The Alamosa Trail Page 17

  “The women, yes—he could sell them just like Shardeen planned, I suppose,” Frank said. “But what was he going to do with the horses?”

  “I figure he was planning on delivering them to Allison, then collecting all the rest of the money himself,” Barry said.

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, what do you think?” Barry asked.

  “I think the son of a bitch was going to steal the horses. He didn’t have no plans to take ’em back to Allison.”

  “What would he do with ’em, if he did steal ’em?” Gene asked.

  “Sell ’em, I reckon,” Frank replied.

  “I wouldn’t sell ’em if they were mine,” Jim said.

  “You wouldn’t? What would you do with them?”

  “If I had these horses, I’d get myself a little spread somewhere and keep ’em for about a year. That way, they’d have plenty of time to get adjusted to being tame. During the year, I’d breed as many of the stallions and mares as I could get together. Then come spring, I’d sell off about half as many horses as there had been new colts born, just to get enough money to keep the ranch running. Within a year or two, I’d have as good a horse ranch as you ever want to see.”

  “You got any idea where that ranch would be?” Barry asked.

  “Not really.”

  “ ’Cause from what Marilou has been telling me, the Kincaid Ranch would be just the place for something like that.”

  “Yeah,” Gene added. “You could start running horses there, and me an’ Barry could work for you.”

  “You’re forgettin’ a couple of things,” Jim said. “In the first place, this isn’t my herd to do with as I please. And in the second place, I don’t have anything to do with the Kincaid Ranch.”

  “You could,” Barry said.

  “Yeah,” Gene added. “You may not have noticed, but Miz Katie has her cap set for you.”

  Damn, Jim thought. Has she made it that obvious to everyone?

  “And we could have these horses, too,” Frank said.

  Frank’s comment was greeted with a moment of shocked silence.

  “Are you suggesting we steal the horses?” Jim asked.

  “I’m not sure I’d call it stealin’,” Frank said. “If you stop an’ think about it, we’re the ones who had to break the horses. By rights, that should make ’em ours.”

  “Frank’s got a point,” Gene said.

  “If we had rounded them up as well, perhaps he would have a point,” Jim said. “But we didn’t round them up. They were already gathered. All we had to do was break them. Besides, do you really want to take horses from someone like Clay Allison? He’s not the kind of fella that I would want for an enemy.”

  “Me, neither,” Barry said.

  Frank took another puff, then blew out a long cloud of smoke. “I reckon, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t want to cross him, either.”

  “You are probably right,” Gene said. He was silent for a moment, then he smiled. “But it was grand thinking about it for a few minutes.”

  Capitán Eduardo Bustamante, Teniente Santos, and Sargento Gonzales were with a company of more than forty Federales, waiting for the Americans. Their scouts had reported that the Americans, with the women, were leading a herd of horses north, and Bustamante knew they would have to come right through here, a place called Diablo Canyon, in order to reach the U.S. border. Here, the trail squeezed down to a narrow pass, closed in on either side by sheer rock cliffs. There were no exits from the pass. Once the Americans were committed, they would have no choice but to go on through. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

  Bustamante put Santos in command of the men on the west side of the pass, while he took command of the men on the east side. He had already given the word not to fire until he gave the signal. The agreed-upon signal would be when he fired the first shot.

  “It is a brilliant plan, Capitán,” Gonzales said. Gonzales was on the east side of the pass with Bustamante.

  “It is an example of what one can do with organization and planning,” Bustamante replied. “Unlike your disastrous operation in Escalon.”

  “Sí, Capitán,” Gonzales replied in chagrin. Although he had already been thoroughly reprimanded for letting the Americans evade capture in Escalon, Bustamante was not letting him live it down. Indeed, he would not even be present now had he not begged to be included, reminding Bustamante that he was one of the few who could identify the Americans by sight.

  “What about the women?” Gonzales asked, as they waited.

