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  “It sounded like pistols,” Yank said.

  “Pistols?” McGregor looked at Yank. “The riflemen ain’t carryin’ no pistols.”

  “I know.”

  “A lot of shooting,” Marina repeated to accentuate the point. “Are we just going to sit here?”

  “Ridin’ into that little slit in them rocks is just askin’ to get ambushed,” McGregor said.

  “Wait.” Yank pointed toward the canyon where Roberts had appeared and was now racing toward the column. “Defensive formation,” Yank shouted.

  McGregor wheeled his horse and rode back to organize the others.

  “Roberts isn’t being chased,” Yank shouted to McGregor.

  Marina pointed. “I just saw a man on horseback between those boulders.”

  Yank aimed the telescope. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “He’s gone now. He saw us and turned back.”

  Yank lowered the telescope as Roberts slid his horse to a stop, creating a huge cloud of dust.

  “Are you hit?” Yank asked.

  Roberts leaned forward and vomited, shook his head and spit downwind.

  “Your men?”

  “All dead or captured,” Roberts gasped.

  “How many are still alive?”

  “Four but they’re shot up real bad. Two is gut shot. Most of the dead was shot five or six times. Lots of shootin’. Don’t know how they missed me. Might be a miracle.”

  Yank waved and shook his head at McGregor who was forming a rescue party and beckoned to him.

  McGregor ran his horse forward. “What?”

  “Wait until we know more,” Yank said, and then he looked back at Roberts. “Are they Comanches?”

  “No.” Roberts shook his head. “Bandits, I reckon.”

  “Indian bandits?” Yank asked.

  “I don’t know what they was, exactly. Everything, I guess. Mexicans, white men and some Indians.”

  “Comancheros,” Marina said.

  “How many?” Yank asked, ignoring her.

  “Fifty-sixty. Maybe more,” Roberts replied. “I seen smoke on the horizon like there might be a camp up in them hills.”

  “How were they armed?”

  “Pistols mostly. Some muskets and I saw one rifle. But everybody had at least four pistols. They come outta the rocks and before we knew it they was amongst us, shootin’ off their pistols with both hands.” He shook his head. “There was so much shootin’ and gun-smoke that I couldn’t see nothin’ for a time. Finally, when the smoke cleared, and I saw we was finished, I shot a Mexican that was between me and the way back, then kicked for y’all.”

  “I say we go get our men dead and alive,” McGregor said.

  Yank pushed his hat back and rubbed his eyes. “Our chances of successfully attacking a force that size in a fortified position are less than nil without some very careful planning.”

  “We can’t just leave ‘em there,” McGregor said hotly.

  “Those are my men,” Roberts said before Yank could answer. “If there was a easy way to save ‘em, I wouldn’t of left ‘em.”

  Yank looked toward the rock formation from which Roberts had just ridden. It stretched from horizon to horizon. “Did you see another pass through this?”

  Roberts shook his head. “That little cut ain’t a pass, Colonel, just a trail through them big boulders.”

  “Are there others?”

  “I reckon so but I expect they’ll be watched like this one was. They was waitin’ for us in there. We was like fish in a barrel.”

  “Describe that trail for me please, Mr. Roberts,” Yank said, pointing.

  “Sir?” Roberts looked confused.

  “If we have to go through there,” Yank replied. “I’d like to know what the ground within the rocks and the ground beyond them is like before we go.”

  “Well, the trail winds around between big ol’ boulders. I think it opens up onto ground sorta like this, but we didn’t get that far and I can’t trust my memory.”

  “How wide are the narrowest and widest points within the boulders?”

  “We had to go in single file. They was waitin’ for us where it widens out. Reckon that was maybe fifty feet wide. From there it got narrow again before it opened into the prairie.”

  “We’ll camp here,” Yank said decisively. “Then after dark I’ll take a few volunteers with me to climb the rocks and scout our route.”

  “I’ll go,” Roberts said.

  “Silence will be imperative,” Yank replied. “Can you use a knife or sword?”

  “No sir. We didn’t have no bayonets…”

  “I know,” Yank said.

  “I can use a knife,” Marina asserted.

  Yank ignored her and looked at McGregor. “Get those animals inside the perimeter.”

  “I’ll see to it.” McGregor clicked to his horse and shook out the reins.

  “I can use a knife,” Marina repeated as McGregor rode off.

  “You will not be going with me,” Yank said, watching the company making camp.

  “Why not?” Marina complained.

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “No,” she replied heatedly. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go.”

  “You’re not tough enough.”

  “I can outwork any man here.”

  “You’re not mentally tough enough,” he amended.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re punishing me for my criticism of the massacre.”

  “Massacre,” he snarled. “Damn you to hell, woman.” He whirled his horse and kicked it to a run, leaving her alone with Roberts.

  “Damn you,” she shouted at his back.

  “That weren’t fair, Ma’am,” Roberts said. “It weren’t no massacre. It were a battle. And the colonel won it without so much as one friendly casualty. Us men are grateful to him for that. You should be too.”

  “He ordered that the wounded be killed.”

