He heard a girlish giggle and felt Addy’s reins pushed into his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the white of a petticoat. Well, at least the girl hadn’t gotten completely undressed. He led Addy away without turning around. Buck wasn’t much on swearing, but what the Hell was he supposed to do with a girl out in the wilds of Texas?
He packed the empty pistol away in his saddle bags and checked the cinch while he considered. No, there was just nowhere for him to send her. He had to bring her with him until he got to a town. Buck didn’t like complications. A prisoner and a girl-child were about as complicated as things could get.
When the girl came back in her damp, freshly washed dress, Buck was impressed. She was quite a looker with all the dirt washed away. It made him wish he understood her when she talked. He knew that he didn’t have any time for girls though.
"I can't send you anywhere safe--" Buck began but stopped at Hsolda's questioning look. "Oh, what's the use?" He held down a hand to pull her up behind him. "Might as well save my breath," he grumbled. He had trouble looking at her now that she was cleaned-up. She'd gone from looking like an old dustmop to a pert young lady in a single bath. He wasn't used to having a girl around, certainly not a pretty one. It was more than a little distracting.
"Come on, Chigger," he snapped at the irritating little man.
"But I ain't even got no horse. Am I supposed ta walk again?"
"Oh, quit your whining. You were in the infantry, weren't you?"
"Wull yeah, but--"
"Well then, forward march!" He heard the little man curse him under his breath but chose to ignore it. He didn't want to waste the powder to shoot him or the ink to explain it to his captain in a report.
When Hsolda wrapped her slim arms about him, Buck stiffened, but he supposed that she needed to do that in order to keep her seat as they rode. It gave him a funny feeling though. He could've sworn that she rested her head against his back, but he shrugged it off. That would've been a silly way to ride.
The tracks told him a typical story. He was able to read all he needed from the saddle. The raiders had scattered, but then met up again as he suspected they would. These men were a gang with some organization. The murder of the travelers was not a one time sort of an attack. It was the type of raid that they perpetrated before. The type of a raid they would execute again, if they were allowed to. He intended to make sure they weren't free to continue. He had only to follow a single member of the gang until they gathered again.
As he expected, the trails re-joined a few miles away. The gang all knew where they were headed. He began to see signs of sloppiness. The men did not expect pursuit. They thought that they were clever, but they weren't. They had gotten away with their murders because Texas was so big and the lawmen were so few. Arrogance was a flaw that Buck appreciated in an enemy. He wanted them to feel safe while he ran them down.
He paid more attention to the surrounding country than to the tracks. At some point the raiders were going to figure out that they were, themselves, being hunted. Buck hoped that he could keep them ignorant of that until he could meet them upon his own terms. He hoped to be able to capture some of them. A badge and a Henry repeating rifle were a strong argument in the right situation. Of course then, a man 'hoped' for a lot of things in life. That didn't mean it would happen that way.
Two hours along the trail of an un-shod pony, Buck saw buzzards circling. Not daring to leave Hsolda with Chigger, he just took her with him. He knew that it might be a gruesome sight, but he expected that she'd seen worse. He pulled his rifle clear of its fringed case and heeled Addy into a lope.
Buzzards were timid scavengers. If they were circling instead of feeding, then their targeted meal was either still alive or someone else had beaten them to it.
Buck was more relieved than he would ever admit when he found a dusty coyote chewing on a buffalo carcass. He didn't waste a bullet on the little yodel-dog, he just rode on up and told it to, "Get!" The coyote ran off, but he looked back like he was tempted to fight for his supper. Coyote apparently thought better of it and scurried off into the brush.
Buck eased the girl to the ground before dismounting. He gave her Addy's reins and motioned for her to stay-put while he looked over the ground. Unshod pony. Comanche moccasin prints. He found the mark where his quarry had rested his musket butt. It looked like it might be the imprint of an Enfield but he couldn't swear to it-- no, it was more narrow, probably a Sharps. The carcass was fresh, shot only that morning. That was good. He could use the meat. He hadn't brought food for three with him. By the look of the animal, the hunter had only taken the tongue. That gave him pause for thought. Buffalo tongue was the best of the meat. Indian or white, the hunter would've taken that-- but nothing else? Nothing else?
