Across the Rio Colorado (22 page)

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Authors: Ralph Compton

BOOK: Across the Rio Colorado
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Again there was a thunderous shout of approval, for while they helped Sam Houston's rebels, they would be helping themselves.
“That's settled, then,” said Creeker, “but there's more. We got fifteen wagons, and only thirteen teamsters. Who's goin' to take the extra wagons?”
“Seein' as how we're bein' paid right handsome,” Dirk said, “I'll take one of 'em. I can tie my horse in behind, and we ain't got that much farther to go.”
“I'll take the other,” said Nail.
“We'll take whatever that's usable from the cook wagon,” Creeker said, “and leave it behind. Doc, if it's all right with you, we'll need you to take the wagon that Hedgepith was using. We'll need it to carry his legal papers, and whatever we can salvage from the cook wagon.”
“I can do that,” said Puckett.
“One more thing,” Creeker said. “We have to make some arrangements for the ladies. With Hook and Hedgepith out of it, I reckon we don't have to hide the fact that all these girls has been spoken for. Instead of saloons and whorehouses, they'll be livin' on ranches and farms.”
Creeker paused, interrupted by shouts of approval, which included the women.
“What I'm thinkin',” Creeker continued, “is that you teamsters that's claimin' one of these females can set her on the wagon box beside you, and we can leave this extra wagon behind. How about it?”
Again there were shouts of approval.
“Tull,” said Creeker, “Mabel will be ridin' with you. Kendrick, you'll be takin' Reza. McLean, Eula rides with you. Rowden, Sal will go with you. Lemburg, you'll have Nettie, and Blackburn, you'll take Cora. Now does that suit everybody?”
“Not quite,” McQuade said, his eyes on Lora Kirby.
“Since I won't have a wagon, I'll need somebody to
look after Lora for me,” Creeker said. “Doc, will you let her ride with you?”
“Certainly,” said Puckett. “You're welcome, Lora.”
“If that's everything,” McQuade said, “we're ready to move out. I believe, since we've lost so much of the day, we'll work your wagons into our circle, and stay where we are. Tomorrow, we'll get an early start. One thing more. If you men who are wounded don't feel up to it, some of my men can bring your wagons.”
“Arm and leg wounds,” said Slaughter, “and we've had ‘em before. Let's be goin'.”
It was almost noon when the extra wagons were worked into the circle. The rest of McQuade's outfit had no trouble accepting the decisions that had been made, and all were especially glad to have Doctor Puckett in their midst.
“Doctor,” Maggie Peyton said, “you're welcome to take your meals with us.”
“Thank you,” said Puckett, “but there are plenty of provisions in my wagon that were taken from the abandoned cook wagon. This was intended to feed Hook's outfit, and since we're without a cook, I suppose we should continue to feed ourselves.”
“Nonsense,” Maggie said. “Split up those provisions among the rest of us, and we'll do the cooking for all of you, unless you prefer to do your own.”
“My God, no,” said Creeker, who had overheard Maggie's offer. “Take provisions from any of the wagons. Sam Houston gets what's left, when we reach the Rio Colorado.”
The first night after the combining of the two outfits, some of the women in McQuade's outfit made an extra effort to welcome the former saloon women who had been with Hook's party.
“Those women aren't very friendly,” Mary complained to McQuade.
“They'll have to get used to you,” said McQuade. “This is a way of life none of them are used to. They expect other women to look down on them, because of
what they've been in the past. Don't go out of your way to try and win them over. They'll be suspicious of you, if you're too nice.”
There were now a hundred and thirty-five wagons, and their first day on the trail, the train had no trouble. Creeker, his men, and the remaining teamsters were appreciative of the women who had taken over the cooking for them, and there were no real problems until the third night after the joining of the two outfits. Ned Blackburn, a teamster, was on the second watch, leaving Cora alone at the wagon. Cora screamed loud enough to wake the dead, and by the time McQuade reached the wagon, some of the men from the second watch had Matthew Burke at gun point.
“You Burkes are real lady killers,” said McQuade in disgust. “You know Cora is Ned Blackburn's woman. Now what are you doing here?”
“She was a whore when she left St. Louis,” Matthew said, “an' there ain't no law that says one man can take her all for himself.”
“This woman has been chosen by a man who aims to stand her before a preacher and have him read from the Book,” said McQuade. “Who she was and what she was back in St. Louis is past and done.”
“She was a whore then, and she's a whore now,” Burke insisted.
Seizing the front of his shirt, McQuade slammed his right fist into Burke's chin. He went limp and McQuade turned him loose, allowing him to fall facedown in the dirt.
“Damn you, McQuade,” said Andrew Burke, “you just won't leave us alone, will you?”
“Not as long as you Burkes continue to be troublesome,” said McQuade. “This whelp of yours was bothering a woman who has a man. She wanted nothing to do with him, but he wouldn't leave her alone. That's the trouble with you Burkes. Nothing matters except what you
want. Now you drag this varmint back to your wagon and keep him there.”
Ned Blackburn was there, his hand on the butt of his revolver, his hard eyes on the still unconscious Matthew Burke.
“Sorry, Blackburn,” said McQuade. “We've had trouble with the Burkes before. I'll do what I can to keep them in line.”
“It ain't your fight, McQuade,” Blackburn said. “I appreciate your concern, but where I come from, a man stomps his own snakes. I hope you don't put too much store in this varmint on the ground, because next time he comes sneakin' around Cora, I aim to shoot him stone dead.”
“You do, by God,” Andrew Burke threatened, “and you'll have to shoot all four of us Burkes. I swear it.”
“I can do that, too,” said Blackburn calmly.
