near the muzzle, then swung the rifle butt against the ground as his horse continued its uninterrupted lope. More of the powder spilled and flew as the four scattered the fine, black grains into the pan before snapping down the frizzen.
“They’ll be comin’ up behin’t us!” Kersey warned after a glance over his shoulder.
Twisting round in the saddle where the trappers galloped at the back of the herd, Titus watched those vaqueros still atop their mounts turn away from their wounded and dead, regrouping as they stabbed their horses with those huge, cruel rowels on their spurs and bolted into a gallop. This time it was clear they were no longer attempting to match the easy lope of the herd and the American thieves. The Mexicans intended to strike back for the hurt just inflicted upon them.
“Merciful a’mighty!” Adair cursed. “I don’t like havin’ them niggers ahint us!”
“Keep a eye on ’em, boys!” Bass said. “They come close enough again: we’ll rein about and throw down on the bastards!”
“Spread out now!” Kersey ordered. “Don’t bunch up!”
Titus could hear the vaqueros hollering among themselves now. Only voices—nothing he could discern as words. Just the noises of men working themselves into a fighting lather. A shot rang out. At this range, and one of the damn fools was trying to shoot the Americans in the back with their smoothbores, on the run too!
“Here come more of ’em!” Purcell screamed his warning into the thunder of the hooves.
Far off to their right the vaqueros who had initially attacked Thompson’s flank side of the herd were angling sharply across the valley now as the stolen horses streaked on by them.
“Be-gawd! They’re groupin’ up!” Corn shouted.
Sure enough, there were more than ten of the Mexicans now arrayed in a wide front directly behind the
For the moment, Scratch scolded himself—wondering what had ever come over him that made him decide on this journey to steal some California horses with Bill Williams. He’d never stolen a horse in his life, but here he was about to get shot in the back and left for dead by some greasers in a faraway foreign land where his wife and his young’uns could never mourn over his bones. How stupid an idjit was he?
“W-we gonna turn and fight ’em?” Adair prodded, his voice pulsing, rising and falling with the horse’s gait.
“No! We don’t stand us a chance like that!” Bass cried loudly. “Get everyone in there atween the horses!”
“What?” Corn demanded.
“Geddap in there!” Scratch ordered. “They can’t shoot us so good if’n we got all them horses around us!”
Jabbing heels into his mount’s flanks, Titus spurred the animal into a gallop, weaving it a little left, then a little right, leading the way while he plunged into the back of the herd. His pace a little faster than that of the stolen horses, he led the others deeper and deeper still, putting more and more of the animals between them and their pursuers. Glancing over his shoulder again, Scratch saw how the five others were spread out right behind him— stabbing their way into the thick of the herd.
“Keep your heads down!” he ordered, tucking himself as much as he could over the round Santa Fe pommel.
Instead of pursuing the thieves into the herd, the Mexicans warily hung back at the rear of the stolen horses. Not daring to enter the surging mass of animals on the run.
“C’mon, boys!” Bass rallied. “We best put some more room atween them and us!”
He kicked his horse in the ribs again and sprinted away, faster still. Running much slower, the stolen horses gradually streamed to the rear as the Americans put a hundred yards, then a hundred fifty, between them and the vaqueros.
“They stealing anything back?” Scratch asked the moment he turned to look over his shoulder.
“A few,” Kersey answered as they watched the Mexicans wave rope coils overhead and snap long, silken whips in the air, wrangling about three dozen of the horses away from the rest of the herd.
“No matter,” Titus grumped. “Them at the back wasn’t good runners no how.”
“You still figger to go after them two Injun gals?” Corn shouted as he edged up on Bass’s right heel.
“You gettin’ cold feet, Jake?”
“Just a bad feeling’s all,” Corn confessed.
“Why?” Titus asked. “We ain’t seen a soldier. Only a few vaqueros what tried to get their horses back.”
“What happens when they don’t send all them soldiers out to stop the others boys the way you said they would for Bill’s plan?” Corn asked.
Scratch brooded on that a moment, squinting into the sunlit distance as the horses at the front of the herd swept up more and more loose animals the farther north they raced down the valley for the San Gabriel Mission.
“Way I see it—every one of us gonna ride outta that soldier fort with Frederico’s sisters,” Scratch vowed. “Or, ain’t none of us coming back out at all.”
12
It was down to the nut-cuttin’ now.
Bill Williams and Thomas Smith signaled Philip Thompson on by with the stolen horses, wave after wave of the animals streaming north into the valley where stood the San Gabriel Mission. The two booshways reined over to the side of the hill and halted, waiting for Bass and his bunch to cut their way out of the side of the herd. The seven of them came to a halt near Bill and Peg-Leg.
“Sure you don’t want me to come ’long with you?” Williams asked, his eyes focused on the bloody tear in Titus’s shirt.
“Don’t worry—just a scratch, s’all.” Bass looked over his men, then shook his head. “The Injun got hit, but it ain’t bad. ‘Sides, you’re gonna need ever’ man you got, Solitaire. The seven of us can see to what we gotta do for Frederico’s sisters and catch on up to you.”
“How long you figger that’ll take?” Smith inquired.
“If’n we can steal a couple soldier horses for them women afore we ride outta there, we’ll cover some ground,” he suggested. “But, if them
Williams’s eyes narrowed once more on Scratch’s bloodied shirt. “You need anything more?”
“Can’t think of what it’d be,” Titus replied with a sigh, turning away to watch the last of the horses lope past. He whistled low and said, “Them Bent brothers gonna shit in their britches to see so many horses.”
Smith grinned hugely. “What them two don’t take, I’ll drive right on back to Missouri to sell my own self!”
Bass held out his hand to him. “See you soon, Peg-Leg.”
“Don’t go make a bull’s-eye out of yourself, Titus Bass.”
Williams held out his hand now and they shook.
Scratch reminded, “We ain’t caught up with you in three days—”
“ ’Bout the time we should reach the desert on the other side,” Bill interrupted.
“Then you oughtta just reckon on us not catching up to you boys at all,” Scratch admitted, then suddenly cracked a lopsided grin.
“You’ll come out fine on the other side,” Williams offered, wearing his own hopeful smile.
“If’n I don’t, Bill,” Titus sighed as the grin disappeared, “do for me like you promised you would. Trade off my share of the horses and buy a passel of plunder with ’em. Take all that foofaraw on up there to Absaroka an’ find my woman. Give ’er what I got comin’ from my share of them horses.”
“Least I can do for you, friend,” Bill admitted. “You’re the man seeing we keep our promise to the Injun got us ’cross the desert.”
