Across the Rio Colorado (20 page)

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Authors: Ralph Compton

BOOK: Across the Rio Colorado
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“Damn it, you men get back to your wagons. Creeker, you and your men return to your positions behind and ahead of the train.”
“Five of us are already in position,” said Creeker mildly.
“You know what I meant,” Hedgepith shouted. “Don't get smart with me.”
“Yes, suh,” said Creeker insolently. “I mean no, suh. Sorry, suh.”
The wagons took the trail again, Hedgepith not bothering to share whatever was on his mind. The most interesting thing Creeker had learned was that McQuade and his party had been told of the situation in Texas, but had continued on. Creeker again rode out well ahead of the wagons, and Hedgepith was so preoccupied, he didn't even notice. Obviously, he had no intention of telling them how this startling news might affect their own circumstances. As Creeker neared the tag end of McQuade's train, he circled wide, coming out ahead of the caravan. He wanted to talk to McQuade, to get his thoughts on the grim news from Texas.
McQuade had chosen a place with water and graze to circle the wagons for the night and had started back when he saw the horseman coming. He reined up, waiting for
Creeker to reach him. Creeker wasted no time.
“We got the word this morning from that bunch that pulled out, leavin' their grants. Mind you, I ain't askin' for Hedgepith. For the sake of the rest of us, I'd like to know how you see it, and what you aim to do.”
“I don't care if Hedgepith knows,” said McQuade. “We're going on to Texas, and we will join Sam Houston's bunch. These folks that pulled out made the mistake of trying to work their grants, when they should have joined the opposition until the fate of Texas has been resolved. I believe the future of Texas lies with the United States, not Mexico.”
“I'm glad to hear you say that,” Creeker replied. “I'm speakin' for twenty-five of us, when I say that we aim to throw in with Houston. Trouble is, I look for Hedgepith to tell us we got to claim our grants or forfeit them. For sure, we can't swear allegiance to the Mexican government if we join Houston and the opposition.”
“Swearing allegiance to the Mexican government didn't help these folks that just pulled out,” McQuade said, “and it wouldn't help us. While we have no proof these renegades in the company of Miguel Monclova represent the Mexican government, we can't be sure that they don't. I believe our only chance is to join Houston's rebellion and fight for statehood. Somebody's going to settle Texas, and after we've joined the fight for independence, I can't imagine our grants not being honored.”
“That's kind of how I see it,” said Creeker. “Hedgepith has papers entitling all of us to land, and after this fight with Mexico, who's to stop us from taking the land offered us in the original grants? We might have to kill Hedgepith to get the papers, but I reckon we can do that, if he won't have it any other way.”
“He'll have no more authority than the rest of us,” McQuade said. “I reckon you got no idea what he aims to do, once he gets there?”
“No,” said Creeker. “We're goin' on, but he ain't said
a word about what's to be done when we arrive. Knowin' him, I look for him to try and strike some kind of deal with the Mexican government.”
“Then you'll have to break with him,” McQuade replied. “I believe Monclova and his bunch will take Hedgepith's wagons, and all of you will end up fighting for your lives.”
“That's about what I expect,” said Creeker. “I'll talk to the men in Hedgepith's party, and get back to you. If he insists on us claiming our grants in the face of trouble with the Mexican government, we'll split with him and join your outfit, if we're welcome.”
“You'll be welcome,” McQuade replied. “If Hedgepith is smart enough to lay off these grants until Houston's militia takes hold, we'll all be in a better position.”
Creeker and McQuade rode together until they met McQuade's wagons. Creeker then rode on, returning to his own party. Although Hedgepith hadn't seen him riding away, he was fully aware of Creeker's return. When he beckoned, Creeker turned his horse, riding alongside the wagon.
“Where have you been?” Hedgepith demanded.
“Riding the trail ahead,” said Creeker.
“Would your interest in the trail ahead have anything to do with McQuade's party?”
“I don't consider that any of your business,” Creeker said.
“While you're working for me, anything you do is my business,” said Hedgepith.
“The situation in Texas bein' what it is,” Creeker said, “we got the right to know who you're goin' to deal with. Will it be the Mexican government, or Sam Houston's militia?”
“You were promised wages and a land grant,” said Hedgepith angrily, “and that in no way entitles you to question my judgment.”
“Wrong,” Creeker said, his eyes cold, his voice hard. “Every man of us is entitled to question anything you say
or do, when there's a chance we'll be hung from the same limb as you. Now do you aim to join forces with Sam Houston's militia, or will you cozy up to Monclova and try to settle on those grants?”
