FEBRUARY 9TH, 1871
John rode up to the small stage hotel at just after sunrise. It was the first stop for the stagecoach according to the ticket clerk in Brownsville. The place looked deserted or like everyone was still asleep, but he heard voices coming from the livery just next door. He wanted to get directions to where the next stop would be. He had already resigned himself to the fact that he may have to make the six or seven day drive to Kansas to catch her, but the longer he chased her, the more he found that he wanted to catch her.
When he got to the livery he saw eight or ten men. They all wore tall boots and black hats and silver badges. Texas Rangers, he thought. One of the rangers looked up at him as he sat on his horse near the open stables. “You here to volunteer?” he said.
“What am I volunteering for?” John asked, curious to know what was going on.
“To catch up with some Indians on the rampage.” John’s stomach suddenly lurched.
“They’re close by?” John asked him.
“Last we saw them they killed a couple of women about thirty-miles from here.” The kid must have noticed the sick look on John’s face. He said, “You’re not here to volunteer are you?”
“No.” John said. “Were you around here yesterday?”
“Yes, why?” the young man asked, suspiciously now.
“Did the stagecoach out of Brownsville stop here last night?” John asked him.
“Yeah, our Captain got off of it.” the kid said.
“Can I speak to him?” John asked. “Please, it’s important.”
“Cap’n Grant!” the other man yelled. “This guy over here wants to talk to ya.” John watched as a tall man with long dark hair and a sorely unshaven face came his way. He didn’t look to be in a very good mood either.
“Yeah, what is it?” the guy said, obviously harried.
“My name is John Hartwell. I was hoping if you could tell me where the stagecoach you got off of last night may be stopping next. My…Intended was on it.” That was the first time he had referred to Becky as anything in relation to him. He found that he actually liked the sound of it. He also found that it made him even more desperate to make sure that she was safe.
“There will be another one just before they get to Red River….If they make it that far.” The man didn’t look like he thought they would, but after he’d said that, he turned to go back to what he was doing.
“Wait!” John said, not caring that the man wore a badge. “What do you mean by that?” The other man spun around on the heel of his boot and said,
“I don’t have time for this. Whoever you’re chasing on that stage is in the middle of the territory where the Comanche’s were seen headed last. I’m trying to get my men and myself on the trail so we can hopefully catch up with them before they’re all dead, or worse.”
“I’m chasing a lady, my lady. Her name is Becky and if you were on that stage with her you know that she’s more vulnerable than most. She won’t be safe with a bunch of savages. Please, let me go with you. I won’t get in the way. I’m sure one more gun would help, right?” Something in the man’s eyes changed when John mentioned Becky.
He turned his back to John but he said,
“I’m not going to refuse help, but I won’t tolerate interference. If you get in my way, I leave you on the side of the trail, without your horse.” he walked away then. John didn’t plan on getting in the way; he planned on finding Becky…Alive.
**********
Becky had been dragged to a horse and thrown on behind the grinning Indian. She wondered what it was that amused him so. Was this fun to him? If that was so, then she was probably in a lot of trouble. They rode so long that she either drifted in and out of consciousness, or faded in and out of sleep along the way, but eventually they stopped. The sun was just beginning to rise and from her sideways pose on the horse, Becky could see a farmhouse with tiny little windows glinting in the rising sun. “God in Heaven, please don’t let them hurt these innocent people.” she prayed silently.
The happy Indian, who obviously had no regard for her safety, pushed her off the horse so that he could dismount. She felt her lip split that time when she hit the ground. From her vantage point now in the dirt she saw four or five Indians advancing on the house with rifles and knives drawn. One of them looked in the square window on front of the wooden house and then motioned to the others. Becky could feel the tears spilling down her face mixing with the dirt and making mud as she watched them go into the house. She heard blood-curdling screams, two or three shots and then dead silence once again. She thought about trying to crawl away, but there was nowhere to go and her useless legs would just weigh her down. She lay there, helpless until the big Indian who was still smiling, maybe even a bit broader now, came and retrieved her. This time instead of dragging her he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He carried her to the house. Becky preferred the dirt to the feel of this man’s naked shoulder and back against her.
