The Winchester Run Page 26

  “He’s not a drinking man, or he’s used to better whiskey,” Hattie said.

  “If it tastes anything like it smells, I don’t blame him,” said Trinity.

  The whiskey proved to be powerful stuff, for within a few minutes, Lieutenant Nelson was in a drunken stupor.

  “You’re givin’ him too much at a time,” Embler protested. “It’s near enough to kill a man.”

  “We know that,” said Trinity, “but we must make up for the time you were gone. It’s known as the kill-or-cure treatment. If he doesn’t die from the whiskey, then we think it’ll cure him.”

  “We’ll hold off about two hours,” Hattie said, “and then dose him with the rest of that bottle.”

  Hattie’s eyes met Trinity’s, and they understood one another. Sergeant Embler seemed inclined to remain there until Lieutenant Nelson died or showed some sign of improvement. Sensing that Embler’s presence was making a difference in the bawdy plans of the soldiers, Rachel and Elizabeth had joined Trinity and Hattie at the side of the drunken, feverish Lieutenant Nelson.

  “Hey,” Private Gerdes shouted, “what about supper?”

  “Get your own damn supper,” said Sergeant Embler. “Lieutenant Nelson needs help.”

  Private McCarty laughed. “He needs help to lay there dead drunk?”

  McCarty had come closer, and Sergeant Embler moved like a striking snake. His right crashed against McCarty’s chin, and McCarty was lifted off his feet. He fell on his back with a thud, and dust puffed up around him. Blood trickled from the corners of McCarty’s mouth, and he didn’t move. Privates Stearn and Willis backed hastily away.

  “The rest of you get back to your posts,” Embler snarled.

  Nobody spoke. Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled and Trinity had to suppress a smile. Guthrie and his teamsters looked upon Sergeant Embler with a little more respect. Mac winked at his three companions. Discord among their captors might help their cause. They realized, however, that this small advantage might be quickly lost when Lieutenant Nelson was again able to assume command. The rest of the soldiers avoided Sergeant Embler and went about completing the supper that had been under way when Embler had arrived. Embler remained near, apparently wishing to be there if and when Lieutenant Nelson was able to talk. Three hours following Nelson’s massive dose of whiskey, Hattie checked his temperature.

  “No change, as best I can tell,” said Hattie.

  But Sergeant Embler didn’t accept that. He knelt beside Nelson, placing his hand on the lieutenant’s face. Shaking his head, he got to his feet and went to the fire where the coffeepot sat on the coals. With a tin cup of coffee, he sat down on a wagon tongue, his eyes on the men and women his outfit held captive. His emotions were mixed. This woman the lieutenant favored had gone out of her way to see that there was whiskey to treat the seriously ill Nelson, and had personally administered that treatment. Had he, Embler, been wrong about her? Then reality set in, and he had to admit neither he nor they had any inkling of what might be wrong with Nelson. The man still might die, but in fairness to the woman, she had gone to great lengths to try the one remedy that might save Nelson’s life. The last rays of the evening sun shone on her red hair, and Embler was more aware than ever of the emptiness in his own life. The woman must feel something for Nelson, and Embler felt pangs of envy, for he had never had a woman he hadn’t bought and paid for.

  “No home, no woman, no nothin’,” he gritted under his breath. “A damned miserable way for a man to go.”

  Trinity and her three companions spent the night near the snoring, drunken Lieutenant Nelson. Not that they were needed, but under the watchful eyes of Sergeant Embler, they were protected from the bawdy, shameful spectacle they had feared and expected. Whatever the rest of the soldiers might have had in mind, they seemed unwilling to risk the ire of Sergeant Embler. An hour before dawn, Trinity felt Nelson’s forehead and found it moist.

  “He’s sweating,” Trinity announced.

  Bleary-eyed, Sergeant Embler came to see for himself. He felt Nelson’s sweating face, got to his feet, and for a moment he said nothing. Finally, when his eyes met Trinity’s, he spoke.

  “You done it. By God, you done it. He’s a lucky man.”

  Without another word he walked away.

  “I believe it’s safe for us to get some sleep now,” said Hattie.