  “Do you know what Indians do to their wounded enemies, Ma’am? They burn ‘em in their fires, or skin ‘em like rabbits or stake ‘em down to anthills. If we’d a left anybody alive they would of seen it as weakness.”

  She didn’t look at him or reply.

  “Them Indians attacked us, we didn’t attack them. What we done was righteous.”

  “Righteous?” Now Marina turned toward Roberts. “We are on their land without invitation or permission and we killed one of them simply because he demanded payment for passage. Their attack on us was in reprisal for that murder.”

  “These here Indians didn’t buy this land, Ma’am. They just took it from some weaker Indians. Now we’re here and we’ll take it from them. Someday, I reckon, somebody stronger will come and take it from us. That’s nature.”

  “We are not going to agree, Mr. Roberts.”

  “I can see that, Ma’am, and it pains me that the colonel’s saddled his-self with a woman like you.”

  November 2, 1804

  The Red River, Louisiana Purchase

  There was no moon and the stars were hidden behind clouds, making the world beyond the camp invisible.

  Roberts, who was at the head of a column of dismounted riflemen, cupped his ear, trying to hear better. “Halt,” he said after a moment. “Who goes there?”

  “Shh. It’s Van Buskirk.” The whispered voice was close.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Roberts hissed. “You like to scared the pee outta us, Colonel.”

  “Get your men ready,” Yank whispered. “The path is clear for the moment but there’s no telling how much time we have before the bodies of the sentries are discovered.”

  “Double check your gear,” Roberts advised his men in a low tone. “Make sure you don’t have nothing loose that’s gonna rattle.”

  “All right,” Yank whispered. “Follow me.”

  “I can’t see you, Colonel.” Roberts grunted.

  “Me neither,” another voice added.

  “I can’t see nothin’,” a third said. “It�
�s too dark.”

  “Does anyone have a rope?” Yank asked.

  “Yes-sir, I got one.” Roberts uncoiled a length of rope.

  Yank took one end as Roberts passed it back. “Stay close. No talking.” He led them over the rough ground and through a narrow passage between enormous boulders then stopped at the end of the pass. “Can you see that glow of light over the hill?”

  “Yes, sir,” Roberts whispered.

  “There’s a house and corral there,” Yank said. “Thirteen men are sleeping around a fire. There’s no way to tell how many are inside and how many are out here somewhere on sentry duty. I counted forty-two horses so you must make every shot count or we could be overwhelmed.”

  “Understood,” Roberts grunted. “Any sign of our men?”

  “Yes. They’re dead.”

  “All of ‘em?”

  “Two of them are hanging from a tree. I would guess they wouldn’t bother hanging men who were gut shot and dying.”

  Robert cursed under his breath. “Do we wait for sunrise or hit ‘em now?”

  “Move forward to the ridge, then wait for McGregor and the musketeers to get into position or for the bandits to discover you. I’m going to slip down there, open the corral gate, run out their mounts and cause a little trouble. Please remember that I’m there when the shooting starts.”

  “How will we know when you and McGregor is in position?”

  “I’ll know when he is and you’ll know when the first grenade goes off.”

  “What if it don’t?”

  “If nothing happens before dawn, head back and take charge of the column.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then you can answer everyone’s questions.” Yank vanished into the night.

  ~

  Marina had a pistol in each hand. Her back was against a corral post and she was staring into the dark. “Did you hear that, Jasper?” she whispered.

  “Just a critter,” Folsom replied. “Rabbit, prob’bly.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The horses would be stirrin’ and blowin’ if it was somethin’ else.”

  “They’ve been gone a long time.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “It means that the bandits ain’t discovered ‘em.”

  “Comancheros.”

  “What did ya say?”

  “They’re not bandits, they’re Comancheros.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “None, actually.” She giggled nervously. “I wish something would happen.”

  “Don’t go wishin’ for nothin’ before dawn. McGregor wasn’t gonna attack until dawn.”

  “Then I wish for dawn. How long, do you think?”

  He looked east. “The sky might be a bit brighter now than it was a while ago.”

  ~

  Yank glanced toward the false dawn then removed the rope loop from the rough-made corral gate and swung it open on noisy leather hinges. The horses stamped nervously as he crept among them toward the house and they began to stream from the corral when he lit his tinderbox.

  McGregor and fifteen musketeers had worked their way down to take positions surrounding the house. “Keep your heads down boys. I just seen a spark. The colonel is about to start throwin’ grenades.”

  A moment later, the night lit up followed by a thunderous explosion that rolled across the prairie.

  Roberts and the dismounted riflemen were up on their feet and picking their targets from among the startled men around the campfire as the second explosion erupted. “Don’t let none of ‘em catch a horse,” Roberts shouted as he was reloading. “And keep a eye on the Colonel so as you don’t hit him by accident.”

  Below him and closer to the house, McGregor had his musketeers in line. “First squad, present,” McGregor shouted.

  Seven muskets came up.

  “Fire. Reload. Second squad, present.”

