The Winchester Run Read online

  A dozen strong, they mounted and galloped their horses upriver, pursuing a distant dust cloud that marked the way Mac and Trinity had ridden.

  “They’re coming!” Trinity shouted fearfully, looking over her shoulder.

  “Our horses can’t stand this gait much longer,” said Mac. “When I find a place to hole up, I’ll hold them off while you ride ahead to warn the outfit.”

  “No,” Trinity cried, “I won’t leave you.”

  “Damn it,” Mac shouted, “ride! Warn the others!”

  Bearing less weight, Trinity’s horse responded with a burst of speed, while Mac could feel his own mount tiring. He looked back, and already he could see individual riders as they materialized from a cloud of dust. While he had no doubt that Red, Buck, and Haze would hasten to his defense, the four of them would be fearfully outgunned. Ahead was a wind blown oak whose root mass had left a waist-deep hole. His horse was heaving now, and he had no time to seek better cover. Grimly he drew his Winchester from the boot and, kicking free of the stirrups, flung himself from the saddle. He rolled into the hole just in time, for the pursuing men had begun firing. Lead kicked up puffs of dust and swirls of dry leaves.

  “Come on, you bastards,” Mac snarled.

  Taking careful aim with his Winchester, he fired once, twice, three times, and had the satisfaction of seeing two of his pursuers flung from their saddles. It had a profound effect on the others, for they hastily reined up. Mac could hear shouted commands, and his fears became reality.

  “Dirk,” Sloan shouted, “you and Boyd keep this varmint pinned down until one of you can get close enough to kill him. The rest of you come with me. We’re goin’ to grab us some wagons.”

  Dirk and Boyd immediately began pouring lead into the upended roots of the oak, showering Mac with dirt. The fusillade was head-high, and he dared not return the fire. He could hear the thud of horses’ hooves as the rest of the men rode away, bound for the approaching wagons. Gritting his teeth, he raised his head, unsure as to where Dirk and Boyd were. He quickly learned they already had him in a cross fire. Even if he managed to return the fire of one, the other would eventually pick him off, if only with a lucky shot. Then, from somewhere ahead, came the sound of gunfire. Had Trinity warned the others in time, or was he hearing the sound of their dying? Suddenly there was a rattle of gunfire and the thunder of hooves. Dirk and Boyd tried to run for it, but died on their feet, as twelve bluecoats swept in from the river. A soldier caught up a horse ridden by one of the outlaws, and galloping near, threw the reins to Mac. In an instant he was out of the hole and into the saddle, galloping after the departing soldiers. The shooting from somewhere ahead sounded closer, more frantic, and Mac hoped they weren’t too late . . .

  Port Guthrie was the first to see Trinity galloping her tiring horse madly toward the wagons. He shouted an alarm just as the outlaws began shooting at Mac. Trinity reined up and fell from the saddle, gasping. Red, Buck, and Haze were already in their saddles.

  “Mac’s trying to stand them off,” Trinity cried, her voice trailing off into a sob, “but there’s too many of them . . .”

  All the teams had been reined up and men drew their Winchesters from beneath their wagon boxes. Hattie, Elizabeth, and Rachel had their weapons, and having brought Trinity’s Winchester, Hattie handed it to her.

  “Take cover,” Red shouted, swinging out of the saddle. “Here they come!”

  Buck and Haze were forced to follow his example, for eight outlaws were coming at them in a skirmish line. Lacking cover, the defenders went belly-down on the ground, their Winchesters spitting lead. One of the outlaws pitched out of his saddle, and the rest faltered.

  “Damn it,” Sloan shouted, “attack.”

  “Attack, hell,” Ringo shouted, “look yonder!”

  Sloan whirled his horse just in time to take a slug through his chest. The men in blue surged ahead, showing no mercy, until the last of the outlaws lay dead or dying. Mac rode up to the lead wagon and dismounted. Trinity dropped her Winchester and ran to him, her face streaked with tears.

  “Pard,” Red shouted, “I don’t know where you got them soldiers, but I’ve never seen a more welcome sight.”

  “I have no idea where they came from, or why they’re here,” said Mac, “but I reckon we’re about to find out.”