  “You all do exactly that,” Port Guthrie said. “When he finally comes to, he’ll want to take himself a bath, I reckon.”

  Trinity nodded. Lieutenant Nelson stank, and it wasn’t all sweat. Sergeant Embler had stretched out under one of the wagons, and Trinity hurried to Mac and his three companions.

  “You handled that just right,” said Mac. “We’re still neck-deep in trouble, but you’ve bought us some time, and just maybe Nelson will keep that bunch of dogs off all of you until we can break loose.”

  “If I haven’t won his confidence after this,” Trinity said, “I don’t know how I can. I’m counting on Sergeant Embler to tell him about going after the whiskey.”

  Trinity, Hattie, Rachel, and Elizabeth were allowed to rest unmolested, and when they awoke, the sun was noonhigh. Lieutenant Nelson was obviously awake, and Sergeant Embler was kneeling beside him.

  “God,” said Nelson, “I stink. How long have I been out?”

  “Two nights and a day,” Embler replied. “The damn troops had drunk all the whiskey, and I had to ride to Austin for more.”

  “You what?” Nelson roared.

  “I rode to Austin for more whiskey. It’s all that saved you. That redheaded woman practically run me off. The four of ’em was up with you all night, feedin’ you whiskey.”

  “I gave a direct order, Sergeant,” said Nelson. “Towns were to be avoided.”

  “Yes, sir,” Embler replied. “I remember. But there was nobody else to take charge, sir, and a decision had to be made.”

  “And you made the right one, Sergeant. Was there any trouble in town?”

  “No, sir,” Embler lied. “I rode out to the north and then to the south, keepin’ my hoss in a creek for maybe six miles. Watchin’ my backtrail, I rode straight back.”

  “We’ll move out in the morning at dawn, Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Embler nodded and turned away.

  “One thing more, Sergeant.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “The key,” Lieutenant Nelson replied.

  Without a word, Embler handed him the key to the irons the men wore.

  South Texas. December 8, 1873.

  While Nelson needed another day and a night to recover his strength, time dragged for everybody else. The soldiers, uncertain as to the mood of the lieutenant, avoided any further contact with the women.

  “You made a good decision,” said Red, when he next spoke to Trinity. “With Nelson alive, we have a chance.”

  “He seems changed, somehow,” Trinity said, “and I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Tonight, after another day, perhaps he’ll settle down. I’ll try to spend some time with him and see if I’ve gained any favor.”

  Red had said nothing about Mac, and Trinity wondered how he was feeling about her late-night meetings with Lieutenant Nelson. But what she had begun, she would see to its conclusion. She wanted only to be free of these captors, to deliver these wagons and their troublesome cargo to Austin, and to begin a new life.

  After they left the Colorado River, it became necessary to seek water, a task assigned to Sergeant Embler. As the wagons again took the trail, Lieutenant Nelson sent Embler ahead.

  “I hope he knows this territory better than I think he does,” Buck said. “We had it made, just followin’ the Colorado right into Austin.”

  “I’m gettin’ the feeling we’ll never see Austin,” said Haze.” We got to come up with a plan to bust loose. These damn leg irons are workin’ their way to the bone.”

  “There’s more of a plan than you know,” Mac said. “We must get the key to these irons and free ourselves before we go for the guns.”r />
  “I believe I know what that plan is,” said Port Guthrie. “That damn lieutenant’s got the key to these irons, and before we can get our hands on that key, somebody’s got to win his confidence.”

  “So that’s what Trinity’s up to!” Haze said.

  “Quiet, damn it,” said Mac. “This is costing the hell out of her. Don’t spoil it.”

  They had been resting the teams, and it was again time to move on. Nobody said anything more, but every man realized the sacrifice that might be required of Trinity on their behalf. The teamsters mounted their wagon boxes while Mac, Red, Buck, and Haze mounted their horses. Trinity and her three companions had already ridden out ahead of Port Guthrie’s lead wagon.

  “Looks like the lieutenant ain’t as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he reckoned he was,” Red observed.