  Yank dropped to his belly as several pistols were fired from an open window. After crawling to a new position, he rolled onto his back, lit a fuse and tossed a black powder grenade through the window.

  ~

  “Dear God,” Marina gasped, as the rocks in front of her were once again silhouetted by an orange flash. The rumble of the explosion that followed sounded like thunder.

  “Easy there, friends,” Folsom whispered to the horses. “Nothin’ to fear.” He patted the mare that Marina usually rode. “Everything’s just right.”

  “Colonel Van Buskirk says that you were an artilleryman,” Marina said.

  He gave her a sharp look.

  “Well? Is that so, Jasper?”

  “What makes you ask?”

  “I was just curious.”

  “You surely picked a right strange time to get curious about my past.”

  “Is he right or wrong?”

  “Wrong.”

  “Really?”

  “I was a navy gunner.”

  “On a warship?”

  “On more’n one.”

  “Are you a deserter?”

  “My cannon blew up in my face and I didn’t have no stomach for lightin’ no more fuses after I got out from the hospital. The navy didn’t agree.” He cocked his head, listening. “Muskets is firing by ranks.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It means we’re controllin’ the battle. But since you’ve got a soft spot for our enemies, you might think it ain’t so good.”

  She cringed at the sound of another explosion. “It seems risky to be throwing grenades when some of our men may be held captive by the Comancheros.”

  “Our men is all dead.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The colonel wouldn’t be throwin’ grenades if they was alive.”

  “The answer to my question sounded a great deal like my question,” she muttered.

  “You’re too hard on the colonel, if you want my opinion, Marina.”

  “I don’t want your opinion, thank you Jasper.”

  “You’ve plum forgot what hard livin’ is all about.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s so. You been too long livin’ the soft life: drinkin’ whiskey, playin’ poker all night and sleepin’ late in the day.”

  “Soft living?” she scoffed. “A fat lot you know.”

  “I know that the colonel bought your freedom and that he got us all this far.”

  “And butchered twenty-one men needlessly.”

  “It weren’t needless. It were them or us.”

  “No it wasn’t. He could have avoided the conflict by just giving the Caddo a few cows.”

  “He offered to give ‘em cows but they was wantin’ weapons.” Folsom stopped and raised his hand. “Listen.”

  She looked toward the rocks. “What? I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Oh.” She listened for another moment. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Reckon that depends on which side of the fight a person’s on.”

  “You’re a miserable old bastard, Jasper.”

  “Leastways I know what I am,” he replied. “Some folks have plumb forgot.”

  The sky was gray when McGregor emerged from the rocks and trotted his horse toward the perimeter. “Break camp,” he shouted. “Load everything on the mules. We’re leaving the wagons here.”

  “What about chuck wagon?” Nathan Sparks shouted back.

  “It ain’t gonna fit b’tween them rocks.” McGregor pointed.

  “Should I make breakfast first or start packin’ the kitchen on mules?” Sparks asked.

  “The colonel is wantin’ us through this little pass as quick as we can go. I’ll get some men to help you pack.”

  “Are we in danger?” Marina asked.

  “Not in particular,” McGregor replied. “But them rocks is a good place for a ambush and we don’t have no idea if there’s more bandits or hostiles near about.”

  “What about our boys?” Ja
sper Folsom asked.

  “Them bandits hung our two good ol’ boys from a tree and fed the others to their hogs before we got there,” McGregor replied.

  “How about them that just went with y’all?”

  “No casualties.”

  “None?” Folsom asked with a grin. “With all that shootin’, explodin’ and such?”

  “Not a one,” McGregor replied. “You gonna sit around lollygaggin’ or are you gonna move that stock?”

  “My wranglers is getting’ it done, as any fool could see if he was to look.”

  “If a fool was to look on the prairie beyond them rocks he’d see somewheres close to fifty head of horse that needs roundin’ up.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Jasper looked at Marina. “Was you gonna want your horse, Ma’am, or was you plannin’ to walk?”

  “I prefer to ride, Jasper,” she said sweetly. “Please have my mare saddled and brought to me.”

  He laughed then trotted toward the remuda.

  “He’s not happy with me,” she said to McGregor.

  “No,” McGregor agreed. “Neither is anybody else.” He cupped his hands and shouted. “Dawson!”

  “Hup, Sarge.”

  “Get some men to help Nate pack the kitchen.” McGregor turned his horse and rode back toward the trail through the rocks leaving Marina alone.

  November 23, 1804

  The Red River, Louisiana Purchase

  A cold, fierce wind from the west had forced them to camp early on the previous day. During the night, the temperature had dropped to well below freezing while the wind and lack of vegetation had prevented them from building fires. Yank was just outside the camp aligning the sextant with the rising sun while McGregor tried to correlate the readings to the map, which the wind was trying to take from him.

  “Are we officially lost?” Marina asked. She was wearing her duster pulled up to her ears and was squatted with her back to the wind. Her cheeks were red from wind burn and her lips were so raw and chapped that they had begun to peel.

  “Yes,” Yank replied without looking at her. “Lost. Officially and unofficially.” He looked no better than she.