A week after Ludlow Dooley’s dramatic farewell to Elizabeth Spencer, the scout detachment’s train pulled into Orilla Vista, Texas. It was a small town a half mile north of the Rio Grande River. Although it had not suffered any attacks from the marauding bandidos, they were prepared for one. All the men on the street was heavily armed as they went about their business.
The citizens knew about the Indian soldiers who would be coming to fight against the raiders, and a small crowd gathered as the scout detachment led their horses off the train. A three-man reception committee made their way through the throng and walked up to where Hawkins and Ludlow waited for Sergeant Eagle Heart to form up the detachment.
The trio consisted of an army captain, a Texas Ranger sergeant, and the local sheriff Morley Tadwater. The captain, a tall officer named John Patterson, was stationed at nearby Fort Duncan. He had a canvas haversack over one shoulder, and he shook hands with Hawkins and Ludlow. “Welcome to Texas, gentlemen. We’ve been expecting you. I’m here to bring you up to date on the situation along the Rio Grande.”
“Are any troops from your garrison gonna lend us a hand?” Hawkins asked, noting the captain was an infantry officer.
Patterson shook his head. “We’re only a two-company post. And we’re foot soldiers. So you’re on your own except for Sergeant Buford here. He’s a Texas ranger and will accompany you on this mission.”
Buford was a tall rangy man with a weathered face and a tobacco-stained gigantic moustache under a hook nose. “Glad to know you fellers.”
“Likewise,” Hawkins said. “Will there be more rangers joining us?”
“Nope,” Buford said. “We’re stretched kinda thin down here. My cap’n could only spare one of us, and that was me.”
Ludlow was a bit confused. “The Texas Rangers are a constabulary, are they not?”
Buford shrugged. “I don’t know what that is.”
“A constabulary is an organization that conducts a combination of police and military duties.”
The ranger was thoughtful for a moment. “Well…I suppose that’s what we are. I’m a sergeant in Cap’n Wilson’s company. It’s part of the Frontier Battalion. I suppose that’s like the army, ain’t it?”
“Certainly,” Ludlow replied. “Don’t you wear uniforms?”
“Nope. We got badges. See?” Buford moved his vest aside displaying a circular device around a star. The word SERGEANT was stamped across the center of the insignia.
Hawkins didn’t care if the Texas Rangers were a constabulary, an army or a fire department. “But you do know the Rio Grande River area don’t you?”
“O’course,” Buford replied. “I was borned here in this part of Texas. And by the way, you don’t have to say Rio Grande River. Rio is Spanish for ‘river.’ Folks around here call it the Rio Grande plain and simple.”
Captain Patterson interjected, “I know Sergeant Buford quite well. He and his fellow rangers have served beside us on several occasions and I guarantee they’re all a first-rate bunch of fighters. And, best of all for you, Sergeant Buford speaks fluent Spanish.”
“Excellent,” Hawkins acknowledged.
That pleased Ludlow and he nodded to the ranger. “I studied Spanish at West Point. However, I’m far from being fluent. Perhaps I could practice what I know with you and broaden my knowledge.”
“Sure,” Buford replied. “The only thing is that I cain’t read the langridge. I learnt how to speak it growing up around Mexicanos.” He chuckled. “I ain’t exactly a champion reader of English neither.”
Patterson introduced the third man. “This is Sheriff Morley Tadwater the peace officer here in Orilla Verde.”
Hawkins was curious about the starpacker. “What’s your part in this campaign?”
“Not much at all,” the sheriff responded. “I organized a posse to keep a look out for bandidos. That’s about it.”
“Well, that’s hell of a lot better’n nothing,” Hawkins remarked.
Captain Patterson cast a glimpse toward the Indians. “Well, these are the first U.S. Scouts I’ve come in contact with. The telegram from Fort Sill informed us they were coming down here.” Then he did a double-take. “What kind of carbines are those?”
Ludlow replied, “Krag-Jorgensens. They’re new issue chambered for the army .30 caliber cartridge.”
“Interesting. What do you think of them?”
Hawkins shrugged. “We don’t know what to think. We’ve never used ’em in action.” He glanced at Jesse Buford. “What kind of long gun do you carry?”
“I tote a Winchester 73. In the Texas Rangers each feller uses what he likes best.”
“Mmm,” mused Hawkins. “I wish we could do that in the United States Army.” He took a deep breath. “Well, let’s get this show on the road. I’d like to be brought up on the latest information about those bandits.”
“Y’all can use my office,” the sheriff offered.
Hawkins ordered Sergeant Eagle Heart to move the scouts and horses to the shade behind the depot and stand fast. With that done, he and Ludlow went with the other three men to the sheriff’s office.
Tadwater proved to be a good host as he supplied coffee along with chairs for the exchange of information. After everyone settled down and the first swallows of the hot java were slurped, Captain Patterson opened the proceedings by reaching in the haversack and pulling out two maps. He gave a copy each to Hawkins and Ludlow.
