Abednego Merton and the Comancheros

Chapter 8

Had Abe Merton but known it, his cat’s sense for danger was serving him well that night. The army’s activities in the north of Texas were yielding results and the roving bands of Comancheros and their Kiowa allies were finding life a little uncomfortable; prompting a general drift south. Although the cavalry officer to whom he had spoken in Endeavour had not yet heard of it, a sharp engagement had lately been fought with a large force of Kiowa at the Palo Dura canyon, resulting in the displacement of many warriors, who had since then been heading south, accompanied by not a few Comancheros. The plain around Endeavour was thus becoming a very hazardous place for any innocent people to traverse; as Abe Merton had found out to his cost a few days earlier.

Among those trying to evade the attention of the army was a group of Kiowa numbering about a hundred strong. These were not families driven from their homes, but lusty young braves who were, like the Comancheros, on the scout and seeking easy prey. This band had reached the same hills near which Merton and his rescued girls were now camped and were, as Merton and his charges settled down for the night, sitting around fires some three or four miles to the east of them. The Indians had moved into the hills a little way, so that the twinkling of their campfires would not betray their position to any unfriendly watchers, but perhaps even at the distance which separated them, the faint tang of the burning wood had reached Merton’s nostrils and, without realising it consciously, had thus alerted him to the fact that there were others in the vicinity. As midnight approached, Abe Merton’s sense of unease deepened and he had no intention of slumbering until he was assured that all was well.

Despite Merton’s misgivings and slight anxiety, he was bone-weary and so when he judged by the Pole Star that it was about midnight, he awakened Ed Cherwell. After the youth was roused, Merton said, ‘I’ve a feeling that all isn’t well. Nothing I can explain, but you be sure not to fall asleep now, you hear what I tell you? First hint o’ trouble and you wake me, alright?’

‘Sure.’

In such a casual way is the fate of men and women sometimes decided and a man’s death brought unwittingly about. For the real danger in which the two men and the girls they were caring for lay not in the Kiowa camp a few miles to the east, but with three desperate and unscrupulous men who were so close to Merton and the boy, that they overheard the very words of their conversation.

It had not been difficult for the three surviving members of the Comanchero gang who had been snatching girls, to figure out that the girls and their protectors would have to stop for a night before making on towards Endeavour. It was simply a matter of following carefully and quietly, until they came upon them. Having caught sight of their quarry from the crest of a hill, it had simply needed patience to wait and see where they would stop for the night. The lower slopes of the hills were certainly a defensible location and the rings of boulders surrounding the sleepers would have been perfect had the girls been under attack in broad light of day. As it was though, in pitch dark, those same boulders proved to be a blessing for those assaulting the camp, for they were enabled to creep up on all fours and secret themselves within earshot of the people they meant to murder and so be privy to their plans.

Even after he had supposedly handed over the watch to the youngster, Merton didn’t feel that he could sleep with a clear conscience. He lay quietly for a while, staring up at the stars and trying not to worry about what would become of he and his daughter when this present escapade was over. Perhaps he would be able to find work in Endeavour and they could stay in that town for a spell, while he repaired the damage wrought to his affairs by those Comanchero scoundrels. It was the best that he could think of just then. He’d no resources in Arkansas, nor any intention to return there. It was while he was musing in this fashion, too tense and preoccupied with his troubles to sleep, that Merton became aware of a curious noise. At first, he thought that it might be some animal snuffling around the place in search of food. There was though something a little too purposeful to the sound for that.

Raising his head slightly, Merton observed that Ed Cherwell was sitting erect upon a rock, his head moving back and forth; clearly alert to danger. Very slowly, Merton too sat up and reached for the pistol which he invariable kept near his head when sleeping in the open. The furtive scratching and shuffling sounds had not abated and, unless he was very much mistaken, were now to be heard in more than one place on the periphery of the spot where they were camped. Either two or more large dogs or wolves were now creeping around them or enemies were at hand. Merton cocked his pistol very slowly, not wishing to betray by any sharp sounds that he was about to go into battle.

Once again, Merton found that he had underestimated the boy with he’d teamed up with, for Ed was now moving too. Among the arms belonging to the dead bandits had been a scattergun; a percussion-lock fowling piece and this the young man had seized upon, as a weapon with which he was very familiar. Ed got to his feet, with the shotgun held at high port and ready to bring up to his shoulder as soon as he had identified a target. Ed saw Merton getting to his feet, by which he guessed correctly that the older man was also alarmed. The darkness made it impossible for either man to see the expression on the other’s face and the two of them were working by instinct. It was at that point, just when Abe Merton stood up, that things began to get lively.