  The officer in charge wore the insignia of a first lieutenant on his blue tunic. He and a sergeant dismounted and approached the wagons. The rest of the soldiers remained in their saddles.

  “I’m First Lieutenant Nelson,” the officer said, “and this is Sergeant Embler. Mounted are Privates Puckett, Haynes, McCarty, Stearn, Willis, Gerdes, Odell, Konda, Collins, and Corporal Irvin,”

  “You couldn’t have timed your arrival more perfectly,” said Mac. “How is it that you happen to be here?”

  “Considering the nature of your freight,” Nelson said, “it was decided that you might need an escort the rest of the way. The post commander at Fort Griffin telegraphed Austin that you had left there and were headed south. Were any of you hit?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Mac. “You might as well meet the rest of the outfit.”

  He then proceeded to introduce his outfit to the soldiers. While they seemed amiable enough, the privates said little, taking their orders from Sergeant Embler or Lieutenant Nelson.

  “How far are we out of Austin?” Port Guthrie asked.

  “Following the river,” said Nelson, “at least a hundred and sixty miles. If you’ll get started, you’ll reach the Colorado before dark.”

  The Colorado River. November 27, 1873.

  The soldiers had gathered the horses belonging to the dead outlaws, and the animals were driven along behind the wagons. Mac rode ahead of the lead wagon, and Red jogged his horse alongside.

  “Seein’ as how these hombres got us out of a hole that might have become a grave,” said Red, “I’d be an ungrateful varmint, findin’ somethin’ wrong with ’em, wouldn’t I?”

  “That depends,” Mac said. “What do you find wrong?”

  “Maybe nothin’,” said Red, “but when somethin’ just seems too damn good to be true, it usually is. I can’t believe, after we got the bum’s rush at Fort Griffin, that Stockton was all that concerned with our well-being. Hell, we beat off two packs of outlaws before we ever left the railroad, and if Yeager had any plans for having a military escort meet us, he could have told us before we left Dodge. Finally, there’s somethin’ almighty unusual about a twelve-man escort. I’ve seen army payrolls come into San Antone with maybe half this many soldiers ridin’ shotgun.”

  “I sort of wish you hadn’t raised those questions,” Mac said. “They’re kind of runnin’ neck and neck with some of mine. I’d about convinced myself it’s just my cockeyed way of lookin’ at things. What do you reckon the chances are of us both bein’ wrong?”

  “I don’t ever recall us both bein’ wrong about the same thing at the same time,” said Red. “Do you?”

  Mac sighed. “No, I don’t. Have you spoken to Haze and Buck?”

  “No,” said Red. “I was hopin’ you’d convince me my suspicions was all wrong. What do we do now?”

  “Not much we can do,” Mac said, “unless these gents make some moves that confirm our suspicions. Don’t be obvious about it, but speak to Haze and Buck. If there is a joker in the deck and we’re forced to call their hand, there won’t be much time for explaining.”

  The wagons reached the river well before sundown, and Lieutenant Nelson approached Mac with a question.

  “Are you well enough fixed for grub to accommodate us? We’ve had a long ride, and there isn’t enough room in a man’s saddlebags for more than the essentials.”

  “We’ll make do,” Mac said. “The ladies have been cooking for us all. I’ll talk to them about it.”

  “We were somewhat surprised, finding them with you,” said Nelson. “If I’m not being unduly inquisitive, how and why did you acquire them?”

  Sparing many of the deta
ils, Mac told him.

  “Ah, yes,” Nelson said. “The army can be cold and insensitive. I’ve never known one good soldier who hasn’t done something worthy of a court-martial.”

  He turned away, and Mac approached the supper fire where the women had already begun the meal. Trinity and her three companions paused to hear what he had to say.

  “Nelson and his men are on short rations, and he’s asked if we can feed them from our supplies. Can we?”

  “I don’t see how we can afford not to,” said Trinity, “after what they’ve done. Tell them we’ll cook for them, too.”

  Mac nodded. He saw some indecision and doubt in Hattie’s eyes, and he thought she and Red might have been sharing the suspicions Red had passed on to Mac. But they could do nothing to confirm or deny what Lieutenant Nelson had told them. After supper, Nelson again spoke to Mac.

