Across the Rio Colorado (14 page)
Read Across the Rio Colorado Online
Authors: Ralph Compton
“What will you do with so much land?”
“We aim to pool the money Hook owes us to buy seed stock from Mexico. Horses, cows, and bulls.”
She grew excited just listening to him talk, and Creeker told her what he and his nine companions had agreed upon.
“In a few years, you can be rich,” she cried, “if men like Hook will leave you alone.”
“Men like Hook will have to be dealt with,” said Creeker. “At supper time, I noticed you've washed off all the powder and paint. I like what's underneath a whole lot better.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You're the first man who ever asked me to do that.”
“Would you have done it, if another had asked you to?” Creeker asked.
“No,” she replied. “I did what I was paid to do. None of them had the right to ask anything more. We both know I've been a whore, but you've treated me like a lady. After I left you last night, I ⦠I didn't sleep. I thought of what you had asked of me, and somehow I ⦠I felt clean, like I was somebody.”
“If what I sayâwhat I thinkâmeans so much,” said Creeker, “there's something I'm wantin' to ask you, when we reach Texas.”
“Why must you wait?” she asked.
“Because we're both under Hook's authority until then,” said Creeker, “and I want to be my own man, with something to offer a woman.”
“You have more to offer than any man I've ever
known,” she said. “You gave me the strength to take back my life, to stand up to Rufus Hook, because you cared.”
known,” she said. “You gave me the strength to take back my life, to stand up to Rufus Hook, because you cared.”
It practically took Creeker's breath away, and during the silence, she placed her cheek next to his. She was trembling, and there was no mistaking her tears. He drew her to him, kissing her long and hard. They parted just long enough to catch their wind, and then went at it again. It was she who finally broke the silence.
“I suppose I acted like a brazen woman, but I ⦠I wanted that. I needed it. I put my heart and soul into it. What I have given you, no other has ever had.”
“You didn't have to tell me that,” said Creeker. “I've been with a few women, but not one like you. Now, more than ever, I want to ask you that question when we finally get to Texas.”
“I can answer it for you tonight,” she said, “but if that's what you want, we'll wait. But when we get to Texas, if you still want me, the answer is yes.”
“Then we won't wait,” said Creeker. “I'll tell you now. Whatever there is in Texas, I want you to share it with me.”
Having lost two teamsters to Indians, but refusing to abandon any of his goods, Hook had instead left two wagons, distributing their contents among the remaining fifteen. But the overloading took its toll. They were two days on the trail, following the delay with malaria, when two wagons were crippled with broken axles. Hook's solution to the problem infuriated the teamsters, when he spoke to Slaughter and Weatherly, drivers of the pair of disabled wagons.
“I want you men to unhitch your teams and go back for those two wagons we left behind,” Hook said, “and don't waste any time.”
“Hell,” said Slaughter, “that's thirty miles or more. We can fell trees, hew new axles, and be gone in less time.”
“I didn't ask your opinion,” Hook said. “I told the
two of you to return for those two wagons. Now, by God.”
two of you to return for those two wagons. Now, by God.”
“There's Indians,” said Weatherly. “I ain't riskin' my neck for no damn wagons.”
“Creeker and his men will ride with you,” Hook said. “Creeker?”
Creeker said nothing, his eyes on the furious teamsters. Slowly they began unhitching their teams from the disabled wagons. Creeker and his companions saddled their horses, and the twelve men rode out, following the back-trail.
“We can get there 'fore dark,” said Groat, “but can we get back?”
“Maybe, with empty wagons,” Slaughter said, “but we'll have to push the teams.”
They rode warily, seeing nobody, but when they reached the abandoned wagons, they reined up in dismay. Brush had been piled beneath the wagons, and they had been burned. Nothing remained but the metal parts. The men looked at one another, and Groat laughed.
“Let's ride,” said Creeker. “We'll make it back before dark, for sure.”
“Yeah,” Slaughter said wearily, “but we'll have to listen to Hook bellow and paw the ground.”
