The Old Spanish Trail Page 10

  “I think we’d better all stay in the saddle every night until this threat is behind us,” Bob Vines said. “These coyotes can sneak in, stampede the herd, and be gone before we’re able to get astraddle of our horses.”

  “We’ll push on to the water,” said Don. “It’s not that far, and we’ll arrive well before sundown. There’ll be time for all of us to get a little sleep before dark. Like Bob says, we may all be in the saddle every night until this Indian threat is behind us.”

  The herd moved on and the Utes followed, being careful to stay out of rifle range. Don rode well ahead of the drive, steering them wide of any cover that might have aided the enemy in setting up an ambush. They reached the river and settled the herd down on the graze between the two forks. Tomorrow they would follow the south fork until the old trail veered away from it.

  “All of you from the first watch get as much rest as you can,” Don ordered. “In two hours, you’ll swap places with those of us on the second watch. By then, it’ll be supper-time, and after we eat, we’ll all be in the saddle until first light.”

  It would be an exhausting ordeal, trailing the herd all day and standing watch all night, and the riders from the first watch stretched out, their heads on their saddles.

  “That seems terribly hard, riding all day and being in the saddle all night,” said Sarah Miles.

  “Hard as it is, it’s nothing compared to havin’ to gather a stampeded herd,” Mike said. “At best, trail driving is a hard life.”

  After supper, the herd was bunched, and aware of the possibility of a stampede, the Mexican wranglers had separated the horse remuda and the pack mules from the longhorns. Yet all the animals were grouped so that the riders could circle them, half the outfit riding clockwise and the others riding the other direction. It was as near-perfect a defense as they could devise, and there was nothing to arouse their suspicions until the early hours of the morning. After moonset, the darkness seemed all the more intense, and suddenly there was the patter of hooves and the frightened nicker of a horse. It came galloping between the bunched longhorns and the gathering of the horse remuda and pack mules. There was a rope around the animal’s neck, and trailing behind it was the hide of a fresh-killed cougar. Try as they might, none of the riders reached the horse in time, and the combined smell of cougar and fresh blood brought instant disaster. The horse remuda and the pack mules stampeded first, despite all the efforts of Dominique and Roberto to restrain them. Right into the herd of restless longhorns the riderless horse ran. The herd came to its feet as one, and with a terrified bellow, stampeded after the horse remuda and the mules. There was no holding them, no heading them, as they galloped madly westward. The riders were ready for an attack, but there was none. The sound of the stampede diminished until there was only silence, seeming more profound than ever.

  “Damn them,” Charlie English said. “We wasn’t able to even fire a shot.”

  “Nothing to shoot at,” said Don wearily, “and muzzle flashes would have provided an an excellent opportunity for them to shoot arrows into some of us.”

  “At least the varmints all stampeded west, along the south fork of the river,” Mike Horton said. “When they’re tired runnin’, they won’t scatter from here to yonder, huntin’ water. We won’t be a week roundin’ ’em up.”

  “No,” said Don, “gathering them may not be that great a problem. The real problem will be gathering ’em without the damn Utes picking us off from cover. All of you catch a couple of hours’ sleep, keepin’ your rifles handy. I’ll stand watch until first light.”

  “I’ll split the time with you,” Bob Vines offered.

  “No,” said Don. “There’s not that much time.”

  Don settled down near the packsaddles and found Dominique and Roberto awake.

  “We no sleep,” one of the Mexicans said.

  When the first rays of approaching dawn feathered the eastern sky, Dominique and Roberto had the cook fires going and the coffee boiling. Every rider was awake, lest the Utes defy their gods of superstition and attack, but there was no sign of the Indians.

  “Not enough cover,” said Red. “The cowardly varmints.”

  “Not so much cowardly as smart,” Don said. “If you was facing Henry rifles, and all you had was a bow and arrows, you’d be as cautious as they are.”

  Hurriedly the outfit finished breakfast and saddled their horses.