Just as Merton rose to his feet, a shadowy form emerged from one of the nearby rocks and, being sure that this was not one of the sleeping girls, Abe Merton hurled himself to one side, which exertion caused him exquisite pain in his cracked ribs. His action was worth this minor inconvenience though, because even as he was moving to the ground, a shot rang out. As soon as he struck the rocky ground, Merton cocked his piece and turned to fire at the figure, which had now vanished. The awful fear now was that any blind shooting would result in the death of some of the girls, who were stirring and, in one or two cases, sitting upright in alarm. ‘Stay down!’ roared Merton, ‘All you girls stay where are.’

Shouting out like that had caused Merton to reveal his position, for the next thing he knew somebody fired at him again; the ball passing closer than was comfortable past his head. Then came the dull boom of a scattergun, which Merton assumed was young Ed shooting at somebody. He seemed to be having more success than Merton was, because before the echo of the shot had died away, a cry of pain could be heard. Mind, with a shotgun, this could be no more than somebody being stung by a few stray bits of buckshot; it didn’t mean that anybody was badly hurt.

It was the very devil, trying to find and dispose of enemies like this in pitch dark. There was no use standing around like a tailor’s dummy, thought Merton, and so he ran, jinking from side to side, towards the boulders which surrounded them. He’d a notion that whoever the attackers were, they had been creeping up on the camp and were now crouching on the other side of the rocks. It was in this way that he suddenly found himself almost face to face with a man who had chosen that moment to poke his head up and peer over a boulder the size of a barrel to see what the play was. This was no time for playing things slowly and carefully, and so Abe Merton simply shot the fellow down; the ball striking the man as far as he could gauge, smack between his eyes. That was one less, at any rate.

There then began a very confused and violent few seconds, because a flurry of movement to his left indicated to Merton that one of those assaulting them had leapt into their midst and was trying to drag off one of the girls. She screamed out, ‘Ed, Ed, help me!’; by which he understood that this was most likely Ed Cherwell’s sister, Martha. Before he could shout for the boy to stay put, young Ed came bounding towards the cry for help. At that precise moment, a shot rang out and the running figure of the young man faltered and then tumbled forward. Merton strode forward, sensing that the man who had hold of Martha had his back to Merton. This proved to be so, because as he reached the struggling pair, the shadowy figures resolved themselves into a tall man, grasping a slender figure who was struggling to escape. Rather than fire and risk hitting the girl, Merton grabbed the fellow by the arm and jerked him loose. Then he shot him down like the dog he was.

The whole place had become a hubbub of confused shouting and crying. Mingled with the frightened wailing of the girls could be heard the horse cries of the wounded Comanchero prisoners, shouting such things as, ‘Over here, fellows!’ and ‘Come and help me get free!’ Merton had taken the precaution of tying the hands of both the men he had captured; even the one who had been blinded. A little way off, the horses were also whinnying and neighing in terror. Merton crouched down and simply waited, turning his head all the time for any sign of movement. When it came, the silhouette of the man clambering over the rocks seemed as good a target as he was likely to find that night and so he cocked his pistol and fired twice at the man. Judging by the way that the figure jerked each time he fired, like a marionette having its strings tugged, Merton took it that his shooting was as good as usual, even in this Stygian gloom.

After waiting a minute and finding that there was no further sign of any enemies, Merton got to his feet and went over to where he had seen Ed Cherwell fall. His sister was there also, talking to her brother in a low, tearful voice. He squatted beside the boy and said, ‘Well, how goes it young Ed?’

‘I’m hurt real bad sir. My arms and legs feel cold and it pains me to breathe.’

‘Tush, that’s just the shock o’ being shot. It took me the same way, first time I stopped a ball. Let’s strike a light and see what’s what. Stay where you are.’

Merton picked his way over the prone figures and went past the ring of rocks to where the horse had been left hobbled. After finding the one which he had been riding, he fumbled around in the saddle bag until he found a box of matches. Then he returned to see what the damage was to the young boy. It was much worse than he had supposed, despite his cheery assurances to the injured youth.

