Another raid by the enigmatic bandits on a small town had occurred. The target was an unnamed farming community located on a tributary creek that flowed into the Rio Grande. This time the raiders rode directly into the town in the middle of the night, shooting right and left into buildings, before returning to Mexico immediately after the short incursion.
Captain Mack Hawkins heard about the incident while on patrol along the river bank from a traveling preacher on his way to his next church. The location was only five miles away, and Hawkins wasted no time in heading to the scene of the assault.
The townspeople were happily surprised to see the detachment. There was some concern about the scouts, but Ludlow did his usual thorough explanation about the Indians being enlisted in the U.S. Army.
When both Hawkins and Jesse Buford made inquires about the raid, none of the citizens could give them much information. According to the local blacksmith, the bandits were only in the town for ten or so minutes. None of the citizens were harmed since all were in their beds, but most had been frightened out of their wits.
An irate old timer snarled, “Cain’t y’all catch them damn Mezkins? It ain’t gonna be long before they kill somebody.”
Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley, deciding not to reveal the deaths that had already occurred, put on his diplomatic hat. “I understand your frustration, sir, but it is hard for a single detachment to patrol the hundreds of miles along the Rio Grande.”
The old timer snarled again. “Y’all got a Texas Ranger with you, ain’t you? Turn him aloose on them bandidos.”
Ranger Sergeant Jesse Buford patted the galoot on the shoulder. “It ain’t that cut and dried, old timer. We’re packing ten pounds of trouble into a one pound poke. The young lieutenant is right. We’re doing our godamndest!”
“Well,” the oldster conceded. “I reckon you are at that.” But the two army officers and the ranger could see the man was still frustrated.
Hawkins, sinking into a mood of his own aggravation, led the detachment out of the town to renew their patrol.
Unknown to the captain, the inspector general of the Military Department of the Gulf had traveled to Fort Duncan near the town of Orilla Vista. This was the same community where the scout detachment had arrived to begin the deployment.
The officer, a stern major by the name of Thornton, wanted to meet with Captain Hawkins to discuss the raids and his actions involving the outrages. Since the inspector general had no idea where the Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment might be, he sent out a barrage of telegrams to every town along the Rio Grande ordering the unit to return to Fort Duncan.
Hawkins was finally given a telegram shortly after arriving in the town of Rosario. That was the first place raided by the bandits and Ludlow suggested they visit the community since it might have been attacked again. The local sheriff informed them they had been left in peace, then told the captain a telegram had arrived for him.
Hawkins read it, then glanced at Ludlow and Jesse. “It looks like a higher echelon is sticking its nose into this bullshit expedition we’re on.”
“I suggest we immediately head to Fort Duncan, sir,” Ludlow advised. “Perhaps we’ll be given some efficacious assistance.”
Hawkins stared at his second-in-command. “Well now, Mr. Dooley, I’d be happy to follow your advice as soon as you explain ‘efficacious’ to me.”
Jesse Buford interjected, “What he’s saying is we should get over to Fort Duncan damn quick on account of there could be some right helpful assistance give to us.”
Hawkins gave the Texas ranger a look of pure puzzlement. “You understood that?”
“Yep. Not the words exactly. But I could tell what he meant.”
“All right then,” Hawkins said. “Let’s get underway immediately if not sooner.”
~*~
It was twenty-four hours later before the detachment arrived at Fort Duncan to meet with the staff officer. Hawkins, Ludlow and Jesse went directly to post headquarters while Sergeant Eagle Heart took the scouts over to the post trader’s store. The eats they had purchased at Fort Lone Wolf had run out three days before and it was time for a replenishment. The Indians experienced a bit of trouble when they first entered the store. The trader was unaware of the U.S. Scouts and was dismayed by the sight of Indians in uniform. However, since Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf spoke perfect English and did not sport braids like their comrades-in-arms, they were able to straighten things out so that purchases could be made.
The reception Hawkins, Ludlow and Jesse received at headquarters was just as unfriendly. Major Benjamin Thornton was in a bad mood after waiting almost two weeks for an answer to his telegrams. He took over the fort commander’s office, sitting down behind the man’s desk. He did not invite his three guests to take seats as he opened the proceedings.
