Chapter Twelve
Buttons Muldoon had decided to take the route to Austin that had been mapped by Captain William O’Connel of the 4th Cavalry in the spring of 1869. The trail had good grass and water, and Buttons intended to ford the San Saba River by sundown, a distance of ninety miles southeast of Fort Concho, and spend the night at Kline’s Station . . . if the Apaches hadn’t burned it down during the recent outbreak.
The team was eager for the trail, but Buttons reined them to a distance-eating trot under the blue bowl of the sky where a few white clouds drifted like waterlilies on a pond. Once Red saw a couple of mounted men in the distance before they vanished into the heat shimmer and he dismissed them as punchers riding the grub line. But he kept his Greener close because in this part of Texas road agents were always a possibility.
“Did you see them?” Red asked Buttons.
“Yeah, I saw them,” the driver said. “I never thought I’d see riders out this way, unless they came up from the border country.”
“Winter’s men?” Red said.
“I sure as hell hope not,” Buttons said. He cracked his whip over a lagging horse. “The last thing we need on this trip is trouble from crazy Dave Winter.”
After an hour or so riding on top of the stage, Hannah Huckabee squeezed into the tiny space between driver and guard, much to a frowning Buttons’s annoyance at this breach of the rules and a smiling Red Ryan’s eternal gratitude. Now she pointed to the southeast and said, “What’s that? A prairie fire?”
Red followed the girl’s finger and said, “Yeah, looks like smoke, but it’s too dark to be a prairie fire.”
“Wind’s from the north,” Buttons said. “If it is a grass fire it will head away from us.”
Red shook his head. “It’s not a fire, Buttons, and it isn’t dust. I don’t know what it is.”
“Hell, it’s moving fast, but not away from us. It’s headed our way, Red,” Buttons said. Then, “Does the ranger see that?”
“I don’t know,” Red said. He picked up his shotgun and rested the butt upright on his thigh, his gaze reaching into distance. “Looks like it could be a locomotive.”
“No railroad tracks in this neck of the woods,” Buttons said.
“Hear that?” Hannah said. “It does sound like a steam engine.”
Buttons drew rein on the team. “We’ll wait here and see where that thing is going, whatever it is,” he said. “The horses need a rest, and over there I see the pond the army captain marked on his map. If it is a fire, I’ll drive right into the water.”
The stage was fifty miles out from Fort Concho and a few miles south of Kickapoo Spring, on good grass relieved by a few stands of hardwood and pine.
Buttons leaned forward in the seat and told Hannah and Red to get closer to him. Then, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Listen up, a few years back, right on this very spot, the 9th Cavalry had a battle with a bunch of Kickapoos who’d camped near the pond. As I recollect, a couple of Indians were wounded in the fight and they lost fifteen horses.” Buttons’s voice dropped lower. “That’s between us, you understand. Don’t tell the coward. I don’t want him getting upset about them Kickapoos and maybe trying to run away.”
Red nodded. “Not a word of this from me.”
Hannah said nothing. She turned her head and stared at the approaching column of smoke. Buttons reckoned she was so ashamed of Latimer that she’d been struck dumb.
As Buttons and Red unhitched the team to allow the horses to graze for a while, Ranger Tim Adams rode up on the stage, his rifle at the ready. “What is that thing in the distance?” he said. “Is it a fire?”
Buttons shook his head. “Hell if I know . . . some kind of locomotive, looks like.”
“There’s no railroad around here,” Adams said. He put his field glasses to his eyes and scanned the distance. After a while he passed his glasses to Red. “Here, shotgun guard, take a look. Tell me I’m seeing things.”
Red put the glasses to his eyes, studied the object for a while and then said, “It looks like four gents sitting in a wagon. The wagon’s moving, but I don’t see any horses.”
Hannah Huckabee had her own binoculars to her eyes. Without lowering them, she said, “The wagon is powered by steam generated by wood. That’s why it’s smoking.”
“Like a locomotive?” Adams said.
“Yes, only it doesn’t run on rails,” Hannah said. “It’s got wheels.”
Red used the field glasses again and then said, “It’s coming right at us.” He handed the binoculars back to the ranger, who was still mounted. “Outlaws in a horseless carriage?”
“I don’t think so,” Adams said. “Way too slow. Try to escape in that thing after robbing a bank and it would take you ten minutes to reach the town limits.” He grinned. “And only if it’s a mighty small town.”
“Then what are these boys doing?” Red said.
Hannah didn’t hesitate. “I think they’re adventurers.”
“Adventurers?” Red said. “There haven’t been any adventures in this part of Texas since the Apaches called it a day and went back to the San Carlos.”
“Then they’re explorers,” Hannah said. “Yes, they could be explorers.”
“Then they’re fools,” Buttons said. “What’s out here to explore?”
“Grass,” Adams said.
“And more grass,” Red said.
Buttons left his team to drink at the pond and stepped beside Red. “Good water in that pond, muddy, but good.” He shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the distance. “Now what’s that thing up to?” he said.
Red was about to say that he had no idea, but changed his mind when four riders, coming on fast and kicking up dust, bore down on the horseless wagon. “Damn it all, they’re shooting,” he said.
The flat statements of powerful hunting rifles racketed across the prairie followed by a sharp Crack! Crack! Crack! as a couple of men in the wagon returned fire and the pursuing riders drew rein and then pulled off a ways out of the line of fire.
“I was right,” Red said. “Looks like the rannies in the steam wagon are being chased by a posse or a bunch of road agents.”
“Or something,” Adams said. “Well, there’s one way to find out. Ryan, get up behind me. I may need some help here.”
Red handed his Greener to Buttons, vaulted onto the ranger’s horse behind the saddle and then regained the shotgun. “Ready when you are, lawman,” he said.
Adams turned his head and said, “Any shooting to be done, I’ll do it.”
“Suppose they drill you?” Red said.
“Then I’ll leave it up to you, Ryan. I don’t want to sound like a sore loser, but if they do for me, kill them all.”