"White man," Buck grumbled in anger.
#
Indians lived on wild meat. It was a 'feast-or-famine' lifestyle much of the time. Also, the hunter was going to join up with his friends. Would a tribal hunter who'd 'made meat' only take enough for himself? Would he leave all that buff for the buzzards when his companions would be hungry too? Lots of things the Comanche did that Buck didn't like, but he never had met a Comanche who'd fail to feed a hungry friend.
"Damned Comancheros!" Buck spat into the dust. He looked back at Hsolda. Comancheros would trade whiskey, horses, women, guns, anything they could get to the Comanche. It would be bad if they got hold of Hsolda. Another reason to get her to somewhere safe.
Buck looked around then he pulled his knife and cut out several nice pieces of buffalo steak. He wanted to cut out the bullet to see what sort of a rifle the hunter had used, but digging through the carcass of a huge buffalo after a little bullet-- well he couldn't even roll the thing over. Maybe, if he had an axe he could--
"Buffalo!" Chigger shouted as he trotted on up. "Buffalo! Ain't nothin' like a nice piece of buff! I am hungry enough ta eat him, hide, hair, an all!"
"Good thing, because that's what's for supper," Buck replied distractedly. "Chigger, take a look at this." He walked over and waved at the hunter's tracks. "You any good at reading sign?"
"Oh, fair ta middlin'" the little man wandered over and bent low over the tracks. "Jess a feller. Shot him a buff, got his chunk, an' rode off."
"What kind of rifle?"
"Marks in the dirt shows her stock's round at the toe an' squared-off atop. Ain't a Spencer er a Henry. Looks a mite small fer a Enfield er a Springfield. Was I ta speculate, I'd say it's a Sharps."
"Any Commanche around here with breech-loading guns?"
"Hell, ain't even no white folks hereabouts with breech-loadin' guns. I mean, 'ceptin' you."
"You boys 'round here see many of those? During the war, I mean."
"Awww, they's always a few. Mostly all the boys was issued them Enfields what come on through the Yankee blockade from England." He scratched his un-shaven chin in thought. "Now that ya task me though, we was supposed ta get some. The Colonel tol' us, but they didn't never get here. Yankees must've got 'em fust, like every other gol durned thing we was supposed ta get. Wull, except fer socks. We always got a hell of a load of socks. I 'spect the gals of Texas spent every extra minute aknittin' away at socks--"
"Shhhh!" Buck wanted the garrulous man to be quiet so he could think.
"Wull, I mean, a feller's only gots two feet. What's he need more than one pair of socks fer?"
"These boys were pretty bold, wiping out a whole wagon train. A band-- injuns or white-- well they'd have to hit hard to wipe out a group of pilgrims so completely."
"You ever see a Commanch shoot a bow?" Chigger snapped. "Why he can have four arrows in the air before the first one hits!"
"Yeah, but a bow's only a close range weapon. Even Comanche don't get too close to a wagon train load of folks with guns. And all the bodies I found were shot. Oh, some of them had arrows in them too. But they were all . . . shot."
"Harrumph, you thinkin' someone's got them breech-loaders?"
"I sure want to find out."
"Aw, it ain't like they're repeaters er nothin' like that."
"Comanche's are the best light cavalry in the world. They're bad with bows or muzzle-loaders. If they get hold of breech-loaders to use on horseback, they'll be ten times as dangerous as they already are."
Chigger let out a cackle of mirth.
"Well, what's so funny about that?"
"They's goin' ta be a whole lot of Yankee carpetbaggers a sorry they cheated Texicans outta their land!"
Buck didn't laugh at Chigger's joke. He'd seen what angry Comanches could do. There was nothing funny about it. For the hundredth time he wished that he could send Hsolda somewhere safe.