“Why don't you just wait until we reach the Rio Colorado and find out?” Hedgepith said, with a humorless smile.
“I don't have to wait,” said Creeker. “I already know.”
Hedgepith said nothing more, and Creeker rode. on ahead of the wagons, catching up to Groat, Porto, Dirk, and Nall. They looked at him questioningly.
“McQuade's bunch is goin' on to Texas,” Creeker said, “but they're throwin' in with Houston's militia. They believe the Mexicans will pluck Hedgepith like a Christmas goose, and then gun us all down like dogs.”
“By God, they've got the straight of it,” said Rucker. “I know damn well Hedgepith is goin' to deal with them Mexicans. Run the Mexicans out, and we'll be dealin' with Texans. Hedgepith won't be the tall dog in the brass collar no more.”
“All the more reason to throw in with Houston,” Groat said. “I ain't never trusted that varmint, Hedgepith, and it's soundin' like him and them Mexicans is all of the same stripe.”
Most of McQuade's party was aware that Creeker had ridden ahead to meet McQuade, and when he returned, the men stopped to rest their teams. Obviously, they wished to know what news Creeker might have brought regarding Hedgepith's reaction to the dozen families who had forsaken their grants in Texas. McQuade didn't disappoint them.
“I was afraid of that,” Ike Peyton said. “Hedgepith won't care a damn about anything except gettin' his hands on them grants.”
“Yeah,” said Isaac McDaniel. “He'll waltz in amongst them Mexicans, and we'll end up in the same briar patch
as them folks that give up and pulled out.”
“No,” McQuade said. “Before Hedgepith has a chance to involve us with the Mexican government, we'll make contact with Sam Houston's militia. The twenty-five men in Hedgepith's party are of the same mind, accordin' to Creeker. That means they'll quit Hedgepith cold, and go with us, leavin' Hedgepith's wagons without teamsters.”
“Then you aim for some of us to ride south and talk to Sam Houston before we have to commit ourselves to anybody,” said Will Haymes.
“That's what I have in mind,” McQuade said. “While I'm not doubting the word of the families who pulled out, I want to know, firsthand, what lies ahead of us. After we cross the Red, we'll be maybe two hundred and seventy-five miles from the Rio Colorado. As I see it, we can circle the wagons a hundred miles out, and three or four of us can continue on horseback. We need to know where this Miguel Monclova and his bunch are roosting.”
“Won't hurt none if we can get our wagons near Houston's camp, before that Mexican outfit knows what we're up to,” said Tobe Rutledge.
“That's what I have in mind,” McQuade replied. “We want those grants, but we can't allow Hedgepith—with Monclova's help—to force us to accept them under Mexican rule. Not with the possibility of a war with Mexico. Two weeks after we cross the Red, we'll circle the wagons and ride south to find Sam Houston's outfit.”
“If Hedgepith goes ahead,” said Bud Jackman, “he could have Monclova's bunch after us before we can join Sam Houston's opposition.”
“I'll be talkin' to Creeker again,” McQuade said. “We'll stop Hedgepith, if we have to hog-tie him and post a guard.”
Gid Sutton listened as Taylor reported what he had seen while scouting the progress of the Hedgepith and McQuade parties.
“Twelve wagons, there was,” Taylor said. “They was headed northeast, back the way them Texas-bound wagons just come. What do you make of that?”
“How should I know?” Sutton growled. “Maybe Texas wasn't all it's cracked up to be. What about McQuade's bunch, and that supply train follerin' him?”
“They're goin' on,” said Taylor.
“That's all that concerns us,” Sutton replied. “Once they're across the Red, they're our meat.”
Many of the renegades had gathered around, and Doolin, one of the newcomers, said what was on the minds of many of them.
“We heard plenty of talk about takin' over this supply train, but we ain't heard much about how it's to be divvied up. What's in it fer me?”
“We won't know what's in it for any of us,” said Sutton, “until we take it and learn what's there. Until then, you'll have to take my word that it'll be worth the risk.”
“I don't like takin' anybody's word, when there's a chance of havin' my ears shot off,” Doolin said. “If I'm goin' to shoot an' be shot at, then I got to know it's worth the risk before I jump in.”
There were shouts of agreement from some of the others, and Sutton hauled them up short with an angry response.
“By God, any of you that wants out, get out. Saddle up and ride. I won't have any of you chowin' down on my grub or guzzlin' my coffee an' whiskey. Just don't forget there's law to the north, east, an' west, an' not a damn thing to the south but that wagon train.”