Striking one of the Lucifers showed at once that a bullet had struck the boy low in his stomach and then exited near his spine. If Merton was any judge of such matters, the ball had caused some harm to the backbone as it left the youngster’s body; in addition to whatever havoc it had wrought as it ploughed through his vittles. The grave expression on his face must have betrayed him, for Ed said, ‘It’s like I said, ain’t it? I’m hurt bad.’

He didn’t have the heart to lie to the boy, nor would it have been a kindness at this point. Merton said slowly, ‘I’m no sawbones, but I should just about say you were right, son.’

There was a long pause, broken only by Martha Cherwell’s weeping and lamentations at hearing this blunt opinion. Abe Merton continued, ‘Don’t you fret about your sister, I’ll take good care of her and see as she gets home safe to your ma.’ He felt that he should add something and said, ‘We did well together, me and you. I can tell you now, you was the best comrade a man might ask for on such an expedition. It’s been a pleasure riding with you.’

Merton lit another match. Ed’s face was drawn and white, but he was smiling in appreciation of what he had said. Then, in the most manly way imaginable, without any fuss or wailing, he simply departed this life as Merton and the boy’s sister watched; drawing one, long, last, shuddering breath and then letting it out slowly and gently. He did not breathe again.

‘Well,’ said Merton quietly, ‘He’s been promoted to glory. He was a good man.’

He thought it fitting to set in silence for a space besides the boy’s corpse, but there was so obviously a deal that needed his attention, that after five or ten or ten seconds, Merton patted Martha’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting fashion and then got to his feet. He went first to where the three bound prisoners lay and, leaning over them, said vindictively, ‘Your partners killed a boy, best young man I met in a good long while. I’ll make certain-sure you all of you hang, you have my oath on it.’

In addition to his genuine grief at the death of Ed Cherwell, Merton had another feeling; that of being completely alone and having nobody to aid him in what was next to be done. Without noticing, he had come to rely a little upon the youngster who lay dead and he now knew that the lives of the seventeen girls depended entirely upon he himself. It was a lonely enough sensation. True, Hannah was there, but Abednego Merton had grown up at a time when men relied only upon other men, not upon their womenfolk; however capable and able to wield a firearm those women might be. As he stared into the inky blackness he felt utterly alone. He tried to pray, but even that comfort was denied him. For once, he did not feel the presence of the Lord near at hand.

The Pole Star had scarce moved since he’d roused young Ed for his watch, by which Merton took it that the hour couldn’t be much past one in the morning. Although he had been desperately tired before he laid down, he found now that he was as wide awake as could be and there seemed little point in laying his self down to toss and turn restlessly. Instead, he sat on a rock and turned over what the morning might bring. Surely, if that young woman had reached Endeavour yesterday afternoon, then some attempt to reach him and his charges would be launched early in the morning that was fast approaching? Leastways, he hoped that this was so.

Hannah, who was evidently also not sleepy, came over to her father and said, ‘I’m sorry about that young fellow, pa. I could see you liked him.’

‘He was a game one, I’ll say that. Yes, I’m sorry that he’s dead. Let’s hope he was right with the Lord and supping now in the Promised Land.’

His daughter obviously had something to say, but was not sure how to broach the subject. Merton had no patience for shilly-shallying and said, ‘Come child, out with it. What’s troubling you?’

‘Are we still going to California? We’re not bound for Arkansas, are we?’

‘Truth to tell, I don’t yet know what will befall us, but we ain’t heading back to Arkansas, that I can tell you. Maybe though, it’ll take a little longer to reach the west coast than we first hoped for. That answer your question?’

‘I reckon.’

‘Go and get some sleep, there’s a good girl. I don’t yet know what awaits us when the sun rises.’

The night passed slowly; the hours crawling by like snails. One thing which Merton especially marked was that the sense of unease which he had felt the previous evening had not abated in the slightest degree and he still had the apprehension that danger was near at hand. It might have been thought that with the successful defence which had driven off the remnants of the Comanchero band, Abe Merton would have felt better, but whatever it was which had troubled him earlier was still there. He knew without the shadow of a doubt that some threat still hung over the girls whom he was tending.

At first light, the old man toured the camp, finding that in addition to Ed Cherwell, there were four other corpses to be considered. Three were of strangers, presumably those who had attacked in the dead of night. One of the wounded men had also died in the night, leaving only two prisoners for him to concern himself with.

