“Yes. Mr. McGregor convinced
me that you couldn’t have maintained discipline any other
way.”
“There probably was another,
better way, but I couldn’t think of one at the moment.”
“I shouldn’t have shouted at
you.”
“We agree.”
“But you shouldn’t have shot
that poor alligator.” She covered his mouth with hers to keep him
from answering.
October 3, 1804
Neches River, Louisiana
Purchase
Yank had the map rolled out
on the ground with the company in a circle so that they could see
it. “We are approximately here,” he said, touching the crooked line
he had drawn to represent the Neches River. “This is the Sabine.”
He touched the map a few inches to the right. “If this is at all
accurate, the Sabine turns west toward the Neches about here. So I
propose that we go north and a bit east from here rather than due
east on the road as we had originally discussed.”
“Makes sense to me,” Jasper
Folsom replied. “Will we want to be ridin’ the horses or herdin’
‘em?”
“We ain’t got enough horses
for everybody,” one of his wranglers observed.
Yank nodded. “You and your
men will be mounted, Mr. Folsom, as will the two rifle squads. If
Mr. McGregor, Mrs. Van Buskirk and I also use a horse, there will
be three extras. I’ll leave it to you to decide who is to ride
them.”
“I’d rather keep the extra
horses for remounts,” Folsom replied. “If we leave one o’ the
wagons here we’ll have us a excess of mules and we’ll have more as
we use up supplies. Some can ride the extra mules that we have
right now and them that has to walk now can ride later when we
don’t need ‘em as pack animals.”
“I’d rather walk than ride a
damn mule,” Nathan Sparks said.
“That is very thoughtful of
you, Mr. Sparks,” Yank replied. “Our musketeers will appreciate the
companionship, since they will be on foot at all times.”
“What’s our order of march
to be?” McGregor asked.
Yank looked thoughtful for a
moment. “Half of one rifle squad will act as flankers. They will
also act as our scouts. Indians seem to prefer attacking the rear
of a column, so half of the other rifle squad will ride drag. The
balance will merge with the musketeers to form a protective screen
around the livestock. Mr. McGregor and Mrs. Van Buskirk will lead
the column and I will move about as needed.”
“Where will the rest of us
be?” Sparks asked.
“Behind Mr. McGregor, ahead
of the livestock,” Yank said. “The wranglers will, of course, be
with the animals at the rear. If we encounter a severe tailwind, we
may decide to put the herds at the front to avoid their dust.” He
looked around. “Any other questions or comments?”
“Can we take some o’ these
oak posts off of the barges so as to make us temporary corrals on
the trail?” Folsom asked.
“How will you carry them if
we leave a wagon behind?” Yank asked.
“If the riflemen and
wranglers carry some of the ammunition we can manage,” McGregor
said.
“No.” Yank shook his head.
“I don’t want wranglers carrying anything except their pistols,
ammunition pouches, lariats and whips.”
“What about the
riflemen?”
“I’ll agree so long as their
horses will not be unduly taxed,” Yank replied, “If we encounter a
mounted enemy, our riflemen will be our main defense.”
“We don’t need that many
posts,” Folsom said. “We can use rope instead o’ rails to make
corrals and we can keep the remuda on a runnin’ line.”
“Work it out with Mr.
McGregor.”
October 6, 1804
The Red River, Louisiana
Purchase
“Now what?” McGregor asked,
as he looked across the wide expanse of fast moving
water.
“We proceed due west from
here until we find a place to cross or until we reach the Rockies,”
Yank replied.
“We have to go west then
north to follow the boundary lines,” Marina said.
“Swimming across here, even
if we left the remaining wagons on this side, is clearly not an
option.” Yank gestured toward the racing river. “If we happen to
come to a ford while following the river to the west, we’ll cross
and turn north appropriately.”
“I do no’ much care for this
country,” McGregor pronounced. “It don’t look promising for game
and ‘tis right late in the year to be findin’ any edibles in land
this sparse.”
“We have sufficient
livestock and grain if the hunting fails,” Yank replied. “And who
knows what lies ahead? It may be bountiful.”
“I ain’t never been west o’
here but not far to the east, it sure ain’t bountiful.”
Yank was looking
upstream.
“What?” McGregor
asked.
“Indians.” Yank turned his
horse and shouted, “Form a defensive circle. Musketeers on the
outside, riflemen mounted at the rear in flanking positions,
livestock in the center.” He used his hands to demonstrate the
perimeter. “If there’s any shooting, you wranglers must look
smartly to the livestock to prevent a stampede.”
“They’re a Caddo hunting
party,” Marina shouted over the sound of hooves and the whoops of
wranglers. “Nothing to worry about.”
“How do you know?” Yank
asked.
“I can tell by their
headdresses.”
“You can tell by their
headdresses that we have nothing to worry about?”
“No,” she replied, “I can
tell that they’re Caddo hunting party and as such unlikely to be a
danger to us.”
“That isn’t what you said,”
Yank replied. “We’re all going to be depending upon what you say.
You must be accurate.”
“I was. They’re a Caddo
hunting party.”
“Big hunting party,”
McGregor observed. “I count twenty.”
“No firearms,” Yank added.
“What do you suppose they want?”
“They’ll want you to give
them cattle and horses as payment for crossing their land,” Marina
said. “Don’t agree to their initial demands. They expect you to
bargain.”
“Bargain?” Yank looked at
her. “I’ll give them nothing.”
She appeared to be ready to
argue but then changed her mind.
“You translate what I say,”
he admonished.
“I know.”
“I mean it,
Marina.”
“I know, I know. Stop
worrying.”
