Gone to Texas Read online

  Ellis stared at the short, stocky warriors, who weren’t like any Indians he’d ever seen. They wore fringed elkskin leggings, breechclouts, and buffalo robes. Most carried mean-looking lances as well as bows and arrows, and a few had old guns. They controlled their well-trained ponies with thin rawhide ropes looped around the animals’ lower jaws. They looked fierce, but all seemed pleased to see Nolan. Ellis watched in amazement as the women and children quickly unpacked the travois formed by lodge poles tied over the ponies’ shoulders, and put up more than twenty tipis of mellow buffalo hides, blackened at the tops by smoke.

  Nolan returned to his men. “They’re headin’ south to hunt buffalo. We can trade with them tonight. The Comanches are the most powerful tribe in Texas, so we’ve got to keep them friendly. Don’t do anything to anger them. Above all, leave the women alone.”

  Broad-shouldered, thin-legged Charles King spat. “Even horny as I am that oughta be easy,” he said. “I ain’t ever seen a squaw worth diddlin’ nohow.”

  Nolan smiled, a knowing smile, Ellis thought. “Don’t be so sure,” he said. “Some of the young ones are real beauties. But if you fool around with them and survive, you’ll be singing soprano. Leave them be.”

  In the morning, Ellis watched as the Comanche women quickly took down the tipis while the boys drove the pony herd into camp. In fifteen minutes the travois were packed with large bundles tied to the dragging tipi poles behind the ponies’ heels. The warriors rode ahead and the others followed.

  The next morning eleven of the best horses were missing. Nolan was outraged. “It’s not like Comanches to steal from their friends,” he said, “and I know the chief doesn’t approve. It’s just that every man does what he wants to, and the chiefs have no power to stop them. We can’t run mustangs without those horses, but we should be able to catch up with them in a day or two when they stop to hunt.”

  With Fero, Robert Ashley, Joseph Reed, Ellis, Duncan, and Caesar, Nolan set out on foot, grimly following the tracks made by the dragging travois poles. But the Co-manches didn’t stop soon to hunt; it was nine days before they came upon their camp. All but the women and children and a few old warriors were away hunting buffalo. Nolan spoke to one of the old men.

  “He says the one-eyed man stole our horses,” he told the others. “He’ll be easy to recognize.” The Comanche women fed them roast buffalo meat, then they wearily lay down to rest from their long journey.

  Late in the afternoon they heard children squealing and dogs barking, and knew the hunters had returned. The pack ponies were loaded with huge pieces of dripping red meat. Dogs followed the pack ponies of their masters, snatching hungrily at their loads. The women drove the dogs away, immediately unloaded the ponies, and began slicing the meat into thin strips to put on racks for drying in the sun. The hunters came to see Nolan and his men, but Ellis didn’t see the chief. I bet he doesn’t want to see Nolan now, he thought.

  The powerful Caesar walked up behind One Eye and pinioned his arms, while Fero bound him hand and foot. The other Comanches ignored them, and they left the thief tied up all night.

  In the morning One Eye’s wife led the stolen horses to Nolan two at a time and handed him the lead ropes without looking him in the face. She was obviously fearful for her husband’s life.

  After mounting his horse, Nolan warned One Eye and all who were listening that although his men were few they were well armed, and they could defeat many times their number. Then pushing hard, they reached the fort in four days. The horses were worn down and had to recover their strength before they could run mustangs.

  At dawn a few days later Ellis heard the hoofbeats of many horses. “Injuns!” he shouted, leaping to his feet, and grabbing his rifle. Wondering why the five guards at the corrals had given no warning, he peered over the log walls of the fort and gasped. In front of him were Spanish cavalrymen, militia, and Indians; he looked over the other walls. They were completely surrounded and the five guards were prisoners, their hands tied behind their backs. All of Nolan’s men hurried to the walls, rubbing their eyes and cursing when they saw they were badly outnumbered.

  Seeing the fear in their eyes, Nolan shouted, “We must fight to the death or they’ll make us prisoners for life!" Ellis stared at the Spaniards training their weapons on the fort, and his clammy hands trembled as he put fresh priming in his rifle. It looked like everyone in Texas must be after them. He glanced at Nolan but saw no fear in his eyes. It’s him they’re really after, Ellis thought, not us.