  “What about the women?” Bustamante replied.

  “The women are riding with the Americans. They might get hurt when we start shooting.”

  “They are not innocent victims. Our scouts tell us that the women are riding willingly,” Bustamante said.

  “Capitán, does it not concern you that the women are riding willingly?”

  “Why should that concern me?”

  “Does it not prove that they are not captives, as we once thought?”

  “It doesn’t matter whether they are captives or not,” Bustamante replied. “I am no longer hunting these men for the American authorities. I hunt them now because they committed murder in Escalon.”

  “But if they are not the ones who captured the women, then they are not murderers in the fullest sense of the word. They are guilty only of defending themselves,” Gonzales said. “For it was we who fired first.”

  Bustamante glared at Gonzales. “Sargento Gonzales, you lost many fine citizens in Escalon, including Reyna, your own diputado. Do you now say that you do not want revenge?”

  “It troubles me that these may have been innocent men whom we fired upon by mistake. If so, they would have killed no one, had I not ordered my men to shoot at them. Perhaps the guilt is mine.”

  “Your only guilt is that you let them get away. Do not concern yourself that they may be innocent. They are the ones who killed Teniente Montoya and Teniente Arino, of that I am certain. When I give the signal to begin shooting, you will shoot as ordered. Am I understood, Sargento?”

  “Sí,” Gonzales replied.

  “Capitán Bustamante, they are coming!” someone yelled.

  Bustamante gave the signal for everyone to get down. Then he ducked behind a rock and jacked a shell into the chamber of his rifle. He thought of the funeral of his two lieutenants, and he remembered the promise he had made to their widows. His blood ran hot as he waited.

  Jim had spotted Bustamante’s scouts more than an hour earlier, and he surmised that an ambush may be awaiting them when they reached Diablo Canyon.

  “I’m not going to mince words with you,” he told the others, once he figured out what lay ahead. “The way I see it, we have only two choices. We can either try and force our way through, maybe by blending in with the herd and hoping that gives us some protection, or we can just abandon the horses and hightail it out of here, finding some other way back home.”

  “Damn, I hate to give up the herd now, after all we’ve been through,” Frank said. “I’m for trying to force our way through.”

  “I don’t see how we can do it without a couple of us getting killed,” Barry said.

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” Frank replied.

  “What about the women? Are you willing to take the chance with their lives? They don’t have any stake in this. They were brought down here against their will,” Gene said.

  “They don’t have to go through with us,” Frank said. “They can leave now and find some other way back. And if we are keeping whoever is waiting for us at the canyon busy, that will give them a better chance.”

  “None of us have to go through the canyon,” Katie suggested. “There is another way through.”

  “Another way?”

  “Yes. It’s called Purgatory’s Needle. That’s the way Shardeen brought us through when we came south,” Katie said. “I paid close attention to it, because I figured on getting away somehow, and I thought I
might need to know.”

  “How far away is the other way?” Jim asked.

  “Not far at all. Only about a quarter of a mile west of the canyon opening.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you telling me there are two canyons running parallel to each other?”

  “Well, Purgatory’s Needle isn’t exactly a canyon,” Katie explained. “It’s more like a very narrow chute. But if we ride single file, we can get through it.”

  “What about the herd?” Gene asked.

  Katie shook her head. “There’s no way the horses can get through there.”

  “Then we are back where we started,” Gene complained.

  “Maybe not,” Jim said. “I have an idea.”

  Jim’s idea was to start through the needle with the three women, Gene, and Barry. Frank, who was arguably the best rider of the entire outfit, would remain behind. His job was to start the herd through Diablo Canyon. By firing a couple of shots behind the horses, Frank would start them running through the canyon.

  Jim believed that the horses would draw fire from whoever was waiting for them, and that shooting would urge the horses on, thus ensuring that they ran all the way through the canyon. It would also keep the bushwhackers occupied so that they might not notice the absence of Jim and the others.

