Chapter Thirteen
“Bad one rolling in on us.” Dallas’s voice came to Ace filled with dread and worry. “We ain’t gonna get ahead of it.”
“Nope.” Ace had his eyes locked on a dark night sky.
Dangerous lightning was flickering in the west. The kind of lightning man feared.
A mean wind was blowing, pushing hard at the herd.
The wind was so bad, no cookfire could be made.
“Wind will spread the flames. Can’t risk it,” Ace had told everyone.
Now, he was sitting on watch with Dallas, watching a dark storm roll in. Storm will be here in about a half an hour or so, maybe sooner. Winds are getting meaner by the minute. Hope we don’t see no twister come from it.
Bonnie rode up. “Now what in the world are you doing awake, gal?” Dallas fussed.
“Can’t sleep.” Ace heard fear in Bonnie’s voice. “Roscoe ain’t pushing no herd the way we are. He can ride faster.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dallas sounded a mite worried, too.
Finn and Clyde’s shadows appeared on horseback. “Looks like none of us can sleep. Storm is gonna knock us back to Texas,” Finn said.
Ace kept his eyes west. It was too dark to see anyone’s expression, but the tension was heavy enough to light up the night. He could guess the thoughts kicking around their heads. Soon or later, Roscoe Carver is gonna catch up to us. He’s got more hands and guns than I do.
“We can try to move the herd,” he suggested.
“Might as well,” Dallas told Ace. “No sense in just sitting here like prey.”
“Yep,” Finn agreed. “Clyde?”
“We ain’t gonna beat the storm, but if lightning strikes hard we’re gonna be chasing loose steers all night. Best if we keep the herd moving,” Clyde spoke in his simple way.
“Let’s get into position,” Ace told everyone. “Bonnie, ride point with me.”
Getting the herd moving felt good. Sure, everyone was plumb give out, but their bellies were full, thanks to John’s wife.
Moving the herd would be better than hunkering down for the night.
A man felt good when he was on his horse, doing something.
Sitting around like dry stubble for the fire was no good.
“Grub wasn’t half bad,” Ace told Bonnie, riding at a steady pace. The trail was dark, but there were some trees to mark the edges of the trail. That was good enough.
“Yeah. Beans were good and salty.”
Ace could tell Bonnie wasn’t much in the mood to talk. He focused on the storm. Storm is gonna ride up on us real hard. We’re not gonna get ahead of it. Came up too fast. Lightning will spook the herd.
There was no reason to keep on talking. Ace dropped into his own thoughts.
His mind wandered back to a day in the war.
He saw himself sitting around a low campfire with a few soldiers.
A hard wind was blowing. Lightning was flickering across the sky, giving life to the wounded and dying men stacked inside the medical tents.
The stench of blood and death was everywhere. The Yanks had given the Confederate army a bad beating a few hours before. “We held the line. That’s what counts,” a man named Phil Whitfield said as he worked on a tobacco pipe that had a bit of blood on it.
Ace looked across the campfire at Phil. He was an older man, around fifty or so, with a deep gray beard. Old or not, he was tougher than a wild bull and braver than a hundred souls put together.
“We didn’t win the fight.”
“No, but we held the line. Them Yanks didn’t break through. Reinforcements will be here by morning,” Phil answered, keeping his head down against the wind enough to work on his pipe. “We gave the Yanks a bad beating. They ain’t gonna try to push at us again tonight.”
Ace felt defeated. He’d seen many a good man die. He felt guilty for being alive. Yeah, some cannon fire had knocked him senseless near the end of the battle, cutting a gash into the side of his head, but at least he was still alive. A field bandage and a hard pat on the back worked.
“You’re all right, boy!” Phil had told him. “Just got kicked by an ornery mule, is all.”
Besides a headache and some ringing in his left ear, Ace felt okay. He was just sick of all the fighting and killing.
“We can win this war,” another man by the name of Vern said. Like Phil, Vern was an older soldier who’d fought in a few good battles. “Only, the talk I’m hearing is that Lee don’t want to win this war.”
“I’m hearing that talk, too.” Phil nodded his head.
Ace had heard rumors that Lee was turning yellow and was secretly sending agents to the Yanks to make a deal.
Lincoln, he heard, wanted the southern states to fall in line with the federal government.
It was all about control. Ace had even heard rumors that Lincoln wanted to extend his hand all the way to California.
The railroads were making good progress.
Soldiers were being loaded up and shipped further west at speeds that worried Ace.
Whether the rumors were true or not, Ace didn’t know.
All he knew was that the end of the war was near.
He wasn’t blind. The eyes of the high-ranking officers he encountered said it all.
Something was wrong—horribly wrong. The Confederate army was strong and willing to fight.
The Yanks knew that. Yeah, some battles the Yanks won, but that was war.
There was no way the Yanks were going to take the south, unless…
unless some sort of betrayal was taking place behind closed doors.
It was hard to believe Lee would betray his own men, but Ace just couldn’t be sure.
“If the Yanks attack us tonight, we’re done for,” Ace told the men sitting around the campfire. “We ain’t got enough fighting soldiers to hold them back. We’re outnumbered, according to Major Cohutta.”