  The Spanish officer, accompanied by a bearded, middle-aged, heavy-set civilian who didn’t look Spanish, rode toward the fort with forty cavalrymen following. “That’s the son-of-a-bitch William Barr,” Nolan growled. “He’s a trader at Nacogdoches. He’s wanted to get me ever since I refused to do some smuggling for him.” He and Fero and a few others walked out to meet them, while Ellis held his breath and stared open-mouthed.

  Nolan held up his hand. “That’s far enough,” he called.“Come no closer or some of us may be killed.” The soldiers stopped. Ellis looked around for some place to hide. The Spanish officer, Captain Miguel de Musquiz, rode forward, with William Barr at his side.

  “Our only hope is for Nolan to get them to let us go,” Ellis whispered. “Against so many we haven’t a chance. There must be three hundred of them.” Duncan nodded and licked his lips, glancing anxiously from Nolan to the officers. Joel Pierce and Blackburn stared at the soldiers, their faces white with fear.

  Ellis listened as Músquiz spoke and Barr translated. “You must lay down your arms and surrender,” Barr said in an Irish accent. Ellis listened for Nolan’s reply, almost afraid to hear what he might say. He must know now they’re onto him, Ellis thought, but the rest of us didn’t know about that. He should explain why we’re here so they’ll let us go.

  “No!” was Nolan’s curt reply as he spun about and stalked back to the fort, Fero and the others at his heels. Ellis saw one of the militiamen raise his carbine and aim it at Nolan’s back. Instinctively Ellis aimed and dropped the man. With a sense of unreality, he bent down to reload and saw two of Nolan’s Tejano mustangers bolt out the back of the fort, one of them carrying Nolan’s carbine. Fero ran to the door and yelled for them to come back, which made them run faster.

  Ellis looked frantically around, feeling like a raccoon treed by a pack of hounds. There was no way to escape. Músquiz raised his sword and shouted an order. Ellis ducked behind the wall as the soldiers and militia raised their guns. Bullets whistled overhead or thudded into the thick logs on eveiy side. Most of Nolan’s men were hastily firing over the walls, then crouching to reload. Trembling, Ellis raised his rifle and fired, ducking so quickly he didn’t know if he’d hit his target. His hands shook so, he spilled powder while reloading.

  Nolan was everywhere, encouraging his men, daringly exposing his head to fire his pistol. “Make every shot count,” he shouted over the boom of muskets and bark of long rifles. “Don’t miss!”

  He opened his mouth to speak again when a bullet stuck his head and his feet flew out from under him. Ellis looked around for him, expecting him to say more, then saw him stretched out on the floor motionless.

  “Nolan’s hit!” he shouted, and the others turned. Fero leaned over Nolan.

  “He’s dead! ” he called. “Bullet in the head! ” The others stopped firing for the moment. Ellis leaned on his rifle to steady himself, for his legs suddenly felt weak. Then, seeing the others firing again at the soldiers, he got off another hasty shot and hunched down. Ephraim Blackburn, his arms around Joel’s shoulders, huddled in a comer. Blackburn’s lips were moving and Ellis knew he was praying. So far, no one but Nolan had been hit.

  The cavalrymen unloaded a small artillery piece from a pack mule and began showering the fort with grapeshot. After only a few rounds, two men were painfully wounded.

  “We’ve got to capture the cannon or make a run for it,” Ellis gasped. “If we don’t, we’ll be killed for sure.

  “We’ll mak
e a run for it,” Fero shouted. “Don’t all fire at once or the lancers will get us. If we can only make it to some trees....”

  Ellis and the others hastily filled their powder horns and bullet pouches, then Fero gave the rest of their supply to Caesar to carry. Hands trembling and mouth dry, Ellis wondered if his legs would hold up. Running out the back of the fort toward the small stream, they stopped to fire and load in turns to keep the deadly lancers at a distance. Bullets whistled about them and plucked at their clothing; miraculously, no one was hit.

