Ralph Compton Whiskey River (34 page)

“I got to hand it to you, Wolf,” said Shadley. “That's pure genius.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Wilder said. “This whole thing's bein' set up just on the word of Keithley and Stackler, and I don't trust either of them.”

“That makes us even, Wilder,” said Stackler. “I don't trust you either.”

“Neither do I,” Keithley said. “I won't be surprised to see you throw down your gun and run for it if the shooting gets hot enough.”

Furious, Wilder went for his gun, only to find both Stackler and Keithley had their Colts drawn, cocked and ready.

“That's enough, damn it,” said Estrello. “By all rights, you should be dead, Wilder. If you ever pull iron against any of my men again, I'll kill you myself. If you want to fight, save it for the bushwhacking. As to trusting the judgment of Stackler and Keithley, every damn one of you knows there's no better place for an ambush between here and the old camp on the Washita than Rocky Point.”

The wagons moved on along the rutted trail, not quite three days from Rocky Point.

 

Bowdre and his outfit came out three miles west of Rocky Point. There they rode north until they reached the rutted wagon road. They followed the road until it began to curve to the southeast, for they were approaching Rocky Point from the west. When the expanse of stone came into view, they all reined up, staring in admiration.

“By God, I've never seen a better, more natural ambush,” Bowdre said.“Upton, you and Trevino told it true.”

There was a stream flowing from somewhere out of the massive rock formation, and it provided water for men and horses. The men unsaddled their horses and, taking saddles and Winchesters, found protected positions from which they could see the rutted wagon road approaching Rocky Point. Clouds had obscured the sun, and there was a light wind out of the west. The outlaws stretched out, heads on their saddles, hats over their faces, and dozed.

“Damn it,” said Bowdre, his eyes on the gathering clouds, “it'll be raining by tonight. That'll slow down the wagons another two or three days.”

 

Bowdre wasn't the only one watching the darkening sky.

“I had hoped we could reach Rocky Point and get the ambush behind us,” Ed said. “Now these ruts will be knee deep in mud. That bunch could change their minds about Rocky Point and come after us while we're bogged down.”

“I don't think so,” said Todd. “It's as near perfect a place for an ambush as I've ever seen. They know we're headed that way. They'll wait.”

“I hope you're right,” Mark said. “Guessing wrong on an ambush, you don't get to draw a second card.”

Thunder rumbled, sounding far away. Arky, Stackler's hound, took refuge beneath one of the wagons.

“If it has to rain,” said Amanda, “maybe it'll quit before dark. If there's lightning, it's always more terrifying in the night. This would be a terrible time for a stampede.”

“Hush,” Mark said. “Don't even think such thoughts.”

But far away, golden shards of lightning swept grandly across the horizon. After the wagons had been semicircled for the night, the first wind-whipped raindrops pattered on wagon canvas.

“Everybody in the saddle,” Estrello shouted. “We got to hold the horses and mules if we can.”

Amanda and Betsy saddled their own horses, preparing to ride.

“Betsy,” said Bill, “we have enough riders.”

“Yes,” Mark said.“The both of you could be trapped in a stampede.”

“Perhaps,” said Betsy, “but not likely. We're Texans, you know.”

Nothing Bill or Mark could say would change their minds. While thunder rolled, shaking the earth, lightning contented itself by lighting the horizon.

“No lightning striking,” Estrello shouted. “We can hold'em now.”

Driven by the west wind, the rain came slashing down in gray sheets, drenching every rider to the skin. Thunder continued to rumble, but the lightning held off. The horses and mules were afraid, but the presence of the riders kept them from running. The rain didn't subside until far into the night, leaving mud and standing water in abundance. Worse, the clouds didn't break up, and there was every evidence there would be even more rain. Thunder slowly faded into the distance, and when the rain started again, there was no thunder or lightning.

“The second watch can handle ‘em now,” Estrello said. “The rest of you can catch a few winks. Gettin' up early won't make no difference with all the mud and water. We'll be here a while yet.”

