Captain Mack Hawkins, comfortably bivouacked on the Fort Duncan military reservation, was extremely irritated when his afternoon nap was interrupted. The source of this disturbance was the arrival of a messenger from the garrison headquarters. Ludlow Dooley shook the captain awake to announce the soldier’s presence.
Hawkins, lying on a pallet made up of a shelter half and blanket, opened his eyes. He scowled ferociously at his second-in-command, growling, “What the hell do you want, Mr. Dooley?”
“A telegram has arrived, sir,” Ludlow replied, indicating the soldier with a nod of his head.
The courier, more than a little nervous about disturbing the captain, handed over the missive, saluted, then made a quick withdrawal.
Hawkins sat up and opened the envelope. After reading the contents, he handed it back to Ludlow. “See what you think of this.”
Ludlow scanned the lines. “It doesn’t make sense, sir. It says that a steamboat blew up near Sumter Landing and we’re supposed to go investigate the incident.”
Hawkins yelled, “I know what the godamn thing says, Mr. Dooley!” He took a deep breath. “Tell me, Lieutenant, what is your opinion of the reason behind us being ordered to check out a riverboat accident?”
Ludlow, wanting to turn the irate captain’s attention away from himself, handed the telegram to Jesse Buford who had just walked up. The Texas ranger perused the short message. “It don’t make a bit of sense to me.”
“Oh, well, shit!” Hawkins groaned, getting to his feet. “Orders are orders.” He looked over to where the scouts were lounging. “Sergeant Eagle Heart! Prepare the detachment for immediate departure!”
The Kiowa noncommissioned officer sensed the urgent anger in his commander’s voice, and immediately alerted the scouts. The Indians quickly turned to their weapons and gear which were always in readiness.
~*~
It took two days for the Kiowa-Comanche Scout Detachment to reach Sumter Landing. When the group arrived, they were met by Tommy Joe Klugg, the proprietor of the steamboat and mule train enterprise. He had been supervising repairs on the warehouse. “Glad to see you, Cap’n Hawkins.”
The captain’s irritability had not faded an iota. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, Klugg. Maybe you could enlighten me.” He glanced at the crowd now gathering around. “Those folks look like they’ve lost their best friends.”
“They lost more’n that,” Klugg replied. “They’re upset about losing their livelihoods when the steamboat exploded.” He indicated the warehouse with a sweep of his hand. “As you can see, we’ve only got the depot partly rebuilt. Now, with no boat to ship goods between El Paso and Sumter Landing, there ain’t no chance of raising enough funds to keep the business going.”
“That’s too bad,” Hawkins said. “But I still—“
Klugg interrupted. “I tried to borry money from the bank in Casa Grande but they turned me down. I ain’t got enough collateral since ever’thing I own is either burned up or blowed up. And even if I could get enough money to buy another boat there ain’t nothing available. Building a new one along with the repairs on the warehouse is out of the question.”
Ludlow felt it was time he entered the conversation. “We’re truly sorry for your loss, Mr. Klugg. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Hell!” Klugg said. “I know that. When we heard the explosion, we went down the river to see what happened. The boat was blowed apart and there was bodies of the crew floating in the river.”
Ludlow shrugged. “That’s a tragedy all right, Mr. Klugg. But we’re still unable to help in any way.”
Klugg replied, “After we pulled the dead fellers out of the river we could see that ever’ single damn one had been shot. They wasn’t drowned, they was shot dead!”
Now Hawkins, Ludlow and Jesse knew what was behind the orders that sent them there. “Damn!” the captain swore. “Those Mexican bandits have been at it again.”
“If’n you want to take a look where it all happened, head westerly down the river, Cap’n.”
“Will do, Mr. Klugg.”
Hawkins led his command on the half hour ride to the site of the disaster. When they reached the location, there were still bits of charred and shattered wood along the banks of the river. A lone smoke stack stuck up out of the water while it’s partner was up against the bank on the opposite side.
Jesse Buford let out a low whistle. “The boat was sure as hell blowed apart, wasn’t it?”
Ludlow was puzzled. “I can’t quite grasp what could have happened. What made the engine explode? Did the bandits kill the crew then come on board to turn the steam up?”
Hawkins was thoughtful for a moment. “They prob’ly shot holes in the damn engine.”
“That wouldn’t have caused an explosion,” Ludlow argued. “That’d make the steam spew out, lowering the pressure in the boiler.”
Hawkins chuckled. “Are steam engines another part of you extensive knowledge, Mr. Dooley?”
Ludlow nodded affirmatively. “They were part of our engineer curriculum at West Point, sir. It appears to me that the working gear was somehow jammed.”
Jesse studied the ground around them. “There’s signs of folks being here, but that’s prob’ly the ones from Sumter Landing who fetched out the dead.”
“Well, we’ve got Michael Strongbow and Charlie Wolf,” Hawkins said. “Let’s have ’em swim over to the Mexican side and see what they can find.”
“I’ll pass the word to Sergeant Eagle Heart, sir,” Ludlow remarked.
Michael and Charlie were enthusiastic about being able to go for a refreshing dip. The youngsters stripped down to their underwear, and waded into the water. After arriving on the far bank, they climbed out and began searching the vicinity.
Everybody sat their horses, watching the two bending over and picking up a few things. After fifteen minutes, they re-entered the river and swam back. Both walked up to Captain Hawkins, holding out their hands.
“Spent cartridge brass, sir,” Michael informed the officer. “It’s the same eight-millimeter we’ve found before.”
Charlie spoke up. “And there was sign of a dozen or so fellers and their horses. They’re the same bunch we been tracking, that’s for damn sure.”
Captain Hawkins raised his eyes and glared across the Rio Grande into Mexico. “God! I wish like hell I could go over there and run down those son of a bitches!”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch them on this side of the Rio Grande,” Ludlow surmised.
Ranger Jesse Buford spat a stream of tobacco. “You gotta make your own luck in the border country, Ludlow.”
Hawkins, still gazing southward, said, “I’ve always made my own luck.”
Ludlow grimaced. He sensed Captain Mack Hawkins was closer to a frame of mind that would end in outright disobedience.