When they got inside the house she saw that there were eight of them all together counting the one holding her. They wore buckskin pants and tall boots….Almost just like the one the Texas Ranger Ernie had been wearing. She wished again that he had been the one on the stage with them instead of the doctor. She was sure he would have saved her, or maybe she was just romanticizing it a bit.
The Indians' hair was long and they wore it parted down the middle and tied on the sides. They didn’t wear shirts, but a few of them wore a belt of some type across their chest filled with bullets and they all had knives stuck in the front of their pants. One of them had sat an axe down on the table about three feet away from Becky, and she wondered what her odds were of burying it in the skull of the smiley one if he tried touching her. He suddenly seemed to remember she was still over his shoulder and carried her into the other room.
She could hear the others talking, sometimes in English, but mostly in their native tongue as he dumped her down on the bed. She was more afraid of him raping her than she was of dying. He grabbed the front of her already torn dress and ripped it off, leaving her in only her slip and pantaloons. He smirked, she thought maybe at the wasted condition of her legs, but she wasn’t really sure with this one. He used a piece of leather he carried on his belt to tie her hands above her head to the bed. He then lifted and dropped each one of her legs as if testing them. She wished so bad they worked she wanted to kick him in his smile. She realized as he walked away that she had been holding her breath. She had no doubt he would be back, but at least she had a reprieve…For now.
Becky didn’t utter a sound, or move a muscle, in hopes that if she lay still and silent they would forget she was there. The bloody corpse of who she assumed was the owner of the property was splayed against the far wall of the bedroom. His eyes were still open in witness to the invasion of his home. The wife lay not far from him and it looked like their hands were reaching out to each other. She had a bullet hole in her back and one in her head. She imagined that they were still in bed when the intruders came in; snuggling under the covers in each other’s loving arms. She hoped they were at least together now in Heaven, free of all earthly pain. Becky also thanked God that they hadn’t had any children in the house. No child should ever experience something like this. That brought tears to her eyes, thinking about children. She wanted children so badly…The doctor had told her she shouldn’t have a problem conceiving. She looked at the dead woman again. She almost envied her because each time she tried to figure out why they had killed everyone else and kept her alive….All she could imagine was horrors.
**********
John could see the horror displayed before them next to the trail, but he didn’t want to believe it. If Becky was hurt, or dead in that sideways stagecoach that he saw lying next to the trail up ahead…He was entirely to blame. He pushed her away when he should have asked her to stay. This was all his fault, whatever happened to her. He realized as they approached it that he was holding his breath. He could see a dead man with a grizzly white beard who he assumed was the driver. He slid off his horse and started towards the scene, but was stopped by the raised back hand of Captain Ernie Grant.
“Stay here.” Grant told him. John didn’t want to end up left alongside the trail without his horse, which was what Grant threatened to do if he interfered, so he did what he was told. He had no doubt the man had meant what he said. He watched Captain Grant take a look at the dead man that John could see. He was covered with dust so John was assuming this had all happened the night before. If he had only made it to that first stop when she was still there. If he hadn’t stopped at the ranch first….
“This one was the driver.” Ernie said, crossing the man’s arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
“I got the shotgun rider over here.” another one of the Rangers said.
“Got a man and a woman over here!” another one of them yelled. John was afraid that he was going to throw up when he heard that. Grant seemed to be taking his sweet time examining everything and everyone as far as John was concerned, and he was about to take his chances on losing his horse when he heard Grant holler,
“Hartwell!” John followed the sound of his voice around the side of the stage. The smell of death hung heavy in the air and the buzzards stood close by, waiting for the living humans to finish their business and leave. John could see the older man that Grant knelt next to in what looked to be an expensive gray suit lying on his side. He had a knife jutting from his chest. The woman who lay next to him had her back to him. He was sure that it wasn’t Becky. The woman was too big. But he had to look all the same. He circled around the dead man and knew at once he would have to ask God to forgive him. He was happy that it wasn’t Becky. So much so that he’d forgotten to feel compassion for the woman it had been. Then he had a sudden, terrifying thought…If she wasn’t here, dead with the rest of them, she had been taken by men who were savage enough to do this. What else were they savage enough to do?
