The Old Spanish Trail Page 9

  “Wendy Oldham,” said the sixth.

  “I’m Bonita Holmes,” the last one said.

  Quickly Don introduced himself and the rest of the outfit. Dominique and Roberto removed their sombreros and bowed.

  “I reckon all of us can contribute a blanket or two, so these ladies don’t have to sleep on the ground,” said Don. “Dominique, I’d like for you and Roberto to picket these Indian ponies. I reckon we’ll have to do that for a while, so they don’t get homesick for their friends and go lookin’ for that Ute camp.”

  “I suppose this is not a good time,” Bonita said, “but may we have something to eat? For weeks, the squaws fed us nothing but corn mush, and only a little of that.”

  “I’m ashamed of myself for not having thought of that,” said Don, as Roberto wrapped a bandage around his wounded arm. “Red, you and Charlie picket those Indian ponies, so Dominique and Roberto can fix the ladies some grub.”

  When the newly acquired horses had been picketed, Red and Charlie joined the first watch. Bob Vines had collected an extra blanket or two from each man, and he presented them to the women. But what they most yearned for was food, and they ate hungrily all that Dominique and Roberto had prepared. The coals in the fire pit were kept alive only to provide coffee during the night. The Texans saw that the women spread their blankets near the fire, so that the riders on watch could see to their safety. The riders on first watch circled the camp, pausing occasionally to speak to one another, their conversation centering on the women they had rescued from the Utes.

  “I reckon the two oldest is Rose Delano and Sarah Miles,” Charlie said. “They’ll both be good-lookin’ females when they’ve had a chance to fix their hair and clean up some.”

  “I’d like to get to know ’em better before we get to California,” said Arch.

  “You don’t know that they’ll be goin’ on to California with us,” Eli said.

  “I’m fair-to-middlin’ sure they won’t have any choice,” said Arch. “For sure, we can’t take ’em back to Santa Fe.”

  “But they may have families there,” Eli said. “Maybe husbands.”

  “We’re a long ways from Santa Fe,” said Red. “It’s more likely they’re all from California. That’s somethin’ we’ll have to learn after we’ve had a chance to talk to them.”

  The watch changed at midnight, and conversation among the riders dealt almost entirely with the seven women so recently rescued.

  “That Ellie Andrews is no older than I am,” Jim Roussel said. “I aim to get to know her before we get to California.”

  “I kind of feel the same way about Millie Nettles,” said Les Brown. “That leaves the oldest ones for Don, Bob, and Mike.”

  “You young roosters are taking a lot for granted,” Don said. “Ellie and Millie may be young, but on the frontier, many a woman younger than either of them will be married with children. Don’t waste your time speculating until we’ve learned more about them.”

  “That’s good advice,” said Bob, “but when will we have time for that? We’ll be lucky if we can get the herd across the Colorado before some of those Utes catch their horses and come after us.”

  “We should be able to get the herd across today, with time to spare,” Don said. “If we do, then we’ll be able to question these women before supper.”

  “We’re assuming they’ll be going on to California with us,” said Mike. “Suppose some or all of them are from Santa Fe?”

  “We managed to rescue them from the Utes,” Don said, “but we’re under no obligation to return them to Santa Fe. Taking them with us to California won’t be easy, and if they get there safely, I don’t feel any more obligation to them than that.”

  “We have only those Indian ponies and no saddles,” said Mike. “We’ll be in plenty of trouble if any of them can’t ride.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Don said.

  The night passed quietly. During a hurried breakfast, Don had something to say to the seven women.

  “I realize we need to talk, to learn more about you, and we will, but now is simply not the time. We stampeded the horses belonging to those Utes, and before they’re able to find them and come after us, we must get this herd of cattle across the Colorado River. We’re expecting to do that today. Maybe there’ll be some time for us to talk before supper. We have only the Indian ponies for you to ride, and no extra saddles. Is that a problem for any of you?”

  To Don’s relief, none of them spoke, and he continued.