  They splashed through the creek, not daring to stop for a drink of water. They fired and reloaded in turns as the lancers closed in behind them. Ellis glanced back toward the creek and saw one of the men wounded by grapeshot sink to the ground, too weak to continue.

  “Oh God, look!” Ellis cried. Caesar had dropped the powder bag and was holding up his hands. Now all the Spaniards had to do was wait until their quarry ran out of powder, then pick them off one at a time.

  Ellis and his comrades retreated slowly through waist-high grass toward the Brazos, their long rifles keeping the Spaniards out of accurate range of their muskets and carbines. The sun rose high over their heads. Ellis’ throat was parched. Finally they came to a ravine and clambered into it. Ellis’ mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow, and his heart was pounding. I don’t want to die, he thought, but we’ve gone as far as we can.

  They had no water and their powder was getting low. By early afternoon the Spaniards had brought up their little cannon and showered the ravine with grapeshot. Joel Pierce cried out and held his hand to his cheek. When he took it away, blood ran down his chin from a jagged gash. “Hold your handkerchief over it till it stops bleeding,” Blackburn urged.

  “I got to have water! ” the other wounded man panted. He laid down his gun and crawled out of the ravine to surrender and beg for water.

  Ellis looked around at the others. Most were fearless men, but their situation was hopeless. There was a look of resignation on their faces.

  The wounded man soon returned, wiping water from his chin. “The captain says that since Nolan is dead, he’ll send us home if we surrender,” he told them. Duncan and Ellis looked at each other and shrugged. The stocky William Barr, carrying a white flag, approached the ravine.

  “Surrender now and you’ll be sent to Nachitoches,” he assured them in his Irish accent. Ellis stared at him to see if he appeared to be telling the truth, if he really believed what he told them.

  Ellis doubted it, but that made little difference. They could surrender and take their chances, or they could stay there and be killed. David Fero crawled out of the ravine, walked up to where Músquiz sat on his horse, and handed him his pistol and hunting knife. Since he was Nolan’s second-in-command, there was nothing for the others to do but follow him.

  The troops herded them back to the fort. When Ellis stepped in a hole and nearly fell, a soldier jabbed him in the back with his own rifle. Robert and Caesar dug a grave for their former master, while the soldiers buried their dead. Just before they lowered Nolan’s body, Músquiz spoke to a soldier and handed him Fero’s knife. The soldier knelt by Nolan’s side while Ellis held his breath, horrified at the thought of having to watch him cut off the dead man’s head. But the soldier cut off Nolan’s ears and handed them to Barr. Seeing Ellis’ expression, Barr explained, “That’s just proof to the governor that he’s dead. I’m taking them to San Antonio.” He pocketed the grisly trophies. Ellis shuddered.

  In the morning the Indians rode away, while the troops, militia, prisoners, and wounded men began the long ride eastward across the flower-covered prairies. Mustang bands galloped out of their way, then stopped to watch them from a safe distance. Ellis gazed at them without really seeing them.

  On April 3, they reached the village of Nacogdoches, set on a knoll among tall pines. The cavalry stopped by a large, two-story stone building that looked out of place among the log houses. A middle-aged, portly American with neatly trimmed hair and beard emerged from a nearby building. He was well-dressed and appeared to be prosperous.

  “I’m Samuel Davenport,” he told them. “That’s my trading post yonder.” He nodded toward it. ‘‘This is the Old Stone Fort; it’s where you’ll be stayin’ for awhile.”

  Joel Pierce touched his swollen cheek, his eyes glittering feverishly. “I hope they let us go soon,” he said in a choking voice. “I wrote my wife we’d be gone only three months and I’d have some horses of my own. Now all I want is to see her again.”

  “I hope all of us will soon be with our loved ones,” Ephraim Blackburn said. Davenport shook his head, a bit sadly, Ellis thought.

  “How come you’re here?” Ellis asked him. “You’re an American, aren’t you?”

  Davenport took a cigar from his pocket, smelled it, and put it in his mouth. “I was,” he replied. “Came here from Pennsylvania a while back and liked it. They let me stay, and now I’m a Spanish citizen and Indian agent for East Texas.”

