Ambush at Quitman Pass. Rechey Davidson
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Henley continued his search. His cheeks flexed as he refused to give up.
“I think ---”
“Quiet!” The Lieutenant jerked the field glasses down and listened intently. “There! Hear that?”
The Sergeant strained to see, shading his eyes with his gloved hand, as he listened.
They both froze, ears cocked. The Sergeant hushed the men.
Through the quiet came a distant, muffled scream.
“That sounds like a woman, sir!” yelled Sergeant Riley.
“See if you can tell where it's coming from. Sounds like it's coming from up there.” Henley pointed up the trail they had been following.
“Yes, sir. Still a ways off, though.”
“Mount up! We're moving!” commanded Lieutenant Henley as he leapt into the saddle and swung his mount in the direction of the scream.
The troopers scrambled for their horses, mounted and followed.
A loud scream pierced the air, then silence. Then a thunder of hoofs in the distance.
“Let's go!” shouted Henley slapping reins against his horse's flanks and spurring him at the same time.
“Forward --- at the gallop --- Ho!” barked the Sergeant.
The patrol of 22 men galloped up the trail left by the Indians. The Lieutenant scanned the hillside ahead, the boulders, the arroyos for signs of an ambush as he raced on. Even here he rushed ahead only because he had already scanned this brush-free hillside for some time. It was a calculated risk there was no danger until they crossed the top.
Lieutenant Henley reined up as they neared the top of the hill and possible trouble. He looked and listened. He sent a private to the point.
The soldier topped the rise then quickly turned back, sick. He motioned the Lieutenant up.
Henley rushed toward the top. Suddenly, the smell of burning flesh struck him. Just over the rise was the young woman from the