  “When we’re ready to take the trail, some of us will help you to mount. You’ll follow the herd, keeping up with the drag riders.”

  “It’s my turn to ride drag,” said Jim Roussel.

  “I don’t think so,” Don said. “You’re a flank rider. Red, Charlie, Arch, Eli, and Felton are riding drag. Remember, it’s important that we keep the herd bunched. When we reach the crossing, I want them tight, without any gaps. I want every pair of horns proddin’ the critter that’s ahead, and don’t allow any of ’em to stop and drink. There’ll be time enough for that, once they’re across.”

  Before the herd moved out, the riders helped the women mount the Indian ponies. To Don Webb’s relief, the seven riders fell in behind the drag, as ordered. Don rode ahead, seeking high ground from which he could observe the back trail, but he saw nothing to alarm him. The seven poorly mounted women were keeping up with the drag riders and the herd was moving at a faster than usual gait. Reaching the crossing without difficulty, the lead steers were driven into the shallow water and the others followed. While a few tried to pause and drink, they weren’t desperate for water, and so were driven across without delay. When they were bunched along the far bank, some of them began nipping at newly green grass while others made their way down to the water to drink. Sundown was almost two hours away. The riders unsaddled their mounts and helped the women to dismount, while Dominique and Roberto unloaded the pack mules and lighted supper fires.

  “Now,” said Don, “we have some time before supper. Let’s talk.”

  The seven women gathered around, and with their ragged, tattered clothing in mind, carefully seated themselves. The Texans hunkered down facing them, each group silently observing the other. When nobody spoke, Don took the lead.

  “We’re bound for Los Angeles with these cattle. About all we can do for you is take you there. I’m sorry we don’t have some clothes to offer you, but it’s hard times back in Texas, and most of us have only what we’re wearing.”

  “They took our shoes and underclothes and burned them,” said Wendy Oldham.

  “You’re fortunate it’s summertime,” Don said, “but at night it gets almighty cold here in the mountains. Indians or not, I reckon we’ll have to keep a fire. Where are you ladies from, and how were you captured by the Utes?”

  “We weren’t captured by the Indians,” said Rose Delano. “Renegades raided our mission school, near Los Angeles. We were taken from there and sold to the Indians more than three months ago.”

  “All of you are from California then?” Don said. “Do you have kin there?”

  “No,” said Rose. “The mission takes in the homeless. Sarah and me were there for ten years.”

  Bonita Holmes laughed. “Not all of us were homeless. The mission takes in wayward ones who have nowhere else to go, whose kin have had enough of them. There’s no walls, but it’s a prison, just the same. We worked like slaves in the field from dawn to dusk and all we got was our food and the little that we wore. The Indians didn’t burn all our shoes and underclothes, because some of us had none. Some of us were near naked when we were taken by the renegades.”

  “It’s the truth,” Ellie Andrews cried. “You won’t take us back there, will you?”

  “Shut up, both you you!” shouted Rose.

  “I won’t shut up,” said Ellie bitterly. “You and Sarah held the rest of us while we were whipped and beaten.”

  “It’s the truth,” Bonita said. “They were favored bec
ause they helped control the rest of us. I’ll show you what they did to us.”

  She stood up, raising her tattered skirt high, and there was nothing beneath it to hide the brutal scars from her waist to her knees. Momentarily shocked speechless, there was no mistaking the hostility in the hard eyes of the Texans as they glared at the two older women.

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Rose said angrily.

  “Nor did I,” said Sarah. “She was like that when she came to the mission.”

  “She was not, nor was I,” Molly Rivers said.

  She stood up and lifted her shirt, revealing the same ugly scars.

  “There’s more,” said Ellie, as she and Millie got to their feet.

  “That’s enough,” Don said hastily. “We believe you.”

  “Damn right we do,” said Jim Roussel, “and if you’re sent back there, it’ll be over my dead body.”

  There was a thundering chorus of agreement from the rest of the outfit, while Rose and Sarah looked frightened. Don Webb saw the fear in their eyes and spoke to reassure them.