“Just gotta do the best we can with what we got,” Phil told Ace. “Man can be outnumbered and still win.”
“How?” Ace asked.
Phil tapped the side of his head with his pipe. “By using the sense God gave you, boy. Courage goes a long way, but a man has to be smart when he’s fighting.”
“Don’t see how that’s possible when you’re outnumbered,” Ace insisted.
Phil shrugged his shoulders. “Depends on how you’re fighting, boy. If you’re outnumbered, all you can do is count your guns and figure out a way to make your enemy think twice about attacking.”
Ace heard a man cry out in pain—a death cry, one he’d heard many times. He lowered his head. A minute later, the man’s cry went silent.
Death had taken another soul.
“Take him home, Lord,” Ace murmured.
“Amen,” Phil said.
Ace kept his eyes low. Men were shot up and dying. One man had been shot through the eye, but was somehow still alive. Another man had his leg taken off by cannon fire. One man had been shot three times in his gut. The stench of blood and death was so strong, Ace wanted to vomit.
An officer approached. Everyone started to stand up. “Stay seated, men.”
“What’s the news, Major Cohutta?” Phil asked.
Ace looked up into the face of a middle-aged man with a long black beard and hard gray eyes. “Reinforcements will be here by morning, as expected. Be ready to fight.”
“Why are we holding this farm?” Vern demanded. “This farm just sits on the outskirts of town. We need to be further north, Major.”
“I agree, Sergeant MacGregor, but orders are orders.”
“The Yanks got the river!” Vern shook his head. “It’s plumb stupid to be on this end of the field.”
“Lee’s orders,” Mayor Cohutta told Vern, but his tone put a bad feeling in Ace’s gut. “He wants us to hold this side of the field where the road is at.”
“Yeah, while the Yanks march their army around us,” Phil muttered. “The Yanks we’re fighting are just holding us here like dumb cows.”
“Do your jobs,” Major Cohutta ordered and then departed.
“See?” Vern told everyone. “We ain’t gonna win this war. I bet the Yanks are marching around us and heading south right now—and Lee is letting them.”
“Keep your voice down,” Phil ordered.
“What for? Rumor is, the Yanks are heading for a place called Gettysburg. If they get that far south of us…” All Vern could do was shake his head.
Ace heard another death cry. He raised his eyes and looked up at the night sky, at more lightning, as the wind tore into his face. Something was horribly wrong. Every man with an ounce of sense knew it, too. The Confederate army was being set up for the slaughter.
“Ace?” Bonnie’s voice brought Ace’s mind back to the trail.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Roscoe is gonna kill us. We ain’t gonna outrun him. You’ve been good to me, though. I ain’t gonna ride off. I’ll stay by you and fight. Rather die fighting than keep running, anyhow.” Bonnie’s voice barely rose over the wind.
She means her words. She’ll stay and fight. Why? Reckon she thinks that if she runs, soon or later, Roscoe Carver will track her down. Ace thought about what Phil had said about being smart when you’re outnumbered. He just wasn’t sure how to win against a gang of outlaws on a hard trail.
“We’ll fight, Bonnie. That’s all we can do.”
“Not against Roscoe,” Bonnie answered in a voice that told Ace she was about ready to give up the fight. “We’re just riding dead on the saddle, Ace. You know it, and I know it.”
“No, I don’t know that.” Ace let his voice become hard and stern. “Bonnie, a fella fights until he’s dead. I ain’t gonna run yellow from Roscoe Carver, do you hear me? I was hired to get this herd to Wichita, and I plan on doing that.”
“Ain’t gonna happen, Ace.”
Ace checked the storm. Another ten minutes or so, and the storm will be on us.
“Bonnie, you best understand that God told Joshua to be strong and courageous and to not be afraid or dismayed. I ain’t no Joshua, but I reckon I got enough sense to know that God is the same, no matter what.
All a man can do is keep moving down the trail and trust that God will handle the rest.”
“Sometimes, I just wonder why the bad get to hurt the good,” Bonnie said and then went silent again.
Ace glanced through the darkness at her. She was keeping pace with him, but her horse seemed exhausted—sagging, even.
I can’t blame her for being scared. Soon or later, the fight is gonna catch up to us. Then what? Five guns against Carver’s entire gang ain’t good. I ain’t gonna run, though. Wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. Just gonna keep moving the herd up the trail the best way I know how.
A few minutes later, the storm barreled in over the herd. Lightning struck a tree, setting it alight with furious fire. The herd panicked.
“Keep ’em together!” Ace yelled, riding up and down the herd, pushing running steers back. “Don’t let ’em scatter!”
Deep in his gut, Ace knew a time was coming when he’d have to fight Roscoe Carver and keep his friends together. Running a herd was one thing; fighting off death was another—especially with a beautiful woman like Bonnie involved.
By the time daylight arrived, the storm had passed, and the herd was moving without any problem but exhaustion.
“Gotta stop and rest,” Dallas insisted.
Ace had no choice but to find a place to camp and stop the herd.