  Private Haynes had taken over the wagon while Sergeant Embler had gone in search of water, and on the wagon box beside Haynes sat Lieutenant Nelson. His horse followed the wagon on a lead rope.

  “All the better for Trinity if the varmint’s off his feed for two or three more days,” said Mac.

  Red understood. While Mac had resigned himself to Trinity doing what she must to get the key and free them from their chains, he still hoped she might be able to avoid having the renegade soldier take her, body and soul.

  The creek Sergeant Embler had reached was decent enough, but the Texans were quick to notice something that Embler had either overlooked or ignored.

  “Cat tracks,” Buck said. “Godawful big cougar, and he likely waters here regular.”

  “We ought to say somethin’ to Nelson,” said Haze. “This varmint could gut a mule with one swipe of a paw.”

  “To hell with him,” Red growled. “He’s took over all the watches. I aim to keep a lead rope on my horse, but that’s all.”

  “First chance you get, suggest that to Trinity,” said Mac. “He may not actually come close, but he won’t have to. If he sings out during the night, the mules and horses could light out and not stop runnin’ till they reach the Gulf of Mexico.”

  During supper, Lieutenant Nelson made it a point to speak to Trinity.

  “I will see you late tonight,” he said.

  But as it turned out, Lieutenant Nelson had other things to keep him busy. At the start of the second watch, Sergeant Embler approached.

  “Sir,” Embler said, “we have a problem with four of the men scheduled for the second and third watches. Privates Haynes, McCarty, Stearn, and Willis are dead drunk.”

  “How in thunder could that have happened, Sergeant?”

  “They got into the whiskey I brought back from Austin,” said Embler. “It was put into the wagon with the medicine chest. When you sent me to look for water, you had Private Haynes take over the wagon.”

  “Then use the remaining men to finish the night’s watch in whatever manner you see fit,” Nelson replied, “and in the morning, before breakfast, I’ll see Haynes and his friends.”

  They were well into the second watch when the cougar made his presence known. The first screech was some distance away, carried on the wind, but when the animal squalled a second time, it was near enough to spook the horses and mules.

  “See to your horses!” Mac shouted.

  Every man had his horse picketed, and despite their shackles and chains, they were able to get to their horses. Hattie had taken Mac’s advice, and the women had secured their mounts. Only the mules and extra horses were free.

  “Every man in the saddle!” Lieutenant Nelson bawled.

  But the spooked, braying mules had already started to run, taking with them all the horses that hadn’t been picketed. A third time the cougar screeched, sounding like it was in their very midst, but Mac’s outfit—besides being shackled hand and foot—was without arms. They stood helpless, unable to mount their horses. Somewhere in the night, one of the soldiers had cut loose with a Winchester, firing as rapidly as possible.

  “Damn it,” Lieutenant Nelson shouted, “hold your fire!”

  Sudden silence prevailed. Even the wind ceased. Sergeant Embler had lighted a lantern, and set it on a wagon tongue. One by one, the soldiers straggled in, until there were five.

  “Where’s Gerdes?” Sergeant Embler asked.

  “Dunno,” said several of the others.

  “Sergeant,” Lieutenant Nelson said, “take the lantern and look for him. Irvin, you and Odell go with him.”

  The trio was gone only a few minutes. When they returned, Irvin and Odell carried a limp and battered Private Gerdes.

  “Some of you get a fire started and some water boiling,” Lieutenant Nelson ordered.

  Trinity and Hattie were well ahead of the order, and a fire was soon blazing. Trinity put the water on to boil, and without being asked, knelt at the side of the injured Gerdes. First she felt for a pulse and then tried the big artery in the neck. She got to her feet, and even in the pale light from the lantern, they could see blood dripping from her left hand. The back of Gerdes’s head had been crushed.

  “The damn mules got him,” Odell mumbled.

  “The mules wasn’t at fault,” said Port Guthrie, “not with a big cat squallin’ out there in the night. Any segundo with the savvy God give a prairie dog would of had more men on watch.”