  “It’s only fair that we pull our share of sentry duty. How many of my men will you need?”

  “None, really,” Mac said. “We’ve had three men on the first and second watches, and four on the third watch. Do you feel there’s a need for more than that?”

  “No,” said Nelson, “that seems adequate. My men won’t argue with that.”

  Mac found it strange and somewhat disturbing that when the soldiers spread their blankets, they were not near one another. Instead, they seemed to have circled the wagons to the extent that they would be aware of any movement within the camp. As usual, Port Guthrie, Lafe Beard, and Emmett Budd took the first watch. Smokey Foster, Saul Estrella, and Gourd Snively would take the second. Mac, Red, Buck, and Haze unrolled their beds within speaking distance of one another, and were joined by Trinity, Hattie, Elizabeth, and Rachel.

  “I know they’re part of our camp,” Trinity whispered, “but we all feel safer near the four of you, like we’ve been since we were just two or three days out of Dodge.”

  When Mac, Red, Buck, and Haze took over the third watch, Trinity and her three companions joined them. To their dismay, they found at least one of the soldiers sleeping near where each of them had their late-night rendezvous.

  “It’s like . . . they’re watching us,” Trinity said nervously. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mac, “unless this is some vindictive scheme cooked up by good old Captain Stockton, at Fort Griffin, to embarrass us. I got the impression he knew there were plans in the making among us, but somehow I don’t feel he has the necessary clout to send a dozen soldiers all the way from Austin.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll have to take them at their word until we have a solid reason for doing otherwise,” Mac said. “These wagons and their cargo are important enough to justify a military escort. The part that doesn’t ring true is that it was an eleventh-hour decision, and I seriously doubt the army does things that way.”

  “I’m scared,” said Trinity. “I don’t really know why, but I am.”

  Trinity’s three companions had their misgivings as well. They were voiced in nervous whispers.

  “We owe them for saving us,” Hattie said, “but I don’t trust them. I have the feeling that when it’s time for them to collect, we’ll owe more than we can pay.”

  “We have no proof,” said Red. “Whatever you do, don’t show any doubts, and keep your suspicions to yourself. Try not to spook the others.”

  Hattie laughed softly. “They’re already spooked.”

  Haze had said nothing, but Elizabeth had said plenty.

  “I wish the soldiers hadn’t come at all. I believe we could have defended ourselves.”

  “We probably could have,” said Haze, “but two of them had Mac pinned down, and they’d have killed him in a cross fire before we could have fought our way back to him.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Elizabeth said gloomily, “but I still don’t trust them.”

  “Don’t let what happened at Fort Griffin sour you on all the army,” said Haze.

  Buck listened as Rachel expanded the fears Hattie had shared with her, after talking with Red.

  “You wouldn’t disagree with Red, would you?”

  “Damn it,” Buck said quietly, “I can’t agree or disagree, because we have nothing but our suspicions. I’m keeping my eyes open and my mouth shut, until I see some proof.”

  “I suppose you’re suggesting I do the same,” said Rachel.

  “Now that you mention it,” Buck said, “I am.”

  “I find it a bit odd that four of you stand the third watch with a woman at your side,” said Lieutenant Nelson, as they waited for breakfast. “Do you not believe such a distraction might jeopardize the safety of the camp?”

  “No,” Mac said coldly, “I don’t. These women each have a Winchester and they know how to use them. Trinity’s with me, Hattie’s with Red, Elizabeth’s with Haze, and Rachel’s with Buck, and our interest in them goes considerably beyond their abilities to fire a Winchester. We’re not in the military, Lieutenant, and while our ways seem unconventional to you, we’re satisfied with them. Are you suggesting we change?”

  “Not for the time being,” said Nelson.

  Without another word he turned away, but most of Mac’s outfit had heard the conversation. In their eyes Mac saw doubt and suspicion . . .

  * Hubbard Creek.

  * First settlement was begun on St. Phillip’s Day. Third—and permanent—was Del Rio.

