Texas Rifles Read Online Free PDF Page B

was supposed to take the lead, but Barcroft was crowding him now in his restless haste, staying close behind him. Cloud rode almost abreast of the captain. He could see excitement building in Barcroft’s face now—an eager anticipation.
    Moments before sundown they spotted the Indians, strung out in a long, tired line. There were more than Cloud had supposed when he had first looked down at Moseley’s, and he was doubly glad he hadn’t fired into them instead of merely running off the horses. The Indians saw the pursuit and began whipping up their horses. At the distance Cloud knew most of the stragglers were squaws. Some of the bucks began dropping back to protect them, but some were trying to get on out ahead, even at the expense of the squaws.
    Most Comanches took pains to protect their women and children, but once Cloud had seen a warrior pull a squaw down off a horse and take it for his own getaway. They could be as cold-blooded about it as some white men.
    Ahead lay a stretch of oak timber.
    â€œSpur out, men,” Barcroft shouted. “If they make that brush, and dark coming on, we’ll lose them.”
    He used his leather quirt. The riders with the best horses began pulling forward in a ragged line. Those on poorer mounts, and those who didn’t really want to be in the thick of it, began falling back. Barcroft looked behind him, searching out the men who had held back in the last skirmish. “You two—Holmes, Ulbrich—get yourselves
up here and fight! Spur up, I tell you, or I’ll have you shot!”
    Somehow the two got extra speed out of their horses.
    Their mounts fresher, the Rifles rapidly closed the distance between themselves and the Indians. A few of the newer men wasted a long shot or two that picked up dust far from the Comanches.
    Barcroft shouted, “Hold your fire till you can hit something.” He used the quirt some more.
    One of the warriors stopped his horse suddenly, reined about and raised a rifle. It spat fire. The man named Ulbrich screamed and tumbled from the saddle. Barcroft didn’t even look back. Pistol in his hand, he bore down on the Indian and pulled the trigger. The Indian fell. Galloping by, other men fired at the Comanche, making sure he was dead.
    From here on it was an easy butchery until the lead Indians got into the brush and scattered like quail. One fell, then another and another. Spurring past, Cloud looked down at one broken body and realized it was a squaw. Regret gripped him, but he knew there was no sense in worrying about it. In a running fight, it was sometimes hard to tell a squaw from a buck.
    As Moseley had said, she just ortn’t to’ve been there.
    The sun was gone, the dusk quickly deepening. The troops were far into the brush, and firing had stopped. The Indians had vanished. His horse sweat-lathered and breathing hard, Barcroft called out, “Assemble! Pass the word, assemble!”
    Cloud reined in beside the captain and took the opportunity to reload his six-shooter. His breath was short from the hard run, and his heart was thumping from the excitement. He looked at the captain and saw the man’s chest heaving. Barcroft was almost out of breath, yet there was exultation in his face. Pleasure showed in his black
eyes as he looked down upon the body of a Comanche warrior.
    The Mexican scout dismounted and said, “With your permission, Capitán ?” He had his knife out and ready.
    Barcroft said, “Help yourself.”
    Something cold passed through Cloud as he watched. Barcroft caught the look. “Bother you, Cloud?”
    â€œCan’t say as I like it.”
    â€œIndians scalp their victims, or don’t you know?”
    â€œThey’re savages. We’re white men.”
    â€œWe’re fighting a savage foe, Cloud. If we’re to survive, we need to become as savage as he is.”
    â€œCan’t say as I accept that, Captain.”
    Firmly Barcroft said, “