“You Burkes get the hell back to your wagon and stay there,” McQuade said.
The Burkes stomped away, leading the half-conscious Matthew. The men on watch returned to their posts and McQuade returned to his wagon.
“The Burkes again?” Mary asked.
“Who else?” said McQuade. “How did you know?”
“Old Andrew has a voice like a bullfrog.”
“And a brain to match,” McQuade said. “I'm glad those women from Hedgepith's outfit have changed their ways, but my God, why couldn't they have done it another time and another place?”
Come the dawn, McQuade was saddling his horse to ride ahead, and Creeker led up his own horse.
“Mind if I ride with you?” Creeker asked.
“Come along,” said McQuade.
“Sorry to have brought you extra problems with those women,” Creeker said, as they rode along. “We didn't have all this foolishness before.”
McQuade laughed. “You didn't have the Burkes. I'm
startin' to wonder if maybe the Lord ain't usin' 'em to punish me. I had to shoot one of them in St. Joe some years back, and another before we left St. Louis. Now I have the father, old Andrew, and three of the sons right under my nose.”
“Uh oh,” said Creeker. “Look yonder.”
On a rise half a mile ahead, an Indian sat his horse, staring at them. He finally kicked his horse into a lope, riding across the ridge and out of sight.
“Comanche,” McQuade said, “and he won't be alone.”
“I'm glad we've joined outfits,” said Creeker. “The Kiowa were bad enough, but I hear the Comanches are worse.”
“That”they are,” McQuade said,”and they'll attack at midnight as readily as they will at dawn. We'll dismount and lead our horses to the top of that rise. A man on horseback makes a substantial target.”
Reaching the top of the rise, they paused, but there wasn't a rider in sight.
“Where the hell did he go?” Creeker wondered. “There's not enough cover for a man or a horse, and for certain not enough for both.”
“I hear that Texas is shot full of
arroyos,
”said McQuade, “some of 'em deep enough to conceal a whole tribe. I expect this is the kind of country we'll encounter from here on to the Rio Colorado.”
“There won't be as many creeks and water holes as we found in Indian Territory,” Creeker said. “That'll make it twice as dangerous when we find water.”
“You're right about that,” said McQuade. “From the few maps of Texas I've seen, where we're going, the only rivers I can recall before we reach the Rio Colorado is the Trinity and the Brazos. We'll just have to gamble on whatever lies between. When we do find good water, we'll have to begin filling our water barrels. Two barrels to a wagon, we can survive an occasional dry camp.”
They rode on, and in the distance there appeared a little patch of green. It grew as they approached, becoming a
respectable stand of willows lifting their leafy heads above the rims of a canyon.
“Water,” said McQuade, “but we won't be able to get too close to it.”
“Maybe there's a runoff,” Creeker said.
“This is sandy country,” said McQuade. “The runoff is usually swallowed up pronto.”
That proved to be the case. While the upper end of the canyon was deep and the cool spring was overhung with willows, the runoff disappeared abruptly. There were tracks of deer and coyotes around the spring, and more recently, tracks of unshod horses.
“Three riders,” Creeker said. “They could be passing through, or scouting for a larger party.”
“You can't judge the number of Comanches or the nearness of the tribe just by horse tracks,” said McQuade. “This three, for instance, might be the only three within a hundred miles. But they'll ride all night, kill their horses if they have to, and by tomorrow evening, there'll be a hundred Comanches ready to take scalps.”
“That's damn scary,” Creeker said. “You know them mighty well.”
“I once knew a man who lived with them,” said McQuade, “and he could tell some tales that would scare hell out of a brave man. That's why we won't take any chances. It's time we rode back to meet the wagons.”
On the canyon rim overlooking the spring, they scanned the surrounding country as far as they could see, until shimmering heat waves robbed them of reality. Seeing nothing, they rode back the way they had come.
“Considerably more than fifteen miles,” Creeker said.
“Yes,” said McQuade, “and there may be more days like this. We may be circling the wagons by starlight, but it's better than dry camp.”
“After what you've told me about the Comanches, I'm wondering if that one Indian we saw won't come back with enough friends to give us hell.”
“He might do just that,” McQuade said. “We're most vulnerable when the wagons are strung out. If we can
limit their attacks to times when the wagons are circled, they can't hurt us that much. The only defense we have on the trail is to keep our eyes open and see them coming. With every man reining up, hitting the ground with his revolver in hand, we can defend ourselves. At night, we're going to have to depend on a heavy watch.”
“We have enough men,” said Creeker.
“Starting tonight, we're going to make good use of them,” McQuade said. “Having seen one Comanche, I look for him to bring plenty more. We'll go with two watches, with a change at midnight. You take half the men for the first watch, and I'll take the rest of them for the second watch.”
“Suits me,” said Creeker. “With that many men on watch, I won't have to worry about wakin' up to a Comanche standin' over me with a knife in his hand.”
They met the wagons, and McQuade estimated they were a good dozen miles from the canyon with its spring.
“Let's ride to the back of the train,” McQuade said. “I'll take one side and you take the other. Tell 'em we have a long day ahead of us, and there's Indian sign.”
The wagons rolled on, McQuade and Creeker riding ahead. Dirk and Nail were on the boxes of two of the wagons, leaving Groat, Slack, Rucker, and Ellis riding behind the last wagons.
“We ain't gonna make it 'fore dark,” Creeker said.
“No,” said McQuade, “but it'll be close. We'll ride on ahead of the wagons and scout that spring. We must get the wagons circled before it gets too dark, because we'll have to lead the stock to water. That'll take a while.”

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