  When Jim, Gene, Barry, Katie, and her daughters were in position at the mouth of Purgatory’s Needle, Frank fired three shots, and the canyon echoed them back, giving the illusion of many more shots being fired. The horses, just as Jim hoped they would, broke into a frenzied gallop.

  As the horses rushed through the canyon, the discipline Bustamante had counted on from his men broke. One man fired, then the others, thinking that was the signal from Bustamante, began firing as well. Scores of shots rang out, echoing loudly through the canyon walls. Panic-stricken, the horses ran faster.

  “Where are they?” Busamante shouted, looking down at the galloping horses, trying to find the Americans. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know,” Gonzales shouted. “I don’t see anyone!”

  “Stop firing! Stop firing!” Bustamante shouted, standing up and waving his arms.

  Bustamante’s attempt to stop the shooting went unheeded. The shooting continued until the last horse thundered through to the other side of the canyon. Behind, five horses lay dead, two from bullet wounds, and three from broken necks brought about by collision during the melee.

  “There they are!” Gonzales shouted, pointing to the north. There, nearly a mile ahead, Bustamante saw the Americans rejoining the horses, their stampede now over.

  “Get them!” he shouted. “Get them!”

  “Capitán, they are nearly to the border,” Gonzales said. “Even if we were mounted, we wouldn’t be able to catch up with them.”

  Bustamante stood on the edge of the cliff and cursed in impotent frustration. Gonzales turned from Bustamante, so his capitán wouldn’t see the smile on his face. He wasn’t the only one who had let the Americans get away.

  They didn’t need a sign telling them they had returned to the United States. They crossed a river, and though it was much the same as rivers they had crossed over the last several days, once they were on the other side, the difference was palpable.

  Texas.

  It was home because of language, though in this part of Texas nearly as many people spoke Spanish as spoke English. It was home because of the attitude, because here no man would ever let another assume authority over him by reason of birth, position, or wealth.

  “I say there,” Jim once heard an Englishman say to a cowboy. “Could you direct me to your superior?”

  The cowboy spit a wad of tobacco at the Englishman’s feet, then glared at him. “Mister, that son of a bitch hasn’t been born yet,” he said.

  Jim left the herd just outside El Paso while he went into town to send a telegram to Clay Allison. That was when he learned that Allison was dead. He hurried back to the others to share the news.

  Frank smiled. “Then that settles it,” he said. “We take the horses to the Kincaid Ranch.”

  “What about it, Jim? Do we?” Gene asked. Marilou stepped up next to Gene, while Brenda sidled up to Barry. Gene, Barry, and both girls looked at Jim, the expressions on their faces indicating the answer they wanted to hear from him.

  “I reckon something like that would be up to Katie,” Jim finally said.

  “I can’t think of any better way to start a new life,” Katie said.

  Jim smiled broadly. “All right, boys, let’s get this herd out to the ranch.”

  It was just after dusk by the time they turned the herd onto the Kincaid rangeland. With the horses finally delivered, and their long journey over, everyone was looking forward to a home-cooked supper, then a good night’s rest. What none of them realized was that Shardeen was waiting for them in the barn.

  Shardeen had correctly figured that, once they got word of Allison’s death, they would bring the horses here, to the Kincaid Ranch. He had watched them turn the horses out into the pasture. Then he hurried back to set up his surprise for them.

  “Are they comin’?” Tom Dingus asked. Shardeen had picked up Dingus and three other men in town. He had made the mistake last time of trying to take the Robison outfit on with just two men, believing that position and surprise would carry the day for him. This time he had five guns, plus position and surprise. He was taking absolutely no chances.

  “Dingus, take Pete with you and get over there by the granary shed. That way, we’ll have them in a cross fire. Open up on them as soon as they get into range,” Shardeen said.

  “Come on, Pete,” Dingus said, starting from the barn toward the granary shed. He turned back toward Shardeen. “What about the women?” he asked.