  “Quiet. You ladies have my word that none of you will be forced back into a life where you were mistreated and beaten. Are all of you of age?”

  “Yes,” said Ellie. “Millie and me are the youngest, and we’ll both be nineteen our next birthday.”

  “Good,” Don said. “We’re a long way from California and there’ll be plenty of time for us to talk again. Just remember what I promised. Now let’s get ready for supper.”

  The five younger women seemed glad it was over. They scattered toward the two cook fires, the cowboys following. Don Webb found himself looking into the pale faces of Rose and Sarah, and it was Sarah who spoke.

  “I’m twenty-four years old, and Rose is twenty-three. We disgraced our kin and they disowned us. The mission is the only home we’ve ever had, and we were forced to subdue the younger girls. We have scars too. Do you want to see?”

  “No,” said Don hastily. “I don’t know what to say to either of you, except that I hope, once you reach California, that you won’t return to the mission.”

  “I doubt that we will. Terrible as the experience with the Indians was, we learned from it, didn’t we, Rose?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, so softly that Don almost didn’t hear.

  She said no more, and Don Webb didn’t wish to hear any more. He turned away from them and joined the rest of the outfit near the supper fires. Not surprisingly, all the five younger girls were enjoying the attention of the cowboys. But sundown came, and it was time for the first watch to begin. There was a chill wind from the northwest, forcing the girls to retire to their blankets for warmth, but that didn’t affect Jim Roussel. He sat next to the blanketed Ellie and continued talking.

  “He ought to be sleeping,” said Bob Vines. “Come the second watch, he’ll be nodding in the saddle.”

  “He does,” Don said, “and I’ll swat him with a doubled lariat.”

  Don rolled in his own blankets, trying to get some sleep before the start of the second watch, but Mike Horton was next to him, and Horton wanted to talk.

  “What do you think of Rose and Sarah?”

  “I don’t know,” said Don. “What am I supposed to think?”

  “Do you think they had something to do with beating the younger girls?”

  “Yes,” Don said, “but I think they were beaten themselves. From what Sarah told me, she and Rose have scars too.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “No,” said Don, “and I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t stand by and watch a dog take that kind of beating. Seeing scars like that in human flesh makes me want to kill somebody.”

  “It kind of grabbed me the same way,” Mike said, “and that’s why I was asking what you thought of Rose and Sarah. I was watching them while the girls was showin’ the scars on their behinds and blaming Rose and Sarah.”

  “I’ll be careful not to tell anybody,” said Don. “You’ve got to be the only Texan alive who would be watching the faces of two females wearin’ clothes while there’s a girl showin’ her bare bottom.”

  “Go ahead and laugh, damn it. I’m serious.”

  “I know you are,” Don said. “Don’t mind me. Go on and talk. I’m listening.”

  “It was somethin’ in their eyes. They didn’t say nothin’, but somethin’ in their eyes made me feel sorry for them. I believe they done what they was accused of doin’, but I believe they’re ashamed of havin’ done it. Ain’t that worth something?”

  “I think so,” said Don. “Why?”

  “I just wanted somebody to tell me I’m not crazy. I’m gonna talk to Rose and Sarah. You reckon they’re asleep?”

  “I doubt it,” Don said.

  Mike said no more. Leaving his blankets where they were, he got up and vanished in the darkness.

  6

  “I have a strong hunch those Utes will be findin’ their horses today if they haven’t already,” Bob Vines said, as the outfit gathered for breakfast.

  “I have that same feeling,” said Don. “I want all of you—the drag riders especially—to keep your eyes on our back trail. At the first sign of riders, sing out. I’ll ride ahead to learn how far we are from the next water, and I’ll be looking for Indian signs as well.”

  Don unfolded the map, and as many as could gathered around to study it.

  “It looks promising,” Mike Horton observed. “The next river flows into the Colorado a few miles to the south, and it forks not far from where we’ll cross. Looks like we’ll follow that south fork quite a ways before the trail swings back to the southwest.”*

  “I aim to ride beyond the forks,” said Don. “If the map’s even close to right, we’ll be able to reach water before sundown.”