#
Buck wrapped the meat in his bandana and stored it away in his saddle bags. Then he mounted and pulled Hsolda up behind.
"I've got to see which way these raiders are headed and what they're up to," he told Chigger. "You can follow along as you're able."
"Follow . . .?" Chigger expelled a breath in exasperation.
"Or you can just wander off on your own," Buck told him. "Say hello to any Comanches you meet."
Then he tapped Addy and followed the trail. He could hear the man cursing, but he didn't look to see if Chigger would follow or not. He knew he would. Only an ignorant fool would wander off in Comanche country alone and unarmed.
He continued to follow the trail while keeping off the trail itself. He would miss the more subtle markings, but he didn't want to ride into an ambush.
Almost a half a day later, Buck found that the trail led up a valley into some low, rolling hills. He made out a thin trail of smoke against the blue sky and circled to come into the valley from the South/West. He was riding high enough to get a good look, but not up on the crest of the hill where he would be skylined.
As they got closer, he eased Hsolda down off Addy and unsheathed his Henry rifle before getting off himself. He waved for the girl to stay there with Addy and, crouching low, he skulked around the edge of the hill to see into the valley. He crawled up behind the trunk of an old, fallen tree some eight hundred yards from the camp he found in the valley.
He cast an eye upon the camp through his spyglass and found that it was a regular pirate's warren. Thirty or so horses were kept in a rope corral. There were two Comanche teepees, numerous ragged tarps set up for shade, and a sort of a wooden blockhouse.
The men in the valley were drunk as lords and playing with plundered finery, frock coats and sun dresses, probably stolen from victims of their raids. But these things were not what Buck was focused upon. As he watched, someone yelled and fired a rifle off into the air exuberantly. Others followed his example. Then they all fired again.
"Breech loaders, sure enough," the ranger grumbled.
He scurried back and brought Hsolda and Addy to a spreading oak that nestled in a small valley. Chigger arrived, puffing, as he was unsaddling the horse.
"Comancheros," he told Chigger. "Drunk as lords and armed to the teeth. That's where your consignment of Confederate breech-loaders went."
"Bastards!" Chigger swore, but then doffed his hat to Hsolda and apologized. "Beggin' yer pardon, Miss, but we surly coulda' used them durin' the war! Them bluebellies always lined up so oblidgin' like fer us ta shoot 'em down. Why I got so goldurned tired a' rammin lead down the barrel--"
"Okay, let's figure out what to do," Buck interrupted.
"Wull, jess think on it. How many Yankees mightn't we have killed with rifles what loaded that fast?"
"How many settlers and families will those Commancheros kill with them?" Buck told him.
"Wull we ain't gonna let 'em run wild, are we?"
"Not if we can help it," Buck assured him. "The question is, how can we help it?"
"Pshaw, that ain't nothin'." Chigger told him. "Lemme see that glass." Buck gave him the telescope and Chigger scuttled around the hill where he could take a look. Watching the way the man moved, Buck could tell that he'd done this sort of reconnaissance many times before.
#
Chigger came back after only a quick look. "Be commin' on to night directly. With everyone so ding-blasted drunk, I'll jess mosey on down there. That log place is the onlyiest building they might be keepin' anything valuable in. Didja see how they was fetchin' whiskey outta it?"
"I hadn't noticed," Buck admitted.
"Wull guns an' likker is somethin' that the boss will have under lock an' key. That's where his loot'll be stored too. You get me a couple o' matches an' I'll start youall a bonfire that'll shade election day fireworks!"
"I'll--"
"You? Ranger, you ain't got neither the look nor the smell ta wander into a camp like that," Chigger stopped him. "They'd have you spotted an' scalped an'-- wull, they'd do such things as I ain't gonna say before a lady whether she understands 'em er no."
Buck knew that the man was right. It was a slim chance, but if the little thief could pull it off, dozens--maybe hundreds-- of lives might be saved. The Ranger sighed reluctantly and dug into his saddlebag for a pistol. He checked that he could see a pinhole of daylight through each of the cones then proceeded to load each chamber while Chigger observed.
