wind, until he finally had enough wind to speak. He then turned hard eyes on Luke Burke.
“I ain't never liked you, Burke. Poke your nose in the back of my wagon again, and I'll blow it off, along with your head.”
“There'll be no more shooting, Putnam,” said McQuade, “unless I do it. Pull a gun one more time, and I'll kill you myself. That goes for you Burkes, too.”
“By God,” Putnam said, “when we get to Texas, you won't be wagon boss no more. Then I aim to get me a gun and go after some Burke blood. You hear that, boy?”
“I hear it,” said Burke, “and I'll be ready. Your carcass will be dog meat.”
The Burkes returned to their wagon, while Putnam and Selma returned to theirs, taking the time to cast dirty looks at McQuade.
“Maybe you should of just let them shoot one another,” Ike said.
“It was a temptation,” said McQuade, “but the way they were throwing lead so recklessly, they might have shot someone else.”
McQuade and Mary returned to their wagon, while the men on the first watch returned to their positions.
“It's not enough that we're plagued with Indians and outlaws,” Mary said. “We have the Putnams and the Burkes in our own wagon circle. What I fear is that by stopping them from killing each other, you may have them both trying to kill you.”
“I've been on the bad side of the Burkes ever since St. Joe,” said McQuade. “Putnam can climb on the wagon, if he likes. One more coyote added to the pack won't make that much difference.”
When Creeker returned from his meeting with McQuade, Hedgepith was waiting.
“See any Indians?” Hedgepith inquired.
“No,” said Creeker shortly.
“See anybody from McQuade's party?”
“I rode wide of their wagons and went ahead of them,” Creeker said.
“You didn't answer my question,” Hedgepith persisted.
“I
told
you I rode wide of them,” said Creeker, in a dangerously calm voice.
told
you I rode wide of them,” said Creeker, in a dangerously calm voice.
Hedgepith said no more, but the look in his eyes said he didn't believe Creeker. Without another word, he turned and went into the tent that had belonged to Hook. Creeker unsaddled his horse, while Groat and Slack looked at him and grinned.
“Now that he's tall dog in the brass collar, he just ain't trustin' at all,” Dirk said. “I'd not be surprised if he took to doubtin' us all.”
“Don't push him,” said Creeker. “There's goin' to be a showdown in Texas, and we got trouble enough between here and there.”
“I reckon you know somethin' we don't,” Porto said. “You been talkin' to McQuade, ain't you?”
“I'm admittin' nothing that might get back to Hedgepith,” said Creeker.
“Damn it,” Porto said, “that's an insult. I ought to gut-shoot you.”
Creeker laughed. “We got friends in McQuade's party. That's all you need to know for now. That and the fact that none of McQuade's people trust Hedgepith. They're looking for a fight in Texas, and McQuade knows where we stand.”
Hedgepith sat in the tent going over sheaves of paper, seeking any loopholes he might have missed. He had his doubts about Creeker and the men who had hired on with him, but this was no time for a division within his limited forces. He must wait until he reached Texas and had assumed control of the grants for which Rufus Hook had applied. Only then could he purge himself of the likes of Creeker and others who might stand in his way.
After a full day of sun, the land had dried. McQuade rode out ahead of the wagons, and having ridden not more than ten miles, he reined up before the North Canadian River. It was a milestone in their trek, for when they crossed the North Canadian, the Canadian was only some fifteen miles beyond. That meant they were less than a hundred miles from the crossing of the Red, which would take them into Texas. Elated, McQuade rode back to meet the wagons. Once they reached the bank of the North Canadian, circled the wagons, and unhitched the teams, there was rejoicing. Whatever trials awaited them in Texas, they were almost free of Indian Territory. McQuade had gradually increased the number of men on watch until everybody felt secure, but they were still vulnerable when they were on the trail. But the next morning, while they were crossing the North Canadian, the Kiowa came galloping in from the northwest. McQuade shot the lead rider off his horse, but the Kiowa fanned out in a long line, several attacking a single wagon. Hardy Kilgore
was thrown off his wagon box, a lance driven through his middle. Jason, his son, got off one shot, only to have an arrow driven deep in his chest. Terrified, the Kilgore teams veered away from the attacking Kiowa, toppling the Kilgore wagon in the swirling brown water. McQuade fired five more times, accounting for four more of the attackers. Men from wagons which were not under attack had reined up their teams and were taking careful aim. One after another, Kiowa horses galloped away riderless, and the attack ended as suddenly as it had begun. McQuade hardly knew where to begin. Women wept, men cursed, and mules brayed their terror.