  “We’re forgettin’ somethin’,” said Mike Horton. “These seven women are here, along with our packs and supplies. If a dozen Utes come skalley-hootin’ in here, Dominique and Roberto wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Don said. “You and Red will stay here. Come noon, you’ll swap out with two other riders.”

  The eight of them saddled their horses and rode west along the river.

  “Since we’ll be here a while,” said Rose Delano, “and we’re right here beside the river, I need to wash myself. My hair is filthy.”

  “So is mine,” Sarah said.

  “I don’t know,” said Mike doubtfully. “I wish you had talked to Don about that.”

  “Yeah,” Red added. “Them Utes can be all around us before you know it. You’d have to find you a place that’s private, and we can’t allow you out of our sight.”

  Rose laughed. “We haven’t had a shred of privacy in months. Why should the lack of it bother us now? We’ll do our washing right here.”

  “Then go ahead,” said Mike. “We’ll turn our backs until you’re done.”

  “Oh damn,” Bonita said, in feigned disgust. “If we won’t have an audience, then I just won’t bother.”

  They splashed around for half an hour, while Mike, Red, Dominique, and Roberto were careful to keep their backs turned.

  The Texans had traveled not more than three miles when they began seeing longhorns, but there was no sign of the horse remuda and the pack mules.

  “We can gather the herd later,” Don said. “I reckon we’d better go looking for the horse remuda and the pack mules first. The varmints have had time to round them up, if they started at first light.”

  They didn’t have to ride far before finding the tracks of unshod horses. The Utes had cut out the horses and pack mules and had driven them south. The trail was fresh, and the Texans followed it until the terrain became rough, shrouded with brush and outcroppings of rock. Don reined up, his companions surrounding him.

  “I’m ridin’ west a ways and then south,” Don said. “Bob, I want you to ride east for maybe half a mile and then turn back south. The rest of you continue to follow the trail, but be slow about it. That bunch knows we’ll be followin’, and I’d bet my old granny’s rockin’ chair that some of them will double back with ambush on their minds. If you see any sign of it, Bob, ride on back. I’ll do the same, and we’ll decide how best to turn the tables on them.”

  Don rode west, and after turning back to the south, expected to find tracks of Indian horses, where one or more riders had doubled back with an ambush in mind. But there were no tracks. A mile or so distant, having again ridden south, Bob made a similar discovery. They had guessed wrong, overplayed their hand. The Utes had counted on that as a means of dividing the riders, and before Don and Bob could join their comrades, the Utes attacked. There was a rattle of gunfire, and it ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Don and Bob reached the scene of the attack to find Jim Roussel and Arch Danson on the ground, each with an arrow in his thigh.

  “The varmints come at us from two directions,” Charlie English said. “Scared hell out of our horses, and by the time we calmed them, we didn’t have any targets. The shots we fired was just wasted.”

  “They disappeared like smoke,” said Les Brown.

  “How many of them?” Don asked.

  “Maybe ten,” said Les.

  “We’ll still have to recover the horses and mules,” Don said. “Arch, you and Jim will have to ride back alone if you’re able. Are you?”

  “I am,” said Arch, “but that leaves
only six of you against all of them. Besides those that jumped us, there had to be others watchin’ the horses and mules.”

  “He’s dead right,” Jim Roussel said. “Why don’t we just tie our bandannas above these wounds to stop the bleedin’ and all of us ride on?”

  “No,” Don said. “The two of you will ride back and see to those wounds. The rest of us will go after the horses and mules. Now mount up, both of you, and ride.”

  Reluctantly they did so. The rest of the outfit continued following the trail of the horses and mules.

  “From here on,” said Don, “we won’t split up for any reason. We’ll be outnumbered two to one or more, and it’ll take our combined efforts just to come out of this alive.”

  “The range of our Henrys is greater than that of their bows and arrows,” Bob said. “If we can’t defeat them, maybe we can make it hot enough that they’ll give up the horses and mules.”

  “That may be our only chance,” said Don. “If we get too close, there’s a possibility we’ll ride into another ambush. Let’s see if we can get within rifle range without havin’ them bushwhack us again.”