"A knife would be appreciated," Chigger added. Buck got him a skinning knife and the thief cackled as he thrust it through his rope belt. Buck also gave him a handful of matches which Chigger squirreled away in a pocket of his frayed coat.
"Ready?" Buck asked.
"Soon as the moon's up," Chigger replied as he sat down and leaned against the tree. "Was I you, Ranger, I'd load up them shootin' irons. Anything goes wrong, you'll think I stirred up a hornet's nest in that valley."
Buck had to agree. He filled his coat pocket with shells for his Henry, checked his extra Colt and thrust it into his belt. He also gave Hsolda a loaded revolver, just in case.
Then they waited. Buck checked Hsolda's pistol at least three times. From the doe's eyes she made at him, he knew that he would do well to drop her off just as soon as he could. When a girl started looking at a man like that, he knew that his bachelor's days were numbered. That is, they were numbered if he couldn't escape right smartly. Buck figured that he still had a lot of Ranger'n to do before he settled down and he was planning his escape accordingly.
When the full moon had climbed high into the Texas sky, Chigger got up and dusted off his britches. "Okay, Ranger, we all ready?"
"I expect," Buck was still leery of trusting the little thief. He only consolation was that everyone despised Comancheros. He didn't think Chigger would betray him to men like that. At least, he hoped he wouldn't.
"They've still got a couple of sober sentries," Buck warned. "How are you going to sneak up on them?"
"Quit frettin', Ranger," Chigger brushed off his worries. "I done my share of mischief afore this, ya know. You just be ready ta commence shootin' ifn it becomes needful."
"I'm ready."
"All right then." Chigger led the way to the fallen tree trunk they'd overlooked the camp from the day before. Buck shook his head as he saw the brilliantly moonlit ground the thief was going to have to cross to sneak up on the camp.
But Chigger seemed not to notice. As they passed the fallen log, he waved for Buck and Hsolda to take up a position there while he just continued walking toward the outlaws' camp.
"What is he doing?" Buck wondered outloud as Chigger just continued to walk for several hundred yards. "If he gets any closer, they're sure to spot him."
Then chigger picked up the pace and began to jog toward the camp. His speed increased as he neared the guards. Suddenly, the thief waved his pistol back over his shoulder and there was a yellowish flash and the boom of a shot. Buck could hear the man's shout of, "Texas Rangers commin!" faintly in the night air. Then Chigger shot back over his shoulder again.
"He' s betrayed us!" Buck snarled. "He must've been one of them all along!" He drew a careful bead on the little man's back, adjusted his sights up for the extreme range, and squeezed off a shot. The bullet traveled in its rainbow-like arc for several seconds before it impacted. The .44 Henry was a rather anemic round. Fate intervened at the last moment, Chigger side-stepped and the big, slow slug knocked down the guard he'd been talking to. Immediately, the other guard snapped a shot at the flash of Buck's rifle. Drunken Comancheros staggered out of teepees and bedrolls and they all began to fire upon Buck's position.
The Ranger fired several more times then stopped to re-fill his magazine for the comencheros were beginning to move toward his position. "Chigger, you rotten little--"
"Madra atá suite" Hsolda finished for him.
"Exactly!" he agreed as he leveled his rifle and lowered his sights to compensate for the closing of the Comencheros upon their position. He took his time now. The big Texas moon was bright enough for him to see his sights and he squeezed off his shots with care. Man-after-man tumbled as his rifle barked. The Comencheros were too crazy-drunk to be cautious and just continued to come-on after him. The firing wasn't all one-sided, but the hitting was. The closest the shots from any of the moving men got was to graze the log Buck and Hsolda were hiding behind.
Yet, despite the carnage he wrought, the murderers came-on doggedly up the slope. His rifle clicked on an empty chamber and Buck had to stop to re-load again. The men came-on faster when his rifle stilled and he blessed the repeater as he quickly reloaded. He lowered his sights again before he resumed shooting.