“That law would welcome some of you with a rope,” said Taylor, his eyes on Doolin.
“You got a point,” said an outlaw who had sided with Doolin. “Reckon I'll stick.”
“Me too,” Doolin said sheepishly. “I just want to know I ain't riskin' bein' gunned down on a wild goose chase.”
“Some of them wagons is loaded with barreled whiskey,” said Sutton. “It's worth its weight in gold, to the Comanches.”
“God,” Doolin said, “you'd sell whiskey to the Comanches?”
“I'd sell my own mother to the Comanches, if the price was right, an' it was paid in gold,” said Sutton. “It'd hurt my feelings somethin' fierce, if I thought you disapproved.”
Doolin said nothing, but he and many of the newcomers eyed Gid Sutton with a new understanding. He would sell them out or double-cross them at the drop of a hat, and he would drop the hat himself.
Creeker and the twenty-four men who had thrown in with him had reached unanimous agreement. They would desert Hedgepith and join Sam Houston's militia, even at the risk of forfeiting the promised grants. The teamsters were particularly angered by Hedgepith's continued silence as to his intentions.
“Damn him,” said Slaughter, “he'd lead us all right in amongst them Mexican coyotes, without us havin' a say. I reckon we'd better shanghai this outfit, long before we reach the Rio Colorado.”
“Yeah,” Weatherly said. “All we got to do is grab Hedgepith and them gamblin' slicks, Hiram Savage and Snakehead Presnall. Doctor Puckett won't stand in our way.”
“We'll wait a while,” said Creeker. “I aim to ride south with McQuade when he goes to meet with Sam Houston and the militia. If by then, Hedgepith ain't told us what he aims to do, we'll have to take over. For sure, while we're looking for Houston's militia, we can't risk having Hedgepith warn Miguel Monclova and his bunch. Grants or not, I reckon they'd gun us down, rather than have us join the Texas rebellion.”
Chance McQuade had again ridden ahead, and he reined up on the north bank of a fast-flowing river. It had to be the Red, and when the wagons reached it, they would be within two hundred and seventy-five miles of their destination. Mentally, McQuade ticked off the days until he and some of the men would ride south, seeking Sam Houston's militia. Just twelve days, at fifteen miles a day, provided there were no delays. Elated, McQuade rode back to meet the oncoming wagons, to tell them they were about to enter the Republic of Texas …
Red River. July 2, 1837.
“
F
or sure, we ain't gonna make that deadline Hook set,” said Gunter Warnell, when the wagons had been circled on the north bank of the river.
“I doubt Hedgepith will try to enforce any of Hook's rules,” McQuade replied. “None of that will matter, if Texas declares and wins its freedom from Mexico.”
“The sooner we can make contact with Houston, the better I'll like it,” said Joel Hanby. “Way it is now, we got nothin' we can tie to. We're sure we can't trust Hedgepith and the Mexican government, and all we know about Sam Houston's militia is secondhand. I purely don't like not knowin' where I stand.”
“Neither do I,” McQuade said, “but I want to be a little closer before we ride south to find Houston's militia. I'm figurin' another twelve days at fifteen miles a day. Then we'll circle the wagons and go looking for Houston.”
“Who you aimin' to take with you?” Bud Jackman asked.
“One man from our outfit, and maybe Creeker, from Hedgepith's,” said McQuade.
“Hedgepith will know we're up to something,” Cal Tabor said.
“He'll know anyway, when we circle the wagons and stay put,” said McQuade. “I think by then it won't matter what Hedgepith knows or doesn't know. With all his men prepared to quit, what can he do?”
“He can, track down this Miguel Monclova and his bunch, and bring them after us,” Eli Bibb said.
“With the men Creeker's promised, there'll be more than a hundred and forty of us,” said McQuade. “The odds are in our favor.”
Despite all the uncertainty, enthusiasm ran high. On occasion, the Burkes actually spoke to McQuade without hostility.
“Everybody trusts you,” Mary said, “and I'm proud of that, but I just wish it was all over, that we had our grants and there was no trouble with Mexico.”
“So do I,” said McQuade, “but if there's fighting to be done, I'm for gettin' on with it. The sooner this conflict with Mexico has been resolved, the sooner we can get on with our lives.”
“We don't actually
know
there's trouble with the Mexican government,” she said hopefully. “All we have is the word of those families who pulled out.”
“I don't doubt them for a minute,” said McQuade. “After all the hardships of reaching Texas, I can't believe they'd turn tail and run without a good reason.”
“I suppose war with Mexico would be a good reason,” she sighed.