  CHAPTER 15

  The first day on the trail with the soldier escort was uneventful. With water available, the wagons could roll right up to sundown, without fear of a dry camp. Even in November the weather in south Texas was pleasant, but despite the proximity of the river, Mac had forbidden any bathing by the women.

  “Heat a big pot of water,” Mac told them, “get in your wagon and draw the front and back puckers tight. Do your washing there.”

  There were no questions or objections, for they understood his reasoning. After their first day of following the Colorado—after supper—Trinity and Hattie hung two big pots of water over the fire. When a pot of water was ready, Trinity and Hattie went first, for there was little room in the wagon. The soldiers watched the proceedings with interest, but that was all. After a while, two of the privates headed for a nearby thicket for reasons nobody questioned. Suddenly there was a screech from Trinity’s wagon, followed by the bark of a Winchester. One of the soldiers lay on the ground behind the wagon, blood dripping from his left ear. The second man stood there with his hands raised and his face pale. Mac, Lieutenant Nelson, and half a dozen others arrived at the same time.

  “What happened here?” Lieutenant Nelson demanded. “Private Puckett?”

  “We just . . . looked in the wagon,” said the private with his hands in the air. “That . . . that bitch . . . she shot Haynes without no warnin’.”

  “This bitch will shoot him again, the next time he pokes his nose in this wagon,” the angry voice of Trinity shouted, “and next time it won’t be an ear.”

  To the surprise of everybody, Lieutenant Nelson laughed.

  “I fail to find anything funny about this,” said Mac, confronting Nelson. “That man on the ground could have been shot dead.”

  “But he wasn’t,” Nelson replied, “and I expect he’ll think twice before he attempts any such thing again.”

  “I reckon you don’t have any discipline in mind, then,” said Red, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  “He’s been frightened out of his wits,” Lieutenant Nelson said. “What do you suggest? The firing squad?”

  Trinity descended from the wagon fully dressed. Facing Lieutenant Nelson, she spoke.

  “Let him go. If he or any of the rest of you tries that again, a firing squad won’t be necessary. I’ll do the honors, and I hit what I’m shootin’ at.”

  It was too much for Lieutenant Nelson, and he turned away. Haynes got up off the ground, clutching his bleeding ear, and virtually ran after the others. Dressed now, Hattie climbed out of the wagon.

  “I meant what I said,” Tri
nity snapped, her eyes on Mac. “Next time—if there is a next time—I’ll shoot the skunk right between the eyes.”

  “I believe you,” said Mac, “and you won’t get any argument from me.”

  Hattie laughed. “It was dark in there, with the front pucker closed. He got his ear shot off, and didn’t see a thing.”

  “For sure, it didn’t leave Nelson a leg to stand on,” said Red, “but if this bunch ain’t on the level and there’s a payoff comin’, I get the feelin’ they’ll be holding a royal flush and us a pair of deuces.”

  “So be it,” Mac said. “Until they show their hand, there’s not much we can do. We’ll stand up to them, because we can’t afford not to. As long as they’re going through the motions of being military—if that’s what they’re doing—they’ll have to maintain at least some discipline.”

  The soldiers said virtually nothing the rest of the night, and there was little talk among Mac’s outfit, for they had the feeling Nelson and his men were awake, listening. At dawn, breakfast was eaten in silence and the wagons again headed southeast, following the Colorado River. Mac estimated they were traveling at least ten miles a day, and if he was to believe what Nelson had told him, they were about a hundred and forty miles west of Austin, Texas. Despite the coolness of Nelson and his men, there was no more trouble. Mac still talked with the rest of his outfit, usually as they traveled along the Colorado. He often wondered what was on Nelson’s mind, for he caught the man watching him. There had to be a showdown coming, and Mac’s mind was a turmoil of possibilities. He now had his doubts that they would ever see Austin, but he was at a loss as to what Nelson and his men planned to do with the wagons loaded with Colts, Winchesters, and ammunition. Red, riding along beside him, was plagued by the same questions.

  “If they’re after the wagons,” said Red, “they’ll have to make their move somewhere between here and Austin. But those Colts and Winchesters will be hot, and they’ll never be able to unload them in this country. I reckon it won’t matter to us what they do with the guns, if we’re all dead.”