  Blackburn put his hand on Joel Pierce’s forehead. “He’s burning up” he told Davenport. “Have you anything for a fever?”

  Davenport looked at the ugly wound and winced. “I’ll send the curandera," he replied. “She can bring it down pretty quick and dress the wound.”

  A few days later, Musquiz and Davenport came to the fort. Through Davenport, Fero asked Musquiz when they’d be sent home.

  “I’m waiting for orders to release you from the commandant in Chihuahua,” Musquiz replied. “In the meantime, you are free to do what you want in the daytime as long as you return to the fort at night.”

  “Chihuahua is a long ride, more than six hundred miles,” Davenport added. “It’ll be awhile before the reply comes. I advise you to be patient.”

  “We surrendered on his promise to send us back to the States,” Fero growled. “He doesn’t need an order to keep his promise.”

  Davenport grimaced. “You don’t know the Spanish army,” he said. “They don’t do anything like that without written orders. I know he’d like to release you, but he might be cashiered if he did. I think they’ll set you free in time if no one does anything to rile them. My advice is to sit tight and wait it out, even if it takes a year or two.” Fero groaned.

  “How’d he know where to find us?” he asked.

  “Some of your men told the commander at Concordia, and he sent word to Captain Músquiz. He also warned him that you were all well armed and would fight. That’s why he took every available man.” Fero scowled at news of their betrayal.

  Although the taciturn scout Luciano had always appeared unapproachable, as if he preferred silence to conversation, Ellis and Duncan hesitantly spoke to him one day, figuring he understood Spaniards. “Why did they attack us?” Ellis asked, wondering if Luciano would deign to reply. “Mr. Nolan had a passport, didn’t he?”

  Suprised, Luciano looked them over, as if seeing them for the first time. “Yes,” he replied, “but maybe they learned something about his plans, or someone said bad things about him. Señor Nolan was a fine man and my good amigo. He saved my life once. I wish I could have saved his.”

  “Were you with him when he came here before?” Ellis asked. Luciano nodded again.

  “Twice. You should have seen the herd we brought out last time—thirteen hundred head. That’s a lot of mustangs.” He looked at them for a moment in consideration.“Since we have nothing to do and may be here for a long time, I could teach you to speak Spanish. That is, if you want me to. Who knows? It might come in handy one day.”

  Both eagerly accepted, and met with him every day after that, glad to have something to occupy their time. Before long, both were able to ask simple questions and to understand the answers.

  “That Luciano is a wise old owl,” Ellis told Duncan. “Hike him. I guess he was just waitin’ for someone to talk to him.”

  “Reckon we should steal a couple of horses and make a run for it?” Duncan asked one day as they wandered around waiting for Luciano.

&n
bsp; “Make it three horses we can slip away with early some morning and take Luciano with us,” Ellis replied. “ If we can get even half a day’s head start, we can make it for sure with Luciano along. He knows the country.”

  Later that day, they were at Davenport’s trading post looking at the goods on the shelves when Fero walked in. Ignoring Ellis and Duncan, he approached Davenport. “How long are they going to keep us here?” he growled. “Some of the men have families.”

  “All I can tell you is what I said before,”Davenport replied. “I think eventually they’ll release you, if no one does anything to anger them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like trying to escape,” Davenport replied." That would be a disaster. This affair has caused a lot of excitement, and it’ll take a while for it to die down. But if anyone leaves, or even tries to, it’ll be much worse than before. The others might not be freed for years. Maybe never.” Fero cursed.

  Duncan and Ellis left the post. “It was sure tempting, and I know we could have made it, “Ellis said. “But after what Davenport told Fero, it wouldn’t be fair to the others. They might never be released, and that would be a high price for them to pay for our freedom. We’d better be patient, like Davenport said, but it won’t be easy.”

  Six weeks passed, and still no order came from Chihuahua. “Damn them,” Robert Ashley said. “I wish we could lay our hands on our rifles and fight our way out of here. I’d as soon be killed trying as rot here.” Others agreed.

  “We must do as they say” Blackburn warned. “As long as there’s life there’s hope. Let’s pray we won’t have to wait much longer.” Ashley scowled.