McQuade laughed. “Come on, get in the wagon. We'll fight if and when we have to. I have other plans for tonight. At least, until I go on watch at midnight.”
Hedgepith's wagons approached the Red half a mile west of McQuade's wagon circle, and Hedgepith still had said nothing about what he intended to do. During supper, Doctor Puckett approached Hedgepith, who looked at him questioningly.
“Mr. Hedgepith, in light of what we learned from those people who had given up their grants and left Texas, I
believe we are entitled to know what you have in mind.”
“In regard to what?” Hedgepith growled.
“You know what,” said Puckett. “Do you still intend to claim those land grants from the Mexican government, even if it means taking up arms against the Republic of Texas?”
“Everybody who joined this expedition was told before leaving St. Louis that receiving a grant involved taking an oath of allegiance to the Mexican government,” Hedgepith said, “and as far as I'm concerned, nothing has changed. Does that answer your question?”
“It does,” said Puckett. Just for a moment, his eyes met those of some of the men who had heard Hedgepith's response, and the doctor saw rebellion. Later, when darkness had fallen, he was approached by Creeker.
“We need to talk, Doc,” Creeker said. “After everybody beds down, I'll be on watch.”
Puckett said nothing, and Creeker turned away, not wanting Hedgepith to observe his brief conversation with the doctor. Since Creeker didn't know when Puckett might contact him, he asked Lora to remain with the other women during that particular night. Puckett waited until well after midnight. There was moon- and starlight, and Creeker stepped from behind a tree as Puckett approached.
“Take a seat by the tree, Doc,” said Creeker. “We can see anybody comin', long before they can see us.”
Puckett sat down and Creeker hunkered beside him. Wasting no time, Puckett spoke.
“I get the impression most of you don't trust Mr. Hedgepith.”
Creeker laughed softly. “We don't. Do you?”
“Frankly, no,” said Puckett, “but he has the bit in his teeth. What do you intend to do about him?”
“Nothing,” Creeker replied. “We just don't aim to follow him into a hole where we'll have to fight our way out.”
“So you intend to break with him. When?”
“I've gone as far as I aim to, until I know where you stand,” said Creeker. “I want your word that nothin' I say will get back to Hedgepith.”
“You have it,” Puckett said.
“We believe—and I'm speaking for twenty-five of us—that our chances are better with Sam Houston's militia and the Republic of Texas, than with the Mexican government,” said Creeker.
“I'm inclined to agree,” Puckett replied. “When will you make the break?”
“When McQuade and his party does,” said Creeker. “Somewhere beyond the Red, they aim to circle their wagons. McQuade plans to ride south in search of Houston's militia, and I aim to ride with him. Once the problem with Mexico is settled, even if it's war, we're countin' on the Republic of Texas to honor our land grants.”
“I see no reason why they wouldn't,” said Puckett. “I can't see Texas forgetting those who help her fight for independence.”
“That's how McQuade sees it,” Creeker said. “He believes the future of Texas is with the United States, not Mexico. We feel the same way.”
“Mr. McQuade is a far-sighted young man,” said Puckett. “You may tell him that I'll be going with the rest of you, when the time comes. Have you thought of what is to become of these women?”
“We have,” Creeker said. “They're all spoken for, and not one for the purpose Hook intended. Everybody will be accounted for except that pair of slick-dealing gamblers, old Ampersand, and Hedgepith himself.”
“That will leave Hedgepith with fifteen wagons and no teamsters,” said Puckett. “What can he do, except go along with the rest of us?”
“He can track down this Miguel Monclova,” Creeker said, “if he's that big a fool. You know Monclova can provide the necessary teamsters. You should also know that as soon as he gets control of those wagons, Hedgepith is a dead man.”
“I'd have to agree with you,” said Puckett, “no more than I know. But if Monclova is the tyrant he appears to be, we still need more than secondhand information about Sam Houston's militia and the proposed rebellion. I suppose this is what McQuade has in mind.”
“It is,” Creeker replied. “He wants to know how solid Houston is, and that he'll stay with us to the finish. McQuade's careful, playin' his cards close, and I admire that.”
“So do I,” said Puckett, “and if Houston stands as tall as we think he does, then we'll do well to join forces with him. Imagine what these wagonloads of supplies would mean to those Texans, so far from civilization, forced to fight the Mexican army.”
“I haven't thought that far ahead,” Creeker replied, “but it could mean the difference between victory and defeat for Houston's bunch. It don't seem far-fetched, when you know that Monclova and his gang will kill Hedgepith and take it all.”