 

Bowdre and his men had held the reins of their horses during the worst of the storm. When the rain settled into a steady downpour, they pulled their hat brims down over their shirt collars and turned their backs to the wind.

“Damn,” said Kirk Epps, “there ain't nothin' to do except set here and be wet and miserable. It may be a week before them wagons can travel.”

“When they get here—however long it takes—we'll be ready,” Bowdre said.

The rain didn't subside until almost noon of the next day. The stream ran bank full, and the men remained on the rock ledge, for in places the mud was over their boot tops.

Lieutenant Wanz had selected his two hundred men, and they all stood at ease on the parade field. The lieutenant had returned to the post commander's office for a final word with Captain Ferguson.

“The troops are ready, sir,” Wanz said. “Do you want to inspect?”

“Not this time, Lieutenant.” said Ferguson. “They all have Henry repeaters?”

“Yes, sir,” Wanz said. “We had to do some borrowing and horse trading. Each man has been issued a hundred and twenty-four rounds of ammunition, along with enough field rations for ten days.”

“Then mount up and ride,” said Ferguson, “but don't get there ahead of Estrello and his wagons. We want those renegades, but to go after them before Estrello and his wagons arrive would warn them of trouble. With a west wind, shooting can be heard for miles.”

“Yes, sir,” Wanz said. “We'll stop a day short of the Washita, and I'll send a scout ahead. We won't make our move until the wagons arrive.”

“ Bueno,
”said Captain Ferguson. “Good luck.”

Lieutenant Wanz saluted, had it returned, and went to mount his command.

“Prepare to mount,” Lieutenant Wanz shouted. “Mount!”

As one, the soldiers swung into their saddles, riding north in a column of fours.

Two days after the rain ceased, Estrello made the decision to move on. Within less than a mile, four wagons bogged down in mud up to the hubs. It became necessary to harness extra teams of mules to haul out the stranded wagons, and when they tried to move the second four wagons, they, too, became bogged down. Again it required the efforts of extra teams. But that was only one muddy bog. There were others, and three more times the wagons had to be rescued, using extra teams. The mules were exhausted, and the teamsters disgusted and angry. Mark sought out Estrello.

“There's still too much mud and too many bogs,” said Mark. “All we've done is make the men mad as hell and exhaust the mules. We'll have to have another day of sun. Maybe more.”

Extrello didn't trust himself to speak. He merely nodded.

“Free those last two wagons, then leave all of them where they are,” Mark shouted.

“Thank God Estrello's got sense enough not to fight this mud,” Bill said.

“Another two-day delay,” said Betsy. “How's that going to affect the ambush we're expecting?”

“Shouldn't affect it at all,” Bill said. “If these varmints waitin' for us have the brains God gave
a paisano,
⁶
they won't expect us until the sun sucks up some water and eliminates this mud. It don't take a very bright
hombre
to know a wagon can't travel in hub-deep mud.”

“At least we're dry,” said Betsy. “I've never been so tired of wet clothes in my life. It's been years since I slept in a warm bed, listening to rain pattering on the roof. There is a cabin on that place of yours in Texas, isn't there?”

Bill laughed. “There once was,” he teased. “If it's gone, we can always buy us a couple of slickers and sleep out in the brush.”

“I'm tired of sleeping in the damn brush,” said Betsy, “and I'm tired of sleeping in my shirt, Levi's, and boots. I want to stretch out under blankets, stark naked.”

“I might be persuaded to join you,” Bill said. “Of course, I'd want to wear my shirt, Levi's, and boots, but I'd take off my hat and my gun belt.”

“Oh, don't do that,” said Betsy with a straight face. “I don't expect special treatment.”

At suppertime, Stackler fed Arky a decent hunk of bacon, and the dog downed it in a single gulp. He then sought out Amanda and Betsy, where he was fed again.

“We're gettin' almighty low on supplies,” Nick said. “That dog's barely gettin' enough to keep him alive. You can see every rib in his carcass.”

