The one characteristic that hampered the Indians most in their fight against the United States Army was their marked lack of discipline. They were warriors not soldiers, and had a very loose chain of command that they only obeyed when the mood suited them. Many times, when engaged in battle, they became individualistic, losing all concept of mission accomplishment. Instead, their ingrained fighting spirit caused them to seek personal glory; such as counting coup. This was done by physically touching one of the enemy during close encounters, but did little to affect the results of battle. Now in the yard of that cattle ranch they could celebrate, believing they would soon see thousands of ghost warriors brought back to life.
The cowboys’ wives had endured gang rapes by one warrior after the other, and now lay dead. With sexual desires satiated, the Apaches had bludgeoned the women with their rifle butts. Now the war party was looting buildings and setting fires. Some even put on women’s dresses and danced around while their tribesmen laughed and whooped.
Then the men of the Cuadrilla found the whiskey in the storehouse.
Now with a liquor supply within reach and the imminent massacre of all whites not long off, the Guerras fighters lost control. Halkon and Kuchiyo made no attempt to stop the drunken celebration. The two senior warriors drank no liquor, wanting to be sober when the ghost warriors appeared.
Dennis O’Rourke and Sheriff Dan Martin were back on Main Street after being completely exasperated by the rambling, weeping hysterics of Hezekiah and Leo. People were milling around, talking and gesturing, while a few were still praying for mercy and forgiveness from their God.
The crowd became even more emotional when Hawkins and Ludlow rode into town with the scouts. Most were relieved by the sight, thinking the detachment had something to do with the shooting. But that outlook faded away when Hawkins and Ludlow dismounted and began an urgent conversation with Marshal O’Rourke and Sheriff Martin. It was now obvious to the gawkers that something sinister was going on.
Then flames suddenly appeared on the northern horizon.
During the last Apache uprising the town was only attacked once. The Indians couldn’t penetrate the heavy defenses thrown up by the heavily armed population. This forced them to turn their attention to making numerous raids on outlying ranches and farms.
“That’s Arlo Wheatfall’s place yelled!” somebody yelled.
Immediately all the men in the crowd headed for home to grab guns and bring their families to the buildings on Main Street as they had in the past. It was painfully obvious that the Guerras Apaches had gone on the warpath once more.
Sheriff Martin grabbed Deputy Schmidt’s arm. “Get down to the depot and tell Zeke Mason to telegraph Fort Stryker for help.”
Hawkins quickly ordered the scouts to take their horses and secure them inside the livery. Sergeant Eagle Heart set the order into motion, and led his charges to the stables. With that done, they formed up and followed Ludlow to the north side of town to set up a preliminary line of defense.
In the meantime, Arnie Schmidt galloped south on the road toward the depot. He had just reached a point where he saw the roof of the building, when a well-aimed bullet from Pontaro hit him in the chest. Arnie somersaulted over his horse’s back and crashed to the ground.
The sounds of the shooting at Arlo’s ranch had been faint at the railroad tracks, but the keen ears of Pontaro and his small band heard it plainly. Now, with an obvious attempt by the whites to telegraph for help, the warriors rushed back to their horses. They leaped into buckskin saddles, ready to attack the town in accordance with Halkon’s plan.
With Pontaro in the lead they rode hell bent toward Hope Wells. Their intentions were to draw off some of the defenders who would be firing at Halkon and his war party when they charged into the town on the other side.
The scene in Hope Wells could best be described as organized chaos. Old emergency routines were in full swing as women and children were herded into the sturdier buildings in the business district. Meanwhile, the males of town set up a solid defense to the north, filling in the gaps between Hawkins’ scouts. A smaller group of men was situated on the south road to keep watch and wait for Deputy Arnie Schmidt to return from the train depot.
When this weak line of defense spotted the Apaches charging at them from the railroad, they immediately opened fire. The shooting was heard in town, and Hawkins ordered Ludlow to take Corporal Tall Bear, Swift Horse and Michael Strongbow to bolster the southern defenses.
The lieutenant and three scouts found cover in the brush at the side of the road, and began firing at the attackers. The swift volleys of the Winchester 73s immediately knocked three Apaches from their horses. Pontaro instinctively knew something had gone awry with Halkon’s plans and signaled a quick withdrawal. The surviving Apaches turned back toward the depot.
Ludlow and Corporal Tall Bear trotted out into the road to fire at the fleeing warriors. When the attackers drew out of range, the lieutenant and scouts turned their attention to the three dead Guerras. The corporal bent down and picked up one of their rifles.
“Look, Lut’nant! These not carbines. They be rifles that shoot many bullets.”
Ludlow picked one up. “Henry rifles! C’mon, let’s get back to the captain.”
He told the civilian gunmen at the site to stay on the alert, promising he’d send reinforcements. The scouts each picked up a Henry rifle, and Ludlow led them back toward the business district.
Pontaro led his band eastward, then turned north and headed toward Wheatfall’s property. They rode hard and fast, crossing a portion of the Tierra Brava, then swinging back east toward the ranch. Within fifteen minutes they could see the flames and smoke, then pressed on until reaching the ranch yard.
Halkon and Kuchiyo emitted loud and long war whoops. They thought the arrivals were risen warriors. Then the pair sighted Pontaro as the group came to a halt. Halkon was angry. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to keep the whites pinned in on the south.”
Pontaro leaped down from his horse, so furious he could barely contain himself. “And you are supposed to be attacking on the north side.” He looked around. “Is everybody drunk?”
“Yes,” Kuchiyo said. “We are waiting for our ghost warriors to appear so that we may begin killing whites.”
“Brothers!” Pontaro growled. “We saw no ghost warriors anywhere. When we attacked the town, the whites drove us back. You have given them time to prepare a defense.”
The two war leaders were stunned and embarrassed. Halkon said, “I think we better gather up everyone and attack the town.”
“They are all drunk!” Pontaro bellowed. “How can they fight?”
“They can fight!” Kuchiyo insisted. “You must keep in mind this is a battle with the Great Life Giver on our side. The ghost warriors will soon appear and we can make the world our own again.”
Pontaro calmed down a bit. “All right. I will lead my band and attack the town. You make everybody sober with big medicine from the Great Life Giver and follow us when everybody is ready.”
Halkon and Kuchiyo, confident of help from the Apaches’ most powerful deity, turned to prepare their men for battle.