“I believe McQuade should make Houston aware of these supplies,” said Puckett. “I'd say this militia is hard-pressed to purchase anything, without a fight with Monclova. The nearest source of goods would be New Orleans, while we have fifteen wagonloads within perhaps three weeks of Houston's camp.”
Creeker laughed softly. “You'll do, Doc. I'll speak to McQuade about this, telling him you suggested it. We'll talk again after we've crossed the Red.”
In a bend of the Colorado River, some forty-five miles northwest of Sam Houston's camp, Miguel Monclova had established a headquarters. There he was involved in a heated discussion with his two trusted lieutenants, Pedro Mendez and Hidalgo Cortez.
“I do not believe we should have allowed the
americanos
to go,” Mendez argued.
“Nor do I,” said Cortez.
“They are of no Use to us,” Monclova said. “It is a simple thing to sit within the halls of government in Mexico City and devise oaths of allegiance, and quite another to enforce them, when the
Tejanos
and
Americanos
are hundreds of miles away. They take our oaths because they want our land, but when it comes to the saber and the
pistola,
they turn on us. Now tell me of the
Tejano,
the Senor Houston and his
milicia.
”
Pedro Mendez laughed. “The
caravana
for which he waits does not come. Per'ap he and his
Tejanos,
they fight on empty bellies, no?”
“
Por Dios,
we have only to wait,” said Monclova. “Time and hunger favor us.”
“But Mexico City does not,” said Cortez.
“It does not matter,” Monclova said. “Our orders come from General Santa Ana himself, and he does not choose to honor the grants negotiated by the Señor Stephen Austin. The general sees the grants only as a means to an end. The
Tejanos
and
Americanos
swear allegiance to Mexico, and when their numbers are great enough, they make war with us for. their independence. We will starve out as many as we can, and those who remain will be shot down like the dogs they are. We will rid ourselves of them before the falling of the leaves.”
The third day of July, McQuade's wagons crossed the Red, into Texas. The Hedgepith wagons followed. At that point, McQuade rode almost due south. They were in Comanche country, and the trail ahead must be scouted carefully. McQuade wasn't that familiar with the water in Texas, and the distances between good water might have some bearing on the miles they must travel each day. When McQuade finally found a good stream, it was much farther than the wagons usually traveled. But they had no choice, and as McQuade returned to meet the wagons, a horseman rode out ahead of him. Recognizing Creeker, McQuade rode on.
“I reckoned it was time we talk again,” Creeker said, “seein' as how we're in Texas. I spent some time with Doc Puckett, and he's goin' with us.”
“I felt like he would,” said McQuade.
“When do you aim to ride south, looking for Sam Houston's militia?”
“Two more weeks,” McQuade said. “On a good day, we can cover fifteen miles. Some days, like today, will be longer, since we must have water. I figure we'll circle wagons a hundred miles shy of our destination. From there, we' ride south. I'll want you with me, representing the men in Hedgepith's party. I think no more than three of us will go, since it's important that we don't attract the attention of Miguel Monclova. We don't know where he is, and we'll have to ride careful.”
“With Hedgepith hell-bent on claiming those grants, he could very well find Monclova before we reach Houston's camp,” said Creeker. “I think we got to buffalo the varmint with a pistol barrel, hog-tie him, and post a guard, until we're satisfied joining Houston's militia is the thing to do.”
“We may be forced to do that,” McQuade said, “and anybody else that's inclined to go along with Hedgepith. What about that pair of gamblers, and the cook?”
“I doubt Hiram Savage and Snakehead Presnall have enough guts between 'em to stand up to us. If they try anything foolish, we'll rope them to a tree, along with Hedgepith. As for Ampersand, he'll go along with us. Hedgepith talks down to him.”
“We're of the same mind, then,” McQuade said. “If anything changes, or if you need help, sound off.”
“Thanks,” said Creeker.
The two rode together until they could see the oncoming wagons of McQuade's outfit. Creeker then guided his horse into the brush and was gone. McQuade waited for the lead wagons, and then trotted his horse alongside them.
With Houston's militia on the Rio Colorado. July 3, 1837.
Sam Houston sat on the decaying trunk of a wind-blown tree, shifting his cane from one hand to the other. Three of his trusted men—Joshua Hamilton, Stockton Saunders, and Alonzo Holden—had brought unwelcome news regarding an expected wagon train with much-needed supplies.
“We rode all the way to the Red, where she leaves Texas and loops into Arkansas,” said Hamilton, “and we waited three days. No sign of any wagons.”

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