Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 517
“Reckon thet’s aboot all,” drawled Texas Joe, with a little cold laugh. “Load up quick. All down an’ ‘most daid.”
“Thet first buck who yelled got away,” replied Pete. “I missed him. But I didn’t see no more. We shore dropped them pronto. I know I only bored one. Yu must have some daid shots in this outfit.”
“One I know of, anyway.”
“Let’s charge ’em, men, an’ baste the cripples,” said the hunter, and he plunged up to burst out of the brush. Texas and Pan Handle followed, as evidently had Holden and Bender. Brite lay a restraining hand upon the agitated girl, who appeared about to rush after the others.
“Yu stay heah, lass,” he said. “It’s all over so far as we’re concerned. An’ there’ll be a mess oot there.”
“Oh-h! cried Reddie, breathing hard. She pushed the rifle before her and sank face down on the stone, beginning to shake like a leaf in the wind.
“Reddie, yu shore conducted yoreself in a way to make me proud,” said Brite, patting her shoulder. “Don’t give way now.”
“Listen! — Oh, that’s terrible.”
The drivers were cracking the skulls of the crippled Comanches, accompanying every whack from a rifle butt with a demon-like yell. Brite did not look in that direction. He heard halloes from the vicinity of the wagons and also answers from Texas’ men.
“Come, Reddie, let’s get oot in the open,” suggested Brite, dragging at her. “But we won’t go near thet shambles.”
She picked up her rifle and followed him out into the glade. A curtain of smoke was drifting away. It disclosed the first victim of the ambush — the Comanche who had backed away from the grove, to fall at Reddie’s shot.
Texas Joe stalked back toward them, bareheaded, his hair dishevelled, and halted beside the prostrate Comanche.
“Boss, yu didn’t plug this buck,” he asserted.
“Shore I did.”
“Yu’re a liar. Thet gun yu had is a needle gun. It was Reddie who done it... Dog-gone! Right plumb through his middle.’” He came up to them, hard-faced and tremendously forceful, his slits of amber eyes upon Reddie.
“Wal, yu opened the bawl pronto,” he said.
“Texas, I — I couldn’t wait. I had to shoot thet Indian,” she faltered.
“Wal, Miss Bayne, allow me to congratulate yu on bein’ a real shore-enough Texas pioneer’s daughter.”
“I — I feel like a murderer. But I’m not sorry. How cruel they looked — like lean, bloody wolves.”
“Boss, if I go to ranchin’ soon, I’d like a wife after Reddie’s breed,” concluded Texas, with a little satire in his flattery.
“Tex, heah comes Williams an’ our boys,” shouted some one.
The hunter could be seen approaching hurriedly, yet warily, with several men at his heels.
“Hash, only one got away,” called Smiling Pete. “We done ’em up quick an’ brown.”
“Good! But we was too late. —— our souls!” boomed the hunter, stridently. “Come along heah back with us.”
Texas Joe and the others rushed after Williams, who had turned to follow the drivers with him. Brite and Reddie fell behind. The strip of woodland grew more open until it let sunshine into a little park where a camp had been established. Three wagons had been lined up to inclose a triangular space. The wheels had been barricaded in places with packs and beds. Indian arrows stuck out with ominous significance. In the foreground lay a white man on his face. An arrow head protruded from his back. His scalp had been half torn off.
“Pete, we slipped up as fast as we could,” Williams was explaining. “But too late. I reckon we was in only at the finish.”
Brite bade Reddie remain back while he followed the hunters. He had seen gruesome sights before, yet it was a shock to renew such experiences. Williams dragged two dead men from under the wagons, and then a third who was still alive. Evidently he had been shot, for no arrow showed in him. They tore open his shirt and found a bad wound high up, just about missing the lung. The bullet had gone clear through.
“Reckon this fellar will live,” said Williams, practically. “One of yu tie a scarf tight over this hole an’ under his arm....Search everywhar, fellars. This has been a pretty long scrap. Yu see the blood has dried on thet man.”
“I know I seen a girl just as we bust loose on ’em,” said Ackerman, sweaty and grimy, his face working. “There was two redskins chasin’ her. I crippled one. Seen him go down an’ crawl. Then the other grabbed him into the brush.”