The two officers unfolded the charts, noting the Rio Grande displayed with their area of operations stretched from the western edge of Texas to the Gulf of Mexico. Captain Patterson began his briefing by saying, “Our problem here is that there’ve been a half dozen or so raids by bandidos out of Mexico on small towns along the Rio Grande. We received various estimates from the victims about the number of attackers. They have ranged from a half dozen to twenty. Obviously the raids were confusing and frightening. There would be several quick volleys fired into the communities, then the bandits quickly withdrew.”
“Okay,” Hawkins said. “What’s the result of those attacks?”
“So far, some fifteen citizens were shot. Eight of them were killed.”
“Do the bandits rob banks or loot property?” Ludlow inquired.
Patterson shook his head. “That’s the rub. They just shoot the places up then make a gallop back across the river into Mexico.”
Ranger Sergeant Jesse Buford took a bite off a plug of tobacco. “I was surprised when I heard about that. It don’t make sense.”
“It certainly doesn’t,” Patterson agreed. “And the gangs are made up of both Mexican and Americans. At least some look like Americans. One man I talked to said he heard one of the Americans yelling out during a raid. The fellow was a freckled redhead, but he spoke perfect Spanish.”
Jesse shrugged. “He’s prob’ly lived along the border his whole life. That’s nothing unusual.”
“Let’s turn our attention back to the maps,” Patterson suggested. “There are three more towns that Sergeant Buford thinks will be hit next.”
“Right,” Jesse said. “I’m dang sure them son of a bitches is gonna raid Tobeyville, Rawlings and Sumter Landing. All of ’em are on the river. That’s make ’em easy pickings for the bandidos.”
“Right,” Hawkins remarked. “I have my lieutenant and six men with me. Along with Sergeant Buford here we’ll number nine guns. Right now I’m gonna concentrate on how to begin this mission. I gotta tell you I’m not sure where to start.”
“I got an idea,” Jesse said. “We’d prob’ly best go to the town that was raided first. That’d be Rosario ‘bout twenty miles from here.”
“Okay, we’ll head over there,” Hawkins said. “We’ll get our bearings, then begin doing what we gotta do.” He offered his hand to Captain Patterson. “Nice meeting you.”
“I wish my two companies could lend a hand,” Patterson said. “But we’re infantry. We have to walk wherever we go. We only have three horses at Fort Duncan. Two are for officers and the third is used by the dispatch rider.”
Ludlow Dooley remarked, “It looks like we’re going to be pretty much by ourselves along this river.”
Sergeant Jesse Buford chuckled. “You can count on that, young feller. A man never feels more lonely than when he’s out-numbered, out-gunned and a long way from home.”
“By the way,” Patterson said. “I have been ordered to emphasize that you will not, under any circumstances, cross the Rio Grande and enter the Mexican Republic. It is strictly forbidden.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Hawkins replied in a disinterested tone.
They walked out on the street and Buford got his horse at the hitching rack in front of the sheriff’s office. Then he, Hawkins, and Ludlow went back to the depot where Sergeant Eagle Heart was waiting. The noncommissioned officer had all the scouts ready to mount up and ride. Hawkins turned to the detachment.
“We have a twenty mile trip ahead of us. I want you all to mind your fields of fire in the column. I wish I could tell you who we’re fighting, but all the information we have is sketchy.” He turned to Eagle Heart. “Take over, Sergeant.”
Eagle Heart saluted. “Prepare to mount, mount! In a single column, forward at a walk, march!”
~*~
Captain Mack Hawkins decided to halt for the night after a couple of hours of travel. He didn’t want to arrive at the town of Rosario after sunset. It was a sure thing there would be some itchy trigger fingers among the community after being raided.
As soon as everyone settled in, Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf were assigned to a guard post within some brush on the north bank of the Rio Grande. The pair were good friends having been students at the agency school together. It had become a regular practice among their classmates to change their names to be more like those of whites. They weren’t ashamed of their heritage, it just made it easier to get along when dealing with reservation agents and army officers.
Charlie’s name had been Big Wolf, the same as his grandfather’s, who was once a respected warrior in the old days. The young man always liked the name “Charlie,” so he chose it, keeping “Wolf” as a surname for the same reason Michael retained “Strongbow.”
During the recruitment visit at the agency when Hawkins and Ludlow had chosen Michael for the detachment, Charlie had been away stalking antelope. It was something he enjoyed most and he was among the best of both Kiowa and Comanche hunters. He always took an extra horse or two to bring back his kills. As was typical with Indians, he shared the meat with both tribes at the agency.
Fortunately, he was at home when the latest recruiting effort to replace Corporal Running Cougar was made. The corporal had been killed in an attack by Apaches in the Arizona Territory. Charlie was chosen for the job after a routine interview by Captain Hawkins and Lieutenant Dooley. It was quiet an honor for Charlie as a Comanche, since he was taking the place of a fellow tribesman who died in battle.
Now, concealed behind a stand of blue sage, the two young Indian men gazed across the waterway of the Rio Grande into Mexico. They were eager for whatever adventures lay ahead for them along this international border.