  Eventually there was a cloud of dust against the blue of the sky, and after topping a rise, they could see the horses and mules half a mile ahead. Sixteen mounted Indians were shouting and pushing them onward.

  “Let’s ride,” Don shouted. “Soon as we’re in range, rein up and drop as many of them as you can.”

  Every man knew it was a calculated risk, for if they didn’t reduce the odds quickly, the Utes could turn on them. Drawing their Henrys from their saddle boots, they kicked their horses into a gallop. Their greater numbers inspired the Utes to fight instead of run, but while still out of range of Indian arrows, the Texans reined up and began firing. A first volley dropped six of the Utes, and before giving up the cause, four more fell. The six remaining kicked their horses into a gallop, riding for their lives.

  “That’s how it should have happened to start with,” Don said. “Then Jim and Arch wouldn’t have been wounded. Me and my bright ideas.”

  “Not your fault,” said Charlie English. “If we’d been up against Comanches, they’d have left maybe four riders with the horses and mules, and the rest would have doubled back for a bushwhacking. These damn Indians has got a different set of rules.”

  “That they have,” Bob said. “Let’s gather those horses and mules and get back to camp while we can.”

  “Yeah,” said Felton Juneau. “There was more than a hundred Utes in that camp when we stampeded their horses. There could be another bunch attackin’ our camp while we’re after the horses and mules.”

  It was a possibility none of them wanted to consider, and they quickly headed the horses and mules back the way they had come. They all heaved sighs of relief when they reached camp and found there had been no attack. Jim Roussel and Arch Danson already had their thighs bandaged, a fire was going, and there was a tangy odor of fresh coffee.

  “How bad are the wounds, Mike?” Don asked, immediately after dismounting.

  “Flesh wounds,” said Mike. “Neither arrow hit bone, and it wasn’t too hard drivin’ ’em on through.”

  “Bueno,” Don said. “We’ll have to count on Arch and Jim to help defend the camp, so the rest of us can begin gathering the herd.”

  “Tarnation,” said Arch, “you need us in the saddle, not laid up here in camp.”

  “We likely won’t have a fever before sometime tonight,” Jim said. “Maybe not then.”

  “Anything you do may make the infection more difficult to heal,” said Don. “Both of you will stay right here, keepin’ your rifles handy. So will Mike and Red. The rest of us will begin gathering the herd, doing the best we can.”

  The six of them rode out, following the path of the stampede, and soon began finding groups of grazing cattle.

  “Let’s follow this stream as far as we can find any cattle, and work our way back from there,” said Don. “We can gather those nearest our camp on the way back.”

  They rode on, wary of anything that offered the slightest cover, until they no longer found any of the stampeded herd.

  “There’s plenty of ’em along this fork,” Bob said, “but if I’m any judge, there won’t be more than half the herd.”

  “That means the others may be up yonder along the north fork,” said Don, “leadin’ me to wonder why. There’s water here, along with fair-to-middlin’ graze.”

  Bob laughed. “Don’t ever try to puzzle out the ways and the wanderings of a cow. In the dark, some of ’em may have got into the river, run out on the other side and just kept going. As we ride back, let’s keep an eye on that far bank for tracks.”

  Soon as they began finding grazing cattle, they bunched them together and drove them back toward camp.

  “There’s where a bunch of ’em crossed the river,” Bob said, pointing.

  “We’ll gather all we can on this side, and move ’em closer to camp,” said Don “Then we’ll cross the river and ride to the upper fork. With any luck, we’ll find the rest of them there.”

  There was no more than two hours of daylight remaining when they bunched the longhorns along the river, near their camp.

  “Maybe we ought to run some tallies and see how many we’re missing,” Les suggested.

  “I think we should gather the rest of them,” said Bob. “Then if we’re still shy some, we can start fresh in the morning.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with Bob,” said Don. “If we luck out, and find the rest of them along the upper fork, we can rest easy. But if we’re still missing a large number, we may have some tracking and serious brush-beatin’ ahead of us. I don’t favor stayin’ here any longer than we have to. The longer we’re delayed, the better the chance those Utes will find the rest of their horses, regroup, and come after us.”