“Heah’s a daid woman,” called Texas Joe, from the back of the third wagon. His comrades hurried to confirm this statement. Brite shuddered to see a woman, half stripped, hanging scalpless and gory half out of the wagon.
“Thet’s not the girl I seen,” shouted Ackerman. “I swear it, men. She was runnin’. She had light hair. She wore a plaid skirt.”
“Wal, spread oot, some of yu, an’ search,” ordered Texas Joe.
“Three daid men, one daid woman, this heah man thet’s still alive,” Hash Williams was counting. “Thet five. An’ the girl yore cowboy swears he seen — thet makes six. There may be more. ‘Cause when we cut loose on the red devils it’d be natural for any one alive to run, if he was able.”
Deuce Ackerman went rushing around in a frenzy, calling aloud: “Come oot, girl, wherever yu air. Yu’re saved.”
But neither the wagons, nor the brush, nor the clumps of trees rewarded their hasty search. Deuce strode to the river bank, which was not far away, and thickly covered by willows. Here he called again. Suddenly he gave a wild shout and leaped off the bank out of sight. Texas Joe and other drivers ran in that direction. Before they could reach the bank Deuce appeared, half supporting a light-haired girl. They all ran then to meet Deuce, and Reddie flew after them.
“There, little lady, don’t be scared,” Ackerman was saying as he halted with the girl. “We’re friends. We’ve killed the Indians. Yu’re all right.”
He helped her to a log, where she sank down, and her head fell against his shoulder. She appeared to be about sixteen years old. Wide horror-stricken blue eyes gazed at the men. Freckles shone on her deathly white face.
“Lass, air yu hurted?” queried Williams, anxiously.
“I don’t — know.... I guess — not,” she answered, faintly.
“How many in yore party?”
“Six,” she whispered.
“There’s one man alive. He has a black beard. Reckon he’ll live.”
“My father! — Oh, thank God!”
“What’s yore name?”
“Ann Hardy. My father is — John Hardy. We were on our way to Fort Sill — to join a wagon-train there.... The Indians had attacked us — for days — then left us.... We had to stop — on account of the high water.... They came back today.”
“Is the woman yore mother?”
“No, sir.”
“Wal, that’s all now,” concluded Williams. “Men, we better not lose any time gettin’ this girl an’ her father up to our camp. Some of yu rustle now. Take the girl. I’ll stay with Pete, an’, say, three more of yu. We’ll do what we can for Hardy an’ fetch him along. Then if all’s well we can come back heah, bury the daid, an’ look over this ootfit.”
“I’ll put her on my hawse,” said Ackerman. “Come, Miss Hardy.... Lean on me.”
“You saved my life,” she replied, and fixed strained eyes upon him. “I was just — about to jump into the river.”
“All’s wal thet ends wal,” rejoined Deuce, with a nervous little laugh. “Yu an’ yore dad air lucky, I’ll tell yu.... Come. We have a girl in our ootfit. Heah she is...Reddie Bayne.”
“Oh, yu pore dear!” cried Reddie, putting her arm around the girl. “But yu’re safe now with us. This is Brite’s ootfit. An’ there’s some hard fighters an’ gunmen in it. Texas Jack an’ Pan Handle Smith an’ Deuce Ackerman heah. All bad hombres, lady, but shore good to have around when stampeders an’ redskins come.”
Deuce and Reddie led the girl up the trail, followed by Brite, Texas Joe, and the other drivers who were not going to stay with Williams. The trail ran between the river and the spot where the Comanches had met their doom. Texas and Holden forged ahead to get the horses. Deuce put the girl up on his saddle and mounted behind her. In a few minutes after that they reached a familiar grove of trees. But Brite did not recognize it.
“Wal, I’ll be —— !” vociferated Texas Joe, suddenly halting. To curse so formidably under the circumstances could mean only disaster.
“What ails yu, Tex?”
“Look aboot yu, boss. Heah’s camp an’ our chuck-wagon. But where’s Moze — an’ where’s our hawses an’ cattle?”
“Gone!” screamed Reddie.
CHAPTER XI
BRITE SCRATCHED HIS stubby chin. His two thousand odd cattle, less than half the original number he started with, had disappeared as if by magic.