  “What about ’em?”

  “They’re likely to get caught up in the line of fire.”

  “Don’t matter none to me. Kill the women, too,” Shardeen said. “I want ’em all dead.”

  As Jim and the others approached the ranch, they were in high spirits. They were totally unprepared for what happened next.

  A gunshot rang out from the dark maw of the barn. That shot was followed by another and another until soon the entire valley rang with the crash and clatter of rifle and pistol fire. Gun flashes lit up the night, and bullets whistled and whined by the returning cowboys.

  “Who’s shooting at us?” Gene shouted.

  “Katie, take the girls and get out of here!” Jim shouted. “Gene, you and Barry go right. Frank, come left with me!”

  As the guns banged and crashed around them, the four men split up, two running to the right and two going to the left, in order to get out of the line of fire. As they did, Jim made plans as to how he could get to the barn.

  “Look there. Maybe we can use that,” Jim said, pointing. “Looks like that gully winds around all the way up to the barn.”

  The shooting continued unabated, and Jim noticed with some surprise that their assailants seemed to be shooting at each other. Almost as soon as Jim made the discovery, Dingus and Pete came to the same conclusion. After much shouting and calling, the shooting finally stopped.

  “You dumb bastards! You were shooting at us!” Dingus called.

  “Well, what the hell were you doing in the way?” Shardeen called back through the night.

  “I’m here because you told me to be here!” Dingus answered.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, Jim made his move. Running low and crouching over, he darted through the darkness until he reached the edge of the barn. Then he slipped inside.

  “Where’d they go?” Jim heard Shardeen ask. The voice was close, no more than fifteen feet away. Jim stood very still and looked toward the sound of the voice. He was rewarded for his patience when Shardeen stepped out of the shadows and into the doorway. That had the effect of silhouetting him against the lighter area outside the barn.

  “I’m right here,” Jim said from within the barn.

  “Son of a bitch!” Shardeen shouted, spinn
ing around and firing. Even though Shardeen was only firing at the sound of his voice, his bullet came frighteningly close, so close that Jim felt the puff of air as the bullet sped past his head. Jim returned fire.

  Shardeen went down.

  “Shardeen!” one of his men called. He made the mistake of stepping out of the darkness so that he, too, was in silhouette.

  “Mister, you just made the same mistake Shardeen did,” Jim said. “I can see you clearly. Drop your gun.”

  “I’m dropping it. I’m dropping it,” the man said.

  “If anyone else is left in here, you’d better call him out,” Jim said.

  “There ain’t no one else in here.”

  Jim cocked his pistol. “That lie just cost you your life,” he said.

  “No, wait! Wait! Arnie, come on out,” the man called.

  Arnie didn’t move.

  “Arnie, for God’s sake, come on out!”

  There was a scuffing sound. Then Arnie appeared in the door as well. He dropped his gun.

  “What’s your name?” Jim asked.

  “Lester.”

  “Who is outside, Lester?”

  “Dingus and Pete.”

  Jim moved to the edge of the door, but still didn’t show himself.

  “Dingus, Pete,” he called.

  “What do you want?”

  “Lester and Arnie have given up. Shardeen is dead. You want to keep this up? You’ll probably get killed, and even if you don’t, there’s nothing in it for you anymore.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then a voice answered, “No, don’t shoot. We’re comin’ in.”

  Jim waited until he could see Dingus and Pete. Then he called out to them. “Drop your guns right there,” he said.

  Both men did as ordered. Then, holding their hands up, they came on up to the barn. By the time they reached the barn, Barry, Gene, Frank, Katie, Marilou, and Brenda had materialized out of the darkness.

  “What are you going to do with us?” Dingus asked.

  Jim studied each man’s face for a long moment. “I’m going to kill you on sight if you ever show up on this ranch again,” he said. “My advice to you is to get as far away from here as you can.”