“Not for long,” Creeker said. “Leaving the wagons was his idea. We done what he had us do, and I don't take no bawlin' and pawin' when I've done the best I could.”
“Hell, no,” shouted Groat, Slack, Ellis, and Pucker. “We'll stand together, and when he lays into us, we'll give as good as we get.”
They returned to a predictable fit by Hook, but his cursing came to an abrupt halt when Creeker drew his pistol and put a slug through Hook's hat. He was about to direct a new string of obscenities at Creeker, when Creeker spoke. His voice was low, deadly.
“One more cuss word out of you, and I'll put a slug
through your leg, and I'll go on doin' it until you shut your mouth or run out of leg.”
through your leg, and I'll go on doin' it until you shut your mouth or run out of leg.”
Hook stood there in silent fury, taking Creeker at his word. The teamsters, playing off Creeker's stand, were equally defiant. Even Hedgepith and Puckett watched with some amusement. None of the women were in sight, and there was no sign of approval from Savage and Presnall. Swallowing hard, Hook spoke.
“Slaughter, you and Weatherly take axes and fell suitable trees for axles. Hansard, you and Baker help them. Some of the rest of you take wagon jacks and begin jacking up those two wagons.”
It was a sensible order, and the teamsters went about their duties with more than a little satisfaction. There were some grins of appreciation directed at Creeker, as he and his men began unsaddling their horses. The teamsters worked furiously, for they still had to reach water for the night's camp. It was almost dark when they were finally able to circle the wagons, and by the time they were able to eat, there were golden fingers of lightning probing the western sky.
“We'd better be findin' us some high ground,” Slaughter said. “There'll be rain before this time tomorrow, and mud aplenty.”
“Be a good time to bust some more axles,” said Weatherly.
Creeker and his men laughed, but the teamsters did not, for Hook had overheard. But he continued on to Ampersand's cook wagon, saying nothing.
The significance of the lightning wasn't lost on McQuade's party. The intensity of the storm and the amount of rain would determine how much time was lost.
“We'd best cover as much ground tomorrow as we can,” Ike observed.
The wind from the northwest had the feel and smell of rain, and there was some doubt that they would have another full day before the resulting mud made the land all
but impassable for the wagons. Mary and McQuade retired to the wagon early.
but impassable for the wagons. Mary and McQuade retired to the wagon early.
“If it's raining in the morning,” said Mary, “why don't we just spend the day in the wagon?”
“Because we can't be sure the Indians won't pick just such a time to work their way into our wagon circle. Just when we think they've given up on us, they'll strike.”
“I'll be so glad when we reach Texas, and don't have to always be ready for an attack.”
“That won't change,” said McQuade. “Not for a while. From what Chad Guthrie told us, the Comanches are even worse than the Kiowa. While some Indians are superstitious and won't attack at night, the Comanches will attack any time. I hope Hook had the sense to group these grants in such a way that we can organize against Indian attacks. Us with a rancher's grant, the nearest neighbor might be miles away.”
The dawn broke to a chill wind and an overcast sky. While water obviously wouldn't be a problem, McQuade wasn't satisfied to ignore the danger of Indian attack. So he rode ahead as usual, looking for sign. Once the rain came, there would be no sign, and the Kiowa might be just over the next ridge. But McQuade saw no Indian sign, and he found a suitable creek not more than eight miles distant. The day's drive would be short, but they needed time to circle the wagons, graze the stock, and lay in as much dry firewood as time permitted. The rain might last for several days. As McQuade was riding back to meet the wagons, he could hear the rumble of distant thunder. There would be lightning, one of the hazards most feared by a frontiersman. Most of the families in his party had wisely avoided overloading their wagons. A man and his wife might be crowded, but at least they could sleep dry. He thought of Mary, as he so often did, and the changes she had brought to his life. But she had changed as well, from those first days when she seemed afraid to speak, to a frontier woman with strength. Following the Indian attack,
she had assisted him in the care of the wounded without a whimper.
she had assisted him in the care of the wounded without a whimper.