“Wal, I’m not surprised,” snorted Texas. “Boss, when I rode back from upriver awhile ago, San Sabe had just come in hollerin’ Injuns. So I had no time to tell yu thet Ross Hite’s ootfit was up there with the other half of yore herd.”
“Damnation!” swore Brite. “Did they have the nerve to steal the rest of them? Right under our eyes!”
“Mebbe not. Long-horns air queer brutes. They might have just sloped off an’ then again they might have stampeded. Shore they didn’t come downriver.”
“Where’s Moze?”
“Heah, yu Alabama coon!” yelled Texas.
“I’se heah, boss,” came from the thick clump of trees, high up among the branches. “Heah I is.”
Presently they heard his feet thud on the soft turf and soon he appeared, shuffling toward them at a great rate.
“Moze, what’s become of our cattle?” demanded Brite.
“I dunno, suh. Jest after yu-all left I seen some riders comin’ down the ribber. An’ dis chile perambulated up de tree. Pretty soon I heahed them close, an’ I seen dat long lean Hite man. I sho did. They dess rode behind de cattle an’ chased dem at a run up de ribber. An’ dey missed our hawses.”
“Ahuh. Now, boss, we have no more trouble atall,” drawled Texas. “Pile off an’ soon as the rest of our ootfit gets heah we’ll put our haids together.”
“Moze, we’ve got a visitor, Miss Hardy,” announced Ackerman, as he leaped off to help the girl down. “All her ootfit except her dad got killed by the Comanches.”
“Yu may as wal start a fire, Moze,” added Texas. “We’re stuck heah for I don’t know how long. Heat water, get oot some clean bandages. We’ll have a cripple heah pronto.”
“Lawd, but dis Chissum Trail is waxin’ hot,” exploded Moze, showing the whites of his eyes.
Deuce unrolled a bed for the Hardy girl, and he and Reddie made her comfortable in the shade. Brite had the same thought he divined was passing in Reddie’s mind — that the Uvalde cowboy had been shot through the heart by something vastly different from a bullet.
The girl was more than pretty, now that the ghastliness was fading from her face and the horror from her eyes. She was about medium height, slender, but strong and well-rounded of form. Reddie sat beside her and held her hand while Deuce made a show of serious attention.
“Shut yore eyes an’ don’t think,” advised Reddie. “Let our men folks do thet.”
Brite’s survey of Texas, Pan Handle, and the others convinced him that never had they cudgeled their brains so fiercely. Moreover, they were silent. Brite paced to and fro, under the trees, doing his own thinking. It was inconceivable that Ross Hite should ultimately succeed in this second outrage. The fight that had been deferred must now be hastened. A grave risk for the two girls! Brite was in a quandary whether to permit it or not. But he reasoned that men of the stamp of Texas Joe and Pan Handle could not be held back any longer. The two hide-hunters had materially added to the strength of the outfit. Hite, now encumbered by all the cattle, was in a tight hole.
“Wal, they must have been drunk,” declared Texas, suddenly.
“Who?” queried one of the drivers.
“Hite’s ootfit. Onless they got a lot more hands then they had when Wallen braced us, they’re just committin’ suicide.”
“Tex, would it do for me to scout up the river? On foot, of course, an’ keepin’ to cover?” asked San Sabe.
“Wal no. Thet idee come to me. But it’s no good. We’re shore Hite drove the cattle an’ they cain’t be far. He cain’t cross the river anyway neah heah.”
“So far so good. What’re we gonna do?”
“Dam’ if I know, San,” replied Texas, gloomily. “We’re saddled with two girls now, an’ a crippled man, besides. Mebbe thet Hash Williams will have an idee. He ‘pears to be an old-timer.”
Texas walked out a few rods to look down the river. “They’re comin’,” he announced, with satisfaction. “Now we’ll soon see where we air.”
While still some distance from camp, Williams, evidently missing the cattle, came on at a gallop.
“Whar’s our long-horns?” he roared.
“Hite drove them off while we was fightin’ the Comanches,” replied Texas.
“Whole hawg or none, huh? I’d a-reckoned he’d be smarter than to do thet.”
“Williams, is it better or wuss for us?”
“Two times better, easy,” declared the hunter. “I jest wonder what led to thet trick. Sort of stumps me.”