  “We’d of had more men,” Corporal Irvin said bitterly, “if Haynes, McCarty, Stearn, and Willis wasn’t roostered.”*

  “Corporal,” said Lieutenant Nelson, “you will keep your opinions to yourself. Private Odell, you and Corporal Irvin will wrap Private Gerdes in a blanket. We’ll bury him at dawn. Then the lot of you will go looking for those horses and mules. Sergeant, I want to speak to you in private.”

  Sergeant Embler had an idea what was coming, and once they were alone, Lieutenant Nelson didn’t disappoint him.

  “Sergeant,” Nelson said, “I want those four irresponsible, drunken privates sober, and I want them sober quickly. Use any method you see fit, as long as you don’t break their bones.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Embler.

  He took a wooden bucket, and with a tin cup began dipping water from one of the kegs secured to the side of the wagon box. Despite their being captives, Mac and the rest of the shackled men looked on with some amusement, for they had learned of the four drunken privates.

  “If this bunch don’t round up mules any better than they do other things, I reckon we’ll be here a while,” Port Guthrie said. “If we hadn’t been bound up in these irons, we could of held them mules.”

  “I’m startin’ to feel some shame, us havin’ been hog-tied by this bunch,” said Red. “I’m beginnin’ to think they’d have trouble outfoxin’ a pack of digger Indians.”

  “They could have fooled anybody,” Mac said. “They saved our hides, but God knows, we’ve repaid them a dozen times over.”

  Privates Haynes, McCarty, Stearn, and Willis—all looking hungover and sick—had to dig a grave for Private Gerdes, who was buried without ceremony. After a hurried breakfast, Lieutenant Nelson sent nine men in search of the stampeded horses and mules, leaving only himself and Sergeant Embler with the wagons.

  “Nice of the varmint to just take our horses without even asking,” said Red. “Horses that would have stampeded with the others, if it hadn’t been for us.”

  “He’s still holding all the high cards,” Mac said. “Besides, when we take back these wagons, we’ll need the mules, too.”

  Hattie managed to get Trinity alone, and for the first time since the stampede, they were able to talk.

  “I wanted to talk to you last night,” said Hattie, “but I believe he was watching you.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Trinity replied. “Last night at supper, he said he’d talk to me late last night. Of course, the stampede and Gerdes being killed changed all that. But I expect him to see me tonight.”

  “I hate to mention this,” said Hattie, “since it’s you sacrificing yourself to him, but suppose he’s impressed enough with you that he decides to becom
e a gentleman? Suppose he saves you until this thievery of the wagons is all behind him? How will you ever get him distracted enough to take the key to those irons?”

  “I don’t know,” Trinity said, “but I’ll do it if I have to grab his gun and bash in his head with it.”

  “There’s one part of your plan that needs changing,” said Hattie, “and Mac shouldn’t be told.”

  “He’s not going to like that,” Trinity said.

  “He will when it’s all over,” said Hattie, “and he won’t know until then. When you go to Nelson, think of some way to get him to your wagon, and see that he sends the others away. Then when you make your move, the way will be clear to the wagon where all our guns are.”

  “That makes sense,” Trinity said. “Mac won’t object to that.”

  “He will to the rest of it,” said Hattie. “Once you have the key to those irons, you’ll start releasing the men. Rachel, Elizabeth, and me will take Winchesters from the wagon and kill any one of them that may discover you. As you release the men, they’ll get to the wagon as quickly as they can, for their guns.”

  “My God,” Trinity said, “the three of you will be targets for all of them.”

  “Better us than the men who are without weapons,” said Hattie. “Red says if any of these soldiers can shoot worth a damn, we’ll all be killed, for they’ll be shooting at our muzzle flashes.”

  “He’s right,” Trinity said. “Mac will never stand for it.”

  “That’s why Mac won’t be told,” said Hattie. “We’re gambling that you can reach the men and free them without being discovered. If you are discovered, there’ll be three of us, and we can shoot back. Mac’s just one man, and should they discover him before he can reach the wagon, they’ll kill him. Even if he gets his hands on a gun, he’ll still be drawing all their fire. Even if they catch on to what we’re doing, we’ll keep their attention from the wagon until the men have armed themselves.”

  “It’s a nervy thing to do,” Trinity said. “Have Rachel and Elizabeth agreed?”