  The herd took the trail and Don rode on ahead. Red, Charlie, Bob, Les and Mike rode drag. Don’s order strong on their minds, they constantly watched the back trail. The herd, well-watered, behaved, allowing the drag riders an opportunity to talk. Rose Delano, feeling comfortable with Mike after their talk the night before, guided her horse alongside his. He tipped his hat to her, and she spoke.

  “Do you believe those Indians will come after us?”

  “Yes,” said Mike, “if they can find their horses before we get too far ahead of them. I haven’t had any experience with the Utes, but if they’re anything like the Comanches, losin’ their horses is a considerable blow to their pride. They’ll want to get even.”

  Rose shuddered. “I was hoping they would give up and leave us alone.”

  Seeing them talking, Sarah Miles had ridden close enough to hear their conversation.

  “Will they attack while we’re spread out like this?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Mike, “but it will be to their advantage if they can get close to us before we know they’re there. That’s why Don wants us to watch the back trail. If we see them soon enough, our rifles can cut them down before they’re close enough for their arrows to hurt us.”

  “I hate the thought of them being killed,” said Sarah, “but they abused us terribly. It scares me half to death to think of what they might do if they were to capture us now.”

  “I think they’ll kill any of you as quickly as they’ll kill any of us,” Mike said. “All we can do is try to get them before they get us.”

  With that same thought in mind, Don Webb rode cautiously. While they had a clear view of their back-trail, the herd had to travel between distant buttes and pinnacles of rock that lay ahead, any one of which might provide cover for the Utes to launch flank attacks. Going out of his way, Don rode wide of all such cover, but nothing disturbed the tranquility of the land. In the vivid blue of the sky, buzzards drifted effortlessly, and there was no other sign of life. Don rode on, and when he reached the river, he followed it south until it forked. There were tracks of deer and the occasional paw prints of a grizzly. More frequent were the lesser paw prints of what Don recognized as cougars. After resting his horse, he watered the animal an
d started back to meet the herd. But long before he reached it, he heard a shot. Reining up, he listened, and it was quickly followed by two more. It was all the warning a frontiersman needed, and he kicked his horse into a fast gallop.

  The drag riders continued watching the back-trail, and it was Red who first saw the approaching Indians. Drawing his Colt, he fired three times. Riding point, Jim Roussel began to head the lead steers, causing them to circle. The flank and swing riders joined him, and the herd soon was milling. The riders then galloped their horses along the back-trail, joining their comrades who had been riding drag. Aware of the approaching danger, Dominique and Roberto were driving the remuda horses and the pack mules around and beyond the herd of longhorns.

  “Not more than a dozen of them,” Charlie observed, “and they know full well we can see ’em coming. Wonder what they have in mind?”

  “Who knows?” said Bob Vines. “If some of them have somehow gotten ahead of us, I’d say they might be planning an attack from two directions. Don will have heard the shots. If he’s found any sign up ahead, that’ll tell us something.”

  Near enough to see that there was no immediate danger, Don had slowed his horse to spare the heaving animal. By the time he had reined up and dismounted, the Utes following them were much closer.

  “It was me that fired the shots,” said Red. “Not enough of them back there to do us any damage, but I reckoned all of us should come together and maybe get a handle on what they’re plannin’ to do.”

  “Exactly what you should have done,” Don said. “I doubt they’ve had time to get ahead of us, for I found no sign. I purely don’t understand why some of ’em are trailing us, unless they aim to get on our nerves.”

  “They can get close enough in the dark to stampede the herd,” said Mike Horton. “It’s a way of slowing us down, forcing us to split up.”

  “Except for the Comanches, I’ve never heard of Indians attacking at night,” Les Brown said.

  “I don’t think what Mike’s suggesting is considered an attack,” said Don. “Old Indian superstitions bother them only if there’s a chance of them dying in the darkness, and they can stampede the herd without any danger to themselves.”