“What’ll we do?”
“Wal, we’ll talk it over,” returned Williams, dismounting. “But sight unseen I’d say let Hite go with the cattle. Foller him across the Red, anyway. He cain’t dodge us. He cain’t sell the stock. He cain’t make a deal with the Injuns, for he couldn’t get nothin’ from them. An’ they won’t drive cattle.”
Presently the approaching horsemen reached camp, two of them supporting the wounded settler, Hardy. He was conscious, but unable to sit up. They lifted him off the horse and carried him to a place beside his daughter.
“Oh, Daddy, say yu’re not bad hurt,” she cried.
“I’m all — right — Ann, so they tell me,” he replied, weakly.
“Dig up some whisky an’ fix him a bed,” ordered Texas.
“Brite, what’ll we do aboot them wagons? I reckon we ought to take one of them an’ a load of supplies. We seen two hawses, anyway. We could haul Hardy an’ his girl as far as Doan’s store. What yu say?”
“I say yes, of course. Send two men back to fetch one wagon an’ a load. We can cross this river with wagons as soon as the cattle can.”
“Thet’ll be tomorrer. River’s goin’ down fast. An’ we’ll camp right heah tonight. Thet’ll give us time to bury them poor folks.”
“Williams, don’t yu reckon Hite will ambush the trail, thinkin’ we’ll be fools enough to chase him?” asked Texas.
“He’ll do thet, shore. We ain’t goin’ to chase him. Mister Hite stole our herd too quick. We’ll let him look oot for them an’ we’ll look oot for ourselves.”
“Would yu advise me to scout up the river?”
“No, I wouldn’t. But yu might send thet little chap, Sabe,” replied Williams. “Heah, cowboy, yu climb the hill, keepin’ oot of sight all the time. Work along the rim an’ see if yu can locate thet ootfit.... An’ come to think of it, Shipman, let’s hold off on sendin’ anyone down after thet wagon ontil Sabe gets back with his report.”
Pan Handle sat apart, cleaning his guns. They glinted in the sunlight like polished steel. The gunman appeared absorbed in his task. His brow was corded and dark, the line of his cheek tight and gray. Brite calculated for a certainty that Smith had done away with half the bunch of Comanches. He gathered solace from that and pondered on the doubtful future of one Ross Hite.
Reddie and Ackerman were trying to induce Ann to drink something. Texas sat idle, his narrow eyes upon Reddie. Moze was busy about the fire. Williams and Smiling Pete were dressing Hardy’s wound. The other drivers were resting and whispering together. San Sabe had vanished in the brush on the slope, where he made no more noise than a bird.
Brite sought a seat himself. The exertion and excitement had tired him out. He pondered upon the day and gave thanks to God for having been spared the catastrophe which had befallen Hardy’s outfit. What a common thing such massacres had come to be! Wagon-trains without scouts or Indian hunters or a large force for defense fell easy prey to these marauding bands of savages. He thought of rumors he had heard at Fort Dodge last trip. Santana, a chief of Kiowas, and a merciless fiend, had been reported to be in league with a band of white desperadoes whose specialty was to seek and waylay small caravans, and massacre every man, woman, and child, steal horses and supplies, and make way with the wagons so that not a single vestige of the caravan was ever discovered or heard of again.
Such terrible things seemed no longer incredible. Hundreds of wagon-trains crossed the plains; thousands of trail drivers rode up the vast stretches of Texas. And if a few were lost the tragedy scarcely came home to the many. But Brite saw it now. If he got out of this drive with his life, and this dear child he had adopted, he would let well enough alone. Yet how peaceful, even pastoral, that valley scene! The river glided on yellow as corn; the summer breeze waved the grass and willows; flowers bloomed along the banks and birds sang; the sky spread a blue canopy overhead, accentuated by white cloud-sails. Across the river, on the high bluff, a huge buffalo bull came out to stand gazing, silhouetted black against the sky, magnificently wild in aspect, and symbolic of that nature dominant for the hour.
* * * * *
Hours passed. Still San Sabe did not return. Toward sunset Williams deemed it advisable to get Hardy’s wagon, horses, personal effects, and supplies up to Brite’s camp before night. To this end he went himself, taking two men.