was thrown off his wagon box, a lance driven through his middle. Jason, his son, got off one shot, only to have an arrow driven deep in his chest. Terrified, the Kilgore teams veered away from the attacking Kiowa, toppling the Kilgore wagon in the swirling brown water. McQuade fired five more times, accounting for four more of the attackers. Men from wagons which were not under attack had reined up their teams and were taking careful aim. One after another, Kiowa horses galloped away riderless, and the attack ended as suddenly as it had begun. McQuade hardly knew where to begin. Women wept, men cursed, and mules brayed their terror.
“The Kilgores,” Maggie Peyton cried.
“Too late for them,” shouted Ike.
Starting with the lead wagons, McQuade worked his way back, seeking the wounded or the dead. Odessa Bibb had an arrow in her left side, while Lucy Tabor had a shaft in her left thigh. Andrew Burke had a bloody gash under his right arm, where a Kiowa lance had narrowly missed being driven through his chest. Four wagons had crossed the river, and had escaped the attack.
“We'll take the rest of the wagons across,” McQuade shouted, “and circle them on the south bank. We'll be here a while.”
Quickly they complied. The Kiowa would be returning for their dead, which numbered more than twenty. When the wagons had been circled and the men were unhitching their teams, the women were getting fires going and putting water on to boil. Minerva Haymes had taken mud and was smoothing it over Andrew Burke's wound, to stop the bleeding.
“Maggie,” said McQuade, “you and Mary get the whiskey and see that Odessa and Lucy drink plenty of it. When it's had time to work, those arrows will have to come out.”
“Don't I know,” Maggie said. “We'll see they're proper drunk.”
“Ike, you and Gunter saddle up and ride with me,” said McQuade. “We have to find Hardy and Jason Kilgore, if we can. Will, I want you, Eli, and Cal to see that everybody who is assigned to the third watch take up positions surrounding the wagon circle. While I doubt the Kiowa will attack again, we can't afford to gamble.”
McQuade saddled his horse, and followed by Ike and Gunter, rode off downstream. They had no trouble finding the wagon, for the unfortunate mules had drowned and were acting as a drag. McQuade rode into the river and with his knife, cut the harness. He then tied one end of his lariat to a rear wagon wheel and looped the other end around his saddle horn. But the burden was too much for one horse. Ike rode in and tied his lariat to the wagon's other rear wheel. Slowly they dragged the wagon out of the water, but there was no sign of the bodies of either of the Kilgores.
“My God,” said Gunter, “they're lost in the river. We may never find them.”
“Beyond a doubt they both died in the attack,” McQuade said. “We'll ride downriver a ways and maybe find them in the shallows.”
But they rode for more than five miles, and the North Canadian seemed to increase in depth and in force. Finally the banks became so steep and overgrown with brush and oak thickets that McQuade called off the search. The trio returned to the wagon circle with the grim news, and McQuade went to the Bibb wagon to look in on Odessa.
“I gave her half a bottle of whiskey,” said Mary. “Maggie's seeing to Lucy.”
When McQuade reached the Tabor wagon, he found Cal there with Maggie. Lucy was already asleep.
“Cal,” McQuade said, “you know that arrow has to come out, and you know the procedure. I don't think it's proper, me workin' over another man's woman, with her all ⦔
“Stripped down,” Maggie finished.
“Yes,” said McQuade. “Cal, why don't you ⦔
“My God, no,” Cal cried. “I ⦠I'm so spooked, I ⦠I couldn't.”
“It's up to you, McQuade,” said Maggie, “and don't go gettin' the whim-whams about doctorin' a woman. You stripped me down and drove an arrow out of my leg, and not one of these other females is built any different.”
Despite the circumstances, Cal laughed. “Go ahead, McQuade. Lucy is expecting you to take care of her. I'm goin' to do the only decent thing, and stay the hell out of your way.”
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