As he continued to fire, the rifle's hot barrel began to burn his fingers and Buck wished for a glove to protect his hand, but there was no time for that. He found out the hard way that some of those he'd thought he'd shot had gone to the ground on-purpose and were crawling up to his position.
Such a man rose to his feet right in front of them and gave a whoop of blood-lust while flourishing a tomahawk. Buck stepped back from the swinging weapon and yanked the trigger. His rifle clicked horrifyingly upon an empty chamber. The Comanchero smiled drunkenly, but thinking fast, Buck tossed him the hot rifle yelling, "Here, catch!" as he reached for his Colt. The man caught the mighty weapon eagerly. Buck knew that he had the man, but his spur snagged upon something and he fell onto his back. The Comenchero made ready to swing the rifle at Buck as a club. It took several heartbeats for the burning heat of the barrel to register upon the man's alcohol-soaked senses. He suddenly flung the smoking rifle into the dirt with a scream and Hsolda took a two-handed grip on her pistol and put a bullet through him.
Buck drew his Colts and rolled up to his feet. He shot man-after-man as they came at him. They weren't even firing anymore, just running at him with drunkenly swinging gun butts or raised knives. He heard Hsolda firing next to him and spared a desperate moment to think, 'Now there's a girl to keep around!'
There were still several men approaching carefully, but with murder clearly in their eyes when Buck and Hsolda's guns went empty. Buck spun the long Colts and grasped them like hammers to strike with as the Comencheros came closer.
A shot roared and one of the men pitched forward crumpling like a discarded doll. As the other looked at his friend, Buck clubbed him with a gunbutt.
Chigger came riding up on a barebacked Indian pony with a Sharps carbine in his hand. "I know that you Rangers is supposed ta be rough as a cob, but you looked like ya needed a mite of help."
"Well you've got brass coming back after--" The night sky was suddenly ripped by a monumental explosion as the wooden blockhouse ruptured in a yellow and blue flaming eruption.
"Wull I jess needed a little distraction ta git past the guard an someone for ta keep them fellers busy whilst I worked," Chigger told him while admiring a display of golden rings he wore upon all his fingers. "An' I must say, you two did a right nice job of it." He leveled a carbine at Buck and told him, "But it's over now an' I believe its time fer me ta skedaddle."
"You're still under arrest," Buck reminded him.
"Not when all your guns is empty," Chigger told him with a smug smile, "and mine's loaded."
#
"I'll-- ouch! I'll get you for this!" Buck railed while trying to look at Chigger around the cactus the little man had manacled him to.
"Easy, there Ranger, easy," Chigger chided. "Lily's got sensitive feelin's. Besides, I'm bettin you're gonna be busy fer the next few years."
"I will be," Buck promised, "Chasing you!"
"Mebbe, mebbe not." Chigger said with an impish grin.
"I had me a moment er two ta ransack that blockhouse before I busted open a keg of powder and set it up with a candle fuse ta blow up all their whiskey an ammunition." He considered the plethora of rings he carried on his fingers and selected a gold one with a diamond on it. "I figure ta leave ya with somethin' ta take yer mind off huntin' me." He appraised the ring carefully and then nodded to himself and pulled it off.
"Hsolda?" he called to the girl.
"What? No! You know what that means to a girl!" Buck protested.
"Hsolda," Chigger ignored Buck to present the ring to the scowling girl. "It's from him!" he said pointing a finger at the helpless Ranger. The girl put on the ring then ran over and clasped Buck's head-- which was all of him that she could move away from the cactus-- to her.
"What? No! Ouch! Hsolda watch the thorns!"
"You may even find out what she jabbers on about someday." Chigger said as he mounted his captured horse and kicked it to get it going. "I put the key ta them cuffs in yer saddle bags. I know you'll figure out how ta explain it to her-- eventually. So long, Ranger."
"I'll hunt you down like a dog!" Buck promised. "Ouch! No, Hsolda, no get the key! The key! It's in my saddle bags-- No, not a kiss, the key!"
---Fin