around her son’s back and squeezed a hug.
“What do you need me to do, Percy?” Frances asked. She had lived long enough on the frontier to know exactly what was going on.
“Need some grub, Ma, and plenty of it,” Percy said. “We’ll hunt game for meat, but we could sure do with some flour, coffee, and whatever else you think we’ll need.”
Frances looked at her two daughters and said, “Grab anything you can from your two kitchens and bring it to the house. Don’t worry if you’re runnin’ low because I’ll send somebody to Red River station for supplies later.”
Once Rachel and Abby were out of earshot, Frances put a hand on Percy’s arm and said, “I know you don’t know how long you’ll be gone, but you need to spend a moment with Mary before you leave.”
“How is she today?” Percy asked, his face crinkling with new worry.
“Not good, son. She can’t get out of bed.”
Percy looked off in the distance for a long spell. “You’ll watch after the kids?”
“Of course,” Frances said.
Percy blew out a long breath. “Okay. Let me get the wagon squared away and I’ll look in on her.”
Frances patted her son on the arm before turning for home.
Percy, as hard as it was, turned his mind back to the task at hand. He walked around to the side of the barn and slid open the wide door. Inside was the wagon. Built by the Peter Schuttler Wagon Works Company out of Chicago, the wagon had oversized wheels, a beefed-up frame, and a bed that was designed to float the river crossings without wetting the contents. And it was those contents that made this particular wagon so special. It was the equalizer that kept any marauding Indians at bay.
Mounted at the front of the wagon, with a 360-degree field of fire, was a Gatling gun. A hand-cranked rotary cannon, the gun’s six rotating barrels could spit out two hundred rounds per minute. The original gun shipped with a forty-round, gravity-fed magazine that slipped into a slot at the top of the gun. The Ridgeways increased the rate of fire by adding a drum magazine that held two hundred .50 caliber rounds. And if that wasn’t enough to get the job done, there was an even more sinister weapon mounted on the back of the wagon—the M1841 mountain howitzer. Loaded with canister shot, the weapon could blast 148 .69 caliber lead balls in a single firing. It was like a hundred sawed-off shotguns firing at the same time. The effective range of the weapon extended to hundreds of yards, but the closer, the deadlier. At two hundred fifty yards, the howitzer could level an enemy with lethal precision. The Indians were mighty afraid of the Gatling gun but they were absolutely terrified of the mountain howitzer.
After what seemed like forever, Jesse and Hendershot returned, leading the mule team and driving some fresh horses out in front of them. Luis and Arturo worked quickly to harness the four mules and they pulled the wagon from the barn.
Percy leaned over the rail and counted the cases of ammunition stored aboard. By his estimation, they had enough ammo to wipe out all the Comanches currently walking the earth.
CHAPTER 15
Seth was unable to sit a horse with his blistered bottom so the three of them—Seth, Eli, and Win—were making slow yet steady progress heading back to the ranch afoot. Leading their horses, the three started around daybreak and were now in sight of the Red River. There had been no discussion about who the three men Win and Eli had killed were or where they might have been from. Dead was dead, and the rest of that stuff didn’t matter. Eli thought they were lucky they came along when they did because he had no doubt the three men had other devious deeds in mind. And if they’d tried to do whatever it was to Seth, how many other children had endured the same? Not anymore, Eli thought.
The water level in the river was up slightly from yesterday’s brief shower, but it was little more than ankle deep in most places with a few deeper pools thrown into the mix. Eli didn’t know who’d given the stream its name but whoever it was had nailed it—the water was muddy and brackish, and so salty it was unusable most of the year. What the riverbed lacked in water, it more than made up for it in the amount of quicksand which littered the entire Red River basin. It would suck a cow or horse in so deep the only way to get them out was to put a rope on them and pull them out. Luckily, the three avoided any quicksand and a couple of water moccasins sunning on the sand and crossed safely.
As they were climbing up the far bank and back onto ranch land, Eli’s heart stuttered when the roar of gunfire shattered the silence. The quick tat, tat, tat, tat could be only one thing—the Gatling gun. The three turned their horses loose to find their own way back to the barn and quickened their pace, weaving through a thick stand of blackjacks, not knowing if the ranch was under attack by a swarm of warring Indians or a roving pack of ruthless raiders. When the weapon didn’t sound again, Eli and Win glanced at each other, confused. They paused at the tree line and scanned the surrounding area. A large swath of land around the ranch buildings had been cleared of all trees and brush to allow for a wider field of fire and the only thing Eli could see were the heat waves shimmering in the distance. There were no clouds of dust indicating a group of invaders and the gun hadn’t sounded again. Hoping younger eyes might be sharper, Eli leaned in close to Seth and whispered, “See anything?”
Seth shook his head. “I reckon they’re just horsin’ around.”
“I hope you reckon right,” Eli said. He led the other two out of the woods. Hugging the tree line just in case, the three worked their way around to the side of the barn and saw Percy bent over the Gatling gun.
“What the hell, Percy?” Eli asked as they walked over to the wagon and stopped.
Percy stood and said, “Makin’ sure the gun’s workin’. I see you found Seth, proving miracles can still happen.”
“Funny,” Eli said. “Are you anticipating an all-out assault on the ranch?”
When Percy didn’t immediately answer, Eli asked the question again.
Percy shot his brother a glare and climbed out of the wagon. Percy winced when he saw Seth’s bruised face, but he’d wait to get the story from Eli. He ruffled Seth’s hair and said, “Why don’t you go tell your ma you’re back so she’ll stop worryin’.”
“Are you goin’ to shoot the gun again?” Seth asked, his eyes alight with excitement.
“Shootin’s over. Now, go on, your ma’s worried sick,” Percy said.
Seth hung his head and limped toward home. Once he was out of earshot, Percy looked at Eli and Win and said, “Indians took Emma sometime last night. We’re headed out to look for her.”
“Which Injuns?” Win asked, his mustache and beard so thick you couldn’t see his mouth move.
Percy stared off in the distance for a moment, then refocused his gaze on the two men. “Comanche or Kiowa.”
“Not a hair’s difference between them,” Eli said. He looked down and nudged the dirt with the toe of his boot for a moment then looked up at his brother. “You’ve heard the horror stories of what they do to their captives.”
Percy sighed. “I know. Only hope is to find her quick.”
“Wagon’s gonna slow us down,” Win said.
“Can’t