As soon as the sun rose, Merton bellowed a, ‘Good morning!’ which would have awoken the dead. The girls stirred and then began sitting up and looking about them. Merton said in a loud voice, ‘There’s no breakfast to be had, so when you girls have tended to your needs, we’ll be on our way. Quickly now.’

There was some grumbling at the brisk and autocratic way in which Merton made this announcement, but he had a powerfully strong feeling that they should not be lingering near those hills for much longer. If rescuers from Endeavour were on their way, then they might meet each on the way, there was little chance of missing anybody on the broad, flat plain which stretched away to the horizon.

Ed Cherwell’s body was slung over the saddle of one horse, Merton had no intention of leaving the boy to be devoured by wild animals. The least he could do was return his body to the grieving mother who probably thought that she had lost two children by now. At least he would have the pleasure of returning one of her children to her safe and sound. The blind man was set to walk again, being guided by a length of rope attached to the saddle of one of the mounts. Abe Merton made sure to keep a sharp eye on this fellow, for he would not, even now, have put it past him to make a bolt for it. If Merton had any say in it, this man would be delivered up to justice.

The weary girls, some on horseback and the rest trudging along on foot, set off from the flank of the hill a little after the sun had broken free of the distant horizon. They had not gone more than a half-mile or so when Merton observed that a number of riders were bearing down on them from the east. The risen sun was in his eyes and so he could not identify them, seeing only the pale, grey haze of the dust which they were kicking up to hang in the still air. From the size of the cloud, he guessed that the riders must number in scores, maybe as many as a hundred. Just as he was making this calculation, the faint sound of warbling cries of triumph reached him. Unless he was greatly mistaken, these were Indians and their shouts indicated that they had spotted Merton and his girls.

It was bitter to have made it so far and then to fall, as it were, at the final hurdle. Still, there it was. This at least explained the feelings that had troubled him the night before. Somehow, these men must have given some sign of their close proximity and he had, all unware, heard, seen or smelled something which warned him of their presence. Well, that was nothing to the purpose. He supposed that all that remained was to see that they sold their lives as dearly as could be.

Merton said, ‘All you girls as have weapons, you get them out and ready yourselves to fire. We’re apt to have company shortly.’

As he was musing on whether there was anything else to be done, there came through the chill, morning air the last sound that anybody could have expected; the faint, brassy note of a bugle. Hardly daring to hope, Abe Merton turned his head around and saw that to the north-west, where the sky was still dark, another body of horsemen was heading in their direction. Because the sky was still a deep blue in that direction, the dust kicked up by these riders had not attracted attention in the way that that hanging in the eastern sky had done.

It was hard to say which of the groups of riders would reach them first, but the Indians looked now to be changing direction. Instead of heading straight for Merton and his girls, they were veering off to the left, clearly wishing to engage with the cavalry. The two forces met about half a mile from Merton and so he and the others were treated to a grandstand view of what was to prove one of the biggest clashes in the Texas Indian wars, until the battle of Palo Dura, five years later. It was as good as a play to watch the mounted riders crash into each other, the cavalry troopers swinging their sabres and the Kiowa warriors with their lances and tomahawks. The eventual outcome wasn’t really in any doubt, for the Indian braves were outnumbered by at least two to one. Merton guessed that these must be the soldiers who he had seen camped by Endeavour. He had thought at the time that there must have been at least two hundred men there and every one of them must be here now.

It was a magnificent sight and one which Merton, as an old soldier, found particularly stirring, but the fighting lasted no more than five or ten minutes, before the surviving Indians cut and ran; leaving behind on the field of battle at least half their number. The cavalry made no attempt to pursue them, but, at a signal from the bugler, reformed and trotted in parade-ground order towards Merton and the girls. When they were close enough to recognise individual men, Merton saw that the unit was commanded by the major who he had talked to a few days earlier. He hailed the officer and said, ‘So you decided to come and help us after all, hey?’

‘We didn’t come all the way out here for you folks,’ replied the major, when he was a little closer, ‘We had a crow to pluck with those Kiowa, received word that they were on the rampage in these parts. Been driven out of Palo Dura. But I hear that some people from town are heading here to relive you. I can spare a few men to guard you until they arrive, if that would be agreeable?’

‘I can’t think of anything better, major. We’d be mighty obliged to you.’