“Was this everyone on the stage…Except for Becky?” he asked Captain Grant. The man was still kneeling next to the man in the gray suit.
He closed his eyes and crossed his arms too, and then he said,
“I warned you doctor.” He stood up then and looked at John. “Yes, this was everyone. Rangers!” he yelled then to his men. All eight of the others came forward. “This was Big Oak. It was only a few hours ago that they were here so hopefully if we ride like the devil is chasing us, we can catch them. I need a couple of volunteers to bury these bodies.”
None of the men looked like they wanted to be left behind. As bad as it would be to leave a body on the side of the trail, the atrocities that the men they chased were responsible were calling out to them to be avenged.
Finally the Captain said,
“Bob and Ned, bury them and then catch up. Make sure they’re deep enough that the predators can’t get to them.” then he looked at John and said, “I’ll be praying along with you that the girl is still alive. When we find her, Mr. Hartwell, don’t make the mistake of letting her go again.” John wondered what it was about Becky that had made such an impression on this man in such a short time.
The Captain mounted his horse then and not bothering to wait for the others he left in a hard gallop. John and the others mounted their horses and rode hard after him. There was a young man and a very large older man riding close to John.
He heard the younger one say,
“Hey Mack, these Comanche’s we’re chasin’…they’re the ones who killed the Captain's…”
“Yes.” the man named Mack cut him off. John didn’t know who they killed but at least he knew if it was personal that the Captain wasn’t likely to give up until they found them….And God willing, Becky. “Don’t talk about it in front of the Captain Lloyd. He hasn’t made peace with it.”
“I don’t know how he ever could.” Lloyd said. “He sure is riding hard, though. We’re gonna run our horses down.”
Mack kicked his mount and yelled back at the youngster over his shoulder, “Quit talkin’ and ride!”
Captain Grant was following tracks that made their way across the slanting hills. They followed them, stopping only once to water the horses until the sun had begun to dip down behind the mountains. They had been riding for close to twelve hours all-together. They and their horses were beat. Grant suddenly reined his horse in and held up his hand. The others all stopped and waited for his command.
“Dismount everyone.” he said. “Lloyd, Jake! Tie up the horses back near those trees we just passed.” John stood near his horse wondering what it was the Captain could see.
When the men were all gathered except the two taking care of the horses, Grant said,
“The tracks lead right up to that farmhouse over yonder.” John looked around. He couldn’t see any farmhouse, but he had come in the short time he’d known him to not doubt what the Captain said. None of the other men seemed to either. Grant pulled a pair of binoculars out of his pack and moved up to the edge of one of the hills. Lying down, he put the binoculars to his eyes. The other men moved closer and then John could see it. It was a simple little house at the bottom of the hill. It was built of logs the owners had likely cut themselves. It had newly planted corn on each side of the long dirt road that approached it and a small barn on the north side.
Grant watched the house for what seemed like an eternity and then, turning his eyes from the lenses, he said, “They’re there.”
“How many, boss?” the man named Mack asked him.
Ernie put the binoculars back to his face and said, “Four, five…seven…eight, mounts tied up around the house. There’s a stallion with a green mark on his neck.”
“All right then.” Mack said.
“All right then.” the Captain repeated. “Get the men ready, Mack.”
John watched as the big ranger gathered the other men and with a large knife he pulled from his belt, he began to draw plans in the dirt. It only took a couple of minutes. When he finished, Mack looked at John and asked Captain Grant, “What about him?”
Grant looked at John. John had no way of knowing, but the other man was remembering a time when Big Oak had another woman prisoner…And a little boy. He wasn’t there to help her, and he wouldn’t forgive himself until the day he died for that.
“If he wants to go in, give him a job to do.” Grant said. “Just remember, Hartwell, don’t get in the way.”
The big man went over John’s plan with him, including the other men once more. Then he said, “This all sound okay, Cap’n?” Ernie Grant was no longer on the ground with the binoculars and a trail of dust had suddenly appeared on the way down the hill in the dim light of dusk between them and the farmhouse.
“Damn!” Mack said, “Mount up!”