“The Army has been receiving complaints from a senator and several congressmen about this situation along the Rio Grande River,” he snapped. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” Hawkins began in a strained tone of voice, “is that we don’t have a crystal ball.”
Thornton glared at him. “Don’t you get sarcastic with me, Captain!”
“What I mean, sir, is that we have no way of finding out where the bandits plan to strike next. The bastards hide out over there in Mexico between attacks, so we can’t locate them. I figure they always know our exact location along the Rio Grande, then raid a town far away.”
“Then you must develop a method of finding them,” Thornton snapped. “Concentrate on the circumstances and put yourself in the bandits’ shoes. Surely you can do that. After all you’ve been down here for awhile.”
Ludlow spoke up. “There are no similarities in their targets, sir. This last attack was on a little farming settlement that didn’t even have a name. And all they did was show up in the middle of the night, fire a few shots then gallop back to Mexico.”
Thornton snorted. “Maybe they don’t go back to Mexico. Did that ever occur to you?”
“Of course they go back to Mexico, godamn it!” Hawkins snarled. “We’ve found places where they enter the river to the American side and cross back to the Mexican side.”
“You watch your choice of words with me, Captain or I’ll bring up you up on charges of insubordination.”
Ludlow quickly spoke up again, fearing that Hawkins would go berserk. “There are a lot of unanswered questions about the bandits. For example, we’ve discovered they all carry the same sort of rifles. They are European military rifles. In places where they’ve lain in ambush we’ve discovered eight-millimeter cartridge casings. And that’s the only kind of weapon indicated.”
Now Sergeant Jesse Buford entered the conversation. “I’m a Texas Ranger. And it’s been my experience that outlaws all carry differ’nt sorts of shooting irons. There’s something about this bunch that don’t add up. And get this. They ain’t stole a godamn thing during these raids. Now what d’you have to say about that, bud?”
Thornton growled, “Don’t you call me ‘bud!’”
Jesse leaned on the desk, glaring at the man. “I’m just about to call you a hell of a lot worser than that…bud.”
By now Hawkins had settled down. “There’s only one way we can put an end to all this. We’ve got to cross the border into Mexico and trail them to their hideout. I can guarantee you we’ll put ’em out of business, sir.”
“You will not—not—NOT—enter the sovereign territory of the Mexican Republic, Captain. So just put that tactic out of your mind.”
“Sir,” Hawkins said, “our mission here should be canceled. We can’t accomplish a godamn thing. So you might as well send us back to Fort Lone Wolf.”
“Your attitude is close to seditious, Captain! Here are the only orders I’ll give you. Stay here and wipe out that gang. That’s all they are! A godamn gang. My God! They’re a bunch of stupid Mexican peasants who’ve gone bad. Can’t you handle that?”
“I’ve nothing more to say,” Hawkins stated.
“Then you are dismissed to follow these latest orders,” Thornton said. “And since I’ll be staying here at Fort Duncan, I want you to send daily telegrams to me to report your activities and locations.”
Hawkins and Ludlow saluted, then made an about face. Jesse grinned at the major. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, bud?”
The three left the office.
~*~
Now, at a small bivouac set up in the early evening at the edge of Fort Duncan, Mack Hawkins, Ludlow Dooley, Eagle Heart and Jesse Buford, sat around a small campfire, grousing among themselves about the lack of information or meaningful support provided by the Gulf Military Department.
“We can only do our very best,” Ludlow said.
Eagle Heart spoke with the wisdom and logic of an Indian warrior. “Not hard to figger out. We got to follow trail and attack the village of bandits down there. Is only way to stop ’em. Got to kill ’em down there.” He pointed southward.
“We can’t,” Ludlow explained. “You remember what Captain Patterson told us when we first got here. Well, we just heard the same thing from that major.”
Eagle Heart snorted. “I not care.”
Ludlow was adamant. “We have to obey orders, Sergeant. Remember you’re a noncommissioned officer in the United States Army.”
“Mmf!” Eagle Heart snorted again. “Sometime I wonder how Army beat my tribe and the Comanche tribe.”
“We starved ’em,” Captain Mack Hawkins said. “We destroyed their encampments and burned their belongings. The tribes didn’t have any choice but to move onto the agency.”
“Mmf!” Eagle Heart repeated for the third time. “Good thing for you Kiowas and Comanches not live in Mexico, eh?”