It was several hours before some of the townsfolk fetched up, with carts and spare mounts. The girls were all able to travel to Endeavour in some comfort, but Merton and Hannah chose to ride. Martha accompanied them. The horses which they had been using were linked together with rope and Merton led them behind. He even consented to allow his two prisoners to ride.

When they arrived back in town, there were no end of questions to be answered and Abe Merton found himself the unwilling centre of attention. Susan had already given a lurid account of the role which he had played in their rescue and the other girls, when once they arrived in town, could hardly praise him enough. All this was most unwelcome for Merton, who preferred to live a quiet and unassuming life. More interesting to him than becoming the object of the town’s gratitude and admiration was the discovery of a pair of US Marshals in charge of a cage on wheels; some kind of gaol delivery. From what he could make out, the job of these men was collecting captured criminals and transporting them to the big town of Santa Maria; a few miles to the east.

There were four men in the travelling gaol, all of whom were shackled and looked as unprepossessing a bunch of customers as you could hope to meet. Merton led his string of horses, two of which were burdened with his prisoners, up to where the marshals were standing and chatting with a couple of soldiers. He went up to the little group and said, ‘I’ve two men here, all that remains of them as have been taking girls to sell into slavery.’

‘The devil you have!’ exclaimed one of the marshals in amazement, ‘You mean these two?’

‘I do.’

‘Well now, me and this’un,’ said the marshal, indicating one of Merton’s prisoners, ‘We know each other. Don’t we Mister Gonsalez? You might say that we’re old friends.’ The man on horseback, one of those injured in the explosion which Merton had set off, said nothing, merely scowling.

The marshal turned to Merton and said, ‘Fact is, we’ve been hoping to speak to this fellow for the longest time. Little matter of murder, robbery and suchlike.’

‘You want him on a capital charge?’

‘Oh yes, it’s a hanging matter alright, don’t you fret none about that. There’s a reward too.’

Abednego Merton might have been a God-fearing man who was only doing his duty by handing this villain over to the law, but he was a father too, anxious about the welfare of his daughter, given the loss of his wagon. He said, ‘You reckon I’m entitled?’

‘Nobody more, since you’ve taken him and delivered him up.’

‘I ain’t a bounty-hunter, you know.’

‘Never said you were. There’s five hundred dollars payable for mister Gonsalez and it’s your if you want it.’

During the course of this conversation, the other marshal had been staring hard at the blinded Comanchero. He took from his pocket a large sheet of paper, which was folded up small, and opened it out. He proceeded to stare at this, glancing up occasionally at the man seated on the horse. Then he went over to the marshal to whom Abe Merton was talking and showed him the sheet of paper in such a way that Merton could not see what it was. ‘You reckon that’s him?’ asked one of the lawmen to the other.

‘One way to check for sure,’ replied the other, gesturing to the paper, which Merton guessed was a wanted poster or something similar. One of the marshals went over to where the man with the ruined eyes sat astride the horse and touched him on the arm. ‘Roll up your right sleeve,’ said the marshal, ‘Right up to the shoulder.’

‘Why?’ said the prisoner, ‘Why should I?’

‘’Cause if you don’t, we’ll knock you off your mount and do it for you.’

Slowly and with every sign of reluctance, the man unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his sleeve up as far as the elbow. ‘There, that good enough for you?’

‘A bit further, if you please.’

Once the fellow’s sleeve was clear of the elbow, a blue line could be seen on his bicep. One marshal reached out and pulled the fabric further, to reveal a curious, tattooed design; something like a monogram. Both lawmen looked satisfied and nodded meaningfully. One turned to Merton and said, ‘Well sir, I reckon your luck’s in today, no matter what you’ve had to go through. This fellow is Raymonde Delgado and he’s wanted in a dozen places, from what this here bill tells. The price on him is a thousand dollars.’

‘You mean that’s mine as well?’ asked Abe Merton in a amazement.

‘You delivered him to us, didn’t you? Only point is, we ain’t got such an amount of cash money about us. Where you headed?’

‘California. We was aiming to stop over in El Paso.’

‘Well, there’s a line from Santa Maria over to El Paso. When we get there, we can wire authority for the office in El Paso to pay out.’ The man took out a pad and after asking Merton his name and various other things, laboriously wrote out a chit and signed it. He said, ‘Present this to the marshal’s office in El Paso and they’ll pay out your cash. Give us a week though to arrange it all at Santa Maria.’