“I can’t risk you second
guessing or trying to outthink me.”
She made a face at him.
“There’s a good chance that I don’t have any lingua franca with
them anyway, so you may have to resort to sign
language.”
Yank watched as the Indians
drew nearer. “Just remember to be accurate with what you say and
that I’m the only negotiator in our party.”
Marina raised her hand and
started offering greetings in several languages until one man
answered her. Unlike the others, he wore no headdress but instead
wore his hair in two long braids down his back tied with leather
thongs. A third braided strand of hair from the top of his head was
decorated with colored scraps of cloth, beads, and a single
feather.
“He’s Comanche,” Marina
said. “And his tone is very belligerent.” Her nervousness was
abundantly apparent. “I don’t know what he’s doing
here.”
“Ask him what he’s doing
here,” Yank suggested calmly.
She tried to speak but was
almost immediately interrupted by the warrior. “He says that they
demand six muskets, six horses and one beef.”
Yank raised his eyebrows.
“Demand? Was that his word or yours?”
“His,” Marina
replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “I know
what I’m doing.”
“Did he say musket, rifle or
some native representation like fire-stick, Marina?”
“He said musket.”
Yank looked the Indian in
the eyes. “Tell him that we might agree to sell them a cow or goat
but our horses and weapons are not for sale.”
She began translating, then
shook her head in frustration as the Indian again interrupted her.
“He says no trade.” She listened a moment. “You must present the
weapons and animals to them as a gift.”
“Tell him to get out of our
way or we’ll kill them all,” Yank said.
She turned to look at
him.
“Tell him, please, Marina.
In those words if you can. Try to convey my resolve.”
Marina spoke quickly and
then moved back beside Yank.
Yank glanced at his armed
riflemen who were arrayed to either side and behind him. “Riflemen,
and riflemen only, present,” Yank’s voice rang out.
Sixteen Kentucky rifles came
up in steady hands.
Yank raised his right hand
in the air. “On my command, aim for their bellies.”
After a brief argument the
Indians began to move slowly back the way they came.
“Order – arms,” Yank called
out, lowering his hand when the Indians were beyond the range of
their bows and arrows.
“Not good,” McGregor
grumbled after a short silence.
“What’s troubling you?” Yank
asked.
“We shoulda killed ‘em when
we had the chance. Now they’re gonna find a place to ambush
us.”
“I don’t think so,” Marina
interjected. “The Caddo warriors looked troubled by that Comanche’s
rudeness and arrogance.”
“Yer wrong, Missus Van,”
McGregor said. “This here is a flood plain so they sure don’t have
no village this close to the river. But you can see plain as day
that they’re followin’ the river, just like us.” He pointed toward
the Indians who had broken into a trot and were now moving very
quickly. “The onliest reason for them goin’ that-a-way is to set us
a ambush. When we top yonder rise we’ll walk into a hail o’ arrows
and lances.”
“I agree.” Yank rode to the
closest rifleman, took his rifle and rode back beside McGregor.
“Fire a shot into the air with your pistol, if you please Mr.
McGregor.”
“Sir?” McGregor asked in
complete confusion.
“I do not wish to shoot that
man in the back.”
“You don’t intend to shoot,”
Marina gasped.
“I do intend to shoot.” Yank
set his heels in the horse’s flank and aimed the rifle at the
Indians. “One pistol shot into the air, Mr. McGregor.
Please.”
Still unsure, McGregor drew
his pistol, cocked it and fired into the air.
A second later, when the
sound of the pistol shot reached them, the Indians all stopped and
turned toward the Americans. The Comanche warrior pushed his way
through the others, raised his fist in the air and shouted a
blood-curdling war-whoop.
Yank shot him in the chest,
then tossed the smoking weapon back to its owner. “That should cool
them down,” he said, watching the Indians disappear over a rise,
dragging the dead man with them.
Marina was staring at Yank
with an expression of horror or disbelief.
“What?” Yank asked her. “Did
you doubt what Mr. McGregor said?”
“No, but…” She shook her
head then pointed upriver. “You murdered that man.”
“Murdered?” Yank laughed.
“When they attacked us, we would have been forced to kill at least
half of them in self-defense. Add to that, our party would have
surely suffered casualties. Now only one has died. That’s what I
call a fine bargain.”
“It was unnecessary,” Marina
insisted. “It was just like when you shot that
alligator.”
Yank looked at his men.
“We’ll camp here in circular formation. Muskets on the outer
perimeter.” He turned to McGregor. “I want two-man listening posts
on each quadrant all night. Set their positions now so that the
musketeers and riflemen know where they are to avoid accidents when
it gets dark.”
“I doubt they’ll come back,”
McGregor replied.
Yank just looked at
him.
“But ‘tis better to be safe
than sorry.”
“No fires after sundown.
We’ll sleep with our weapons.” Yank rode close to Marina and
lowered his voice. “If you continue to challenge my authority I’ll
be forced to become very disagreeable.”
“I didn’t challenge your
authority, I challenged your morality. You talk like a God-fearing
man but take lives without any regard whatsoever.”
“Who are you to preach to
me?”
“Ha. I knew we’d come to
this eventually. I’m just a whore and I have no right to disagree
with such a fine gentleman.”
“That wasn’t what I meant at
all. I meant that who are you, who shot a man down in the Gray Lady
Tavern, to preach to me about taking lives without
regard?”
“That was an
accident.”
“So you say.”
“You don’t believe
me?”
“No. I think you shot him in
cold blood and then were overcome with guilt when you saw the
reality of a corpse at your feet. I’ve seen it a thousand times
with young soldiers.”