“Maybe another five miles,” McQuade shouted, upon reaching the wagons. They had all become trail-conscious to the extent that he no longer had to explain his reasoning. Not a one of them would question this short day's drive, because of the coming storm.
Quickly the wagons were circled, and the stock was taken to graze. They must all be brought in before the rain came, because there would be limited visibility, providing the Kiowa with a perfect opportunity for a stampede.
“It's mighty early for supper,” said Gunter Warnell, “but I'd rather eat now than have to hunker under a wagon, later.”
“Let's get the fires going, then,” Ike said. “I reckon we'll get our share of eatin' in the rain for the next day or two.”
The women soon had the meal started. Ike had brought a large square of canvas, and stretched between two wagons, it provided enough shelter for a continuous fire, even in the hardest rain. Thus on rainy nights, there was always hot coffee for the men on watch. A triple watch kept enough men on duty so that each of them could remain just inside his wagon, near the rear pucker. Unless there was trouble, they could remain dry, invisible in the shadow of the wagon canvas. It afforded safety to women and children against Indians slipping into the wagons with knives. Because of the impending storm, the first watch went on duty early, and with supper over, those who could do so retired to their wagons. The rain came with a roar of rushing wind, battering the wagon canvas, and thunder shook the earth. Mules brayed and horses nickered, but the wagons had been circled three-deep, and there was nowhere to run.
“It's so good to have you here beside me,” said Mary. “I'm so afraid of storms.”
“Nothing to fear except the lightning,” McQuade said, “and so far, it's not striking.”
But that quickly changed, and McQuade held the trembling Mary close, as brilliant blue shards of lightning rippled across the rain-swept sky. There was a resounding crack as a bolt struck a tree somewhere close, and the smell of brimstone was strong. Thunder had become continuous, each rising crescendo sounding like an echo of the last.
“Oh, God,” Mary cried, her trembling hands covering her ears.
There was nothing they could do except wait, and the storm continued to grow in its intensity. Finally, when it seemed to reach the very peak of its fury, lightning struck in their very midst. The concussion was so severe that it robbed McQuade of his hearing for a few seconds, but his horrified eyes saw one of the wagons disappear in a blinding blue flash. There was the quick smell of burning flesh. Then his hearing returned. A woman screamed. Quickly McQuade was out of the wagon and running, unsure as to what he could do, but feeling the need to do something. Other men were there, none of them able to get close to the furiously burning wagon. A coal-oil lantern exploded, adding to the fury.
“The Henderson wagon,” Ike shouted, barely audible above the roar of the storm.
The Henderson wagon was on the inside of the wagon circle, and only the driving rain saved the other nearby wagons. McQuade ran to the rear pucker of one of the wagons, and heard weeping. It was Lucy Tabor.
“Lucy,” McQuade cried.
“Cal's dead,” said Lucy, between sobs.
“Maybe not,” McQuade said, climbing into the wagon. But Cal Tabor had no pulse, and McQuade felt for the large vein in the neck. There he felt a faint throb.
“He's alive, Lucy. Just unconscious, and maybe with a concussion. Wrap him in all the blankets you can get your hands on.”
McQuade left the Tabor wagon he found other men investigating nearby wagons, for the driving rain had begun
to diminish the fire. While the lightning continued to flash, it was no longer striking, and in its light, McQuade recognized Maggie Peyton. Beside her was Mary, and in their night clothes they looked like a pair of half-drowned sparrows.
to diminish the fire. While the lightning continued to flash, it was no longer striking, and in its light, McQuade recognized Maggie Peyton. Beside her was Mary, and in their night clothes they looked like a pair of half-drowned sparrows.
“What about the Tabors?” Maggie shouted.
“Cal's unconscious,” McQuade shouted back. “Have you looked in on any of the others in nearby wagons?”
“Some of them. They're in bad shape, but nobody's dead.”
Slowly they came together in the rain, realizing that Ab and Flossie Henderson were gone, thankful that their loss had not been greater.
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