John ran with the other men to his horse. After untying it, he placed his hand on the saddle horn and swung himself up in one smooth motion. He rode hard with the rest of them, following Captain Grant’s dust. The Captain was a good hundred yards ahead of the rest of them and their horses were exhausted. It seemed to John like Grant was spurring his horse on, trying to get there ahead of the rest of them. John didn’t know what demons chased the other man, but he did know that if Becky was in that house, that was where he needed to be too. He stuck his spur in his mount's side as he approached the fence, causing the horse to leap over it so that he could cut across the cornfield. He felt the whoosh of air as Mack’s horse came behind him. John could see the man’s face as his horse came up next to him. He knew his Captain would be a dead man before they got there if he went in alone. No matter how good he was with a gun, or how tough he may be, one gun against eight was impossible odds. As much as John regretted that, he hoped that if Becky were still alive, she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. The Rangers were all pulling out their weapons as they neared the house.
John got his ready too. He saw the Captain jump from his horse while it was still at a gallop and hit the ground running. The Captain cocked back the hammers of his shotgun and rushed the door of the homestead. A confused looking Comanche stepped out of the doorway just as the Captain was about to hit it. He didn’t have time to react before the load of buckshot hit him in the belly, leaving him torn and slumped in the doorway. John was jumping off his horse next to Mack as they saw Ernie vault over the dead Indian and disappear into the house. They heard two more gunshots before they made it inside.
When John jumped over the dead buck in the doorway and surveyed the scene in the farmhouse, his first thought was that Becky couldn’t still be alive. The Captain had already killed two others and was struggling on the floor with a third. Mack saw movement from the other room that John assumed was the bedroom. He motioned to John to get down and he let loose a shot from his double-barreled shot-gun that tore through the wall and into the chest of another young Indian. Two more scrambled out then, running for the door. John got off a shot at one of them, the other got out the front door. He wasn’t going far though; they heard a shot and knew he was gone.
The Captain was still struggling on the floor with the other Indian. Neither John nor Mack could get a clear shot to help him. John wanted to get in the other room and see if Becky was here. He looked at Mack and the big man nodded, still covering his friend on the floor. Captain Grant had his pearl-handled colt out now and he and the Indian were grappling for it. A shot rang out from the floor and John turned around. It looked like the Indian had been caught in the arm. As he continued on, he heard two more shots and only hoped it was the Indian, and not the Captain. When he stepped into the bedroom, the first thing he saw was the bodies of the man and woman.
Then he heard a beautiful sound,
“John!” he turned towards the bed and saw Becky. She was in her petticoat and her hands were tied to the bed. Her lips were bleeding and her face was covered with dust and the trails of tears…But she was alive.
“Oh thank God.” he said. He ran over to her and taking out his knife he began cutting her binds. Suddenly she screamed….
“John! Look-out!” He turned in time to put a bullet in the chest of the Indian that was about to slit his throat. He finished cutting Becky loose and when he lifted her up, she melted into his arms in a torrent of tears that she had been holding back.
It had gotten quiet in the other room, and neither of them knew if that was good or bad. After a few minutes. John and Becky heard men moving around and Mack stuck his head in the door and said, “I think we got ‘em all.”
“How many?” Becky asked him.
“Seven total.” he said. “Counting that one at your boyfriend’s feet.”
“There were eight.” she said. “Did you get the one with the green mark on his neck, the one who is always smiling?” Ernie Grant appeared in the doorway then. He was covered with blood, but John was sure it wasn’t his.
“Big Oak.” Captain Grant said. He looked at Mack and said, “Son of a Bitch got away.”
“He was just here, right before you came in, Ernie.” Becky said.
The Captain nodded at her and took off. Mack went after him. John wrapped Becky in a tight hug again and after a minute she said,
“What are you doing here?”
John laughed through the tears in his eyes and said,
“I’m sorry. Did you want me to go?”
Becky laughed too through her own tears and said, “I mean…You know what I mean.”
“I went after you…Too late. I’m so sorry.”
“For rescuing me?” she said.
“No.” he told her as he wrapped her in another hug. “For not keeping you in the first place.”