“Nick,” said Ed, “that's a hound. Feed him a haunch of beef, and he'd be just as skinny as he is right now. I'll fatten him up when we get back to Texas.”

“If
we get back to Texas,” Carl said. “We still have an ambush ahead of us, God knows how many renegades at the Washita, plus Estrello and his outlaws.”

“That reminds me,” said Lee. “Suppose there's two or three hundred Indians at the Washita, ready to take the whiskey away from us? You know damn well all of us will be expected to fight the renegades with the rest of Estrello's men. Then, even if we come out of that alive, Estrello's bunch will be more than happy to kill us all.”

“Lee,” said Vernon, “you're such a cheerful, happy-go-lucky cuss. If you was a doubting kind, I don't believe I could stand you.”

They all laughed, but it was short-lived, for the danger ahead of them was very real.

At midmorning of the next day, Estrello's men sprang to their feet, for approaching from the east was a band of twenty-five Indians. Some were armed with lances, some with bows and arrows, and a few with rifles. The leader of the group raised his hand, giving the peace sign. Estrello returned the gesture.

“Want eat,” said the Indian. “Grub.”

“Sorry,” Estrello said, holding out empty hands, “We're almost out of grub.”

“No grub, no eat,” said the Indian.

But one of his followers had seen Arky lurking under a wagon. Swiftly, he cocked and fired his rifle. Lead screamed off an iron wagon tire, narrowly missing the dog. There was no second shot, for Arky was gone into the brush. Ed had drawn his Colt, and his eyes were on the Indian who had fired at Arky. Others in the gang had their hands near their Colts. Of a single mind, the Indians wheeled their horses, riding back the way they had come.

“Just one damn problem after another,” Estrello complained.

“I don't understand,” said Amanda. “Why would they want to kill Arky?”

“For food,” Ed said.

“My God,” said Amanda, “they'd eat a dog?”

“They would,” Todd said. “Many Indian camps keep a lot of dogs around, and when the hunters come in empty-handed, they'll just drop a dog in the cooking pot.”

 

To the west time had become wearying for Bowdre's gang. There was nothing to do except wait, and after the rain ceased, the sun bore down with a vengeance.

“Damn it,” Perryman complained, “you're wet from bein' rained on, or wet with your own sweat. Why can't we move off these rocks and back a ways, where there's some trees for shade?”

“Because I said no,” answered Bowdre irritably. “We're not changing our position until this bushwhacking is over. The rain will have wiped out our tracks, and there's no chance of us bein' discovered until we open fire.”

Their only diversion was a dog-eared deck of cards belonging to Blake McSween. Three others had joined McSween in some four-handed poker. McSween had won consistently, infuriating his companions.

“Damn you, McSween,” said Kirk Epps, “you got the dog-ears on these cards learned. Anybody winnin' as much as you do has got to be cheatin' somehow.”

“Ain't nobody twistin' your arm and forcin' you to play,” McSween said defensively. “If you don't like the game, then get out.”

“I'll try one more hand,” said Epps, “and if you win again, so help me God, I'll shoot you.”

“Anybody that pulls a gun, I'll peel his hide off one strip at a time,” Bowdre said. “There'll be no shooting until time for the ambush. We've waited this long, and none of you are gonna louse it up now.”

The waiting and the boredom continued.

 

Again Estrello's wagons were moving, the sun having dried up most of the mud. Their first day back on the trail, there was no trouble with any of the wagons. Estrello declared they had traveled twelve miles.

“Another good day like today,” Estrello said, “and we'll ride on to Rocky Point and cut down that bunch of bushwhackers. Then it's sixty miles on to the Washita.”

During the first watch of the night, Betsy and Amanda approached Bill and Mark. “When you ride in to bust up that ambush,” said Betsy, “We want to go.”

“No,” said Bill and Mark in a single voice.

“Why not?” Amanda asked. “We each have a rifle, and we can shoot.”

“You can also get shot,” said Mark. “After being without you for five years, you think we're going to risk having either of you gunned down by the outlaws?”