  “Lookin’ at it that way, I reckon we’d better ride to that upper fork and get busy,” Les said.

  Leaving the longhorns bunched near their camp, the Texans crossed the south fork of the river and rode north. Reaching the north fork, they were encouraged to find reasonably good graze and very little cover suitable for an ambush. Eventually they came upon bunches of grazing longhorns. While the graze wasn’t substantial, it was adequate.

  “Still not all of them,” said Don. “We’ll ride on until we don’t see any more of ’em, and start pushin’ them toward camp.”

  When they could see no more cattle, they turned back.

  “I hope we can gather enough without followin’ this north fork any farther,” Bob said. “On up yonder, the bank gets downright brushy, and there’s some upthrusts of rock that would hide men on horses.”

  “I saw that,” said Don. “Time enough to concern ourselves with that after we’ve taken some tallies. If we don’t have time before dark, we can first thing tomorrow.”

  But when they neared camp, they found Red and Mike mounted, waiting for them.

  “Keep that bunch separated,” Mike shouted. “We’ve already run tallies of them that’s already here.”

  “Bueno,” shouted Don in reply. “We’ll have time to tally these before dark.”

  Quickly they headed and bunched the longhorns, and every rider began counting.

  “I tally fifteen hundred,” Bob said.

  “Fifteen-fifty,” said Don.

  “Sixteen hundred,” Charlie English said.

  “Fifteen-twenty-five,” said Eli Mills.

  “Fifteen-sixty-five,” Felton Juneau said.

  “Fifteen-seventy-five,” said Les Brown.

  “We’ll take the low count of fifteen hundred,” Don said. “Now, Red, we’ll see just how good you and Mike are. What’s your tallies?”

  “Thirty-one hundred,” Red replied.

  “Thirty-one-twenty-five,” said Mike.

  “Forty-six hundred, total,” Don said, “and we can’t live with that.”

  “We could run ’em all together and everybody take a new count tomorrow,” Les said.

&nbs
p; “We could, but we’re not going to,” said Don. “We’d still be lacking more than we can afford to lose, and we’d have lost the time spent taking another count. Tomorrow at first light, we’re ridin’ back along that north fork, beatin’ the bushes.”

  “I just hope we don’t scare up any two-legged varmints with bows and arrows,” Felton said.

  “So do I,” said Don, “but if we do, it’s the luck of the draw. We’re not leavin’ here without another four hundred head, if we have to fight every Ute in the territory.”

  While they had their misgivings, nobody disagreed, for they were all Texans. One of them had taken a stand, and his comrades could do no less. They drove the second gather of longhorns in with the first, bunching them near camp. Dominique and Roberto had the horses and mules gathered on the other side of the camp, near the river. Mike and Arch were sleeping, and supper was underway.

  “Somebody’s been in the river,” Don said, his eyes on the still-wet hair of the women.

  “I gave them permission,” said Mike.

  “It’s dangerous, any of us being separated,” Don said.

  “No,” said Mike. “They wasn’t more than ten feet away. We turned our backs.”

  “They did,” Bonita said, “although we told them they didn’t have to. For all the time we were with the Indians, we weren’t allowed to wash ourselves.”

  “She’s right,” said Rose. “It would have been worth any sacrifice we might have had to make.”

  “Rose and Sarah cleaned and bandaged the wounds, after I removed the arrows from Jim and Arch,” Mike said.

  “Bueno,” said Don. While he still didn’t care that much for the two older women, Mike Horton seemed to look upon them favorably. For that reason, Don Webb would give them the benefit of the doubt.

  “With Jim and Arch wounded, that leaves four of us for each watch,” Bob said. “That is, unless you want us all in the saddle all night.”

  “We’ll stay with four men per watch,” said Don. “We had everybody in the saddle last night, and we accomplished nothing, except we didn’t lose the horses we were riding. All of you, when you sleep, leave your horses saddled and picket them. I think there’s more to it than these Utes wanting to get even. They want our horses and mules. Starting tonight, we’ll cross-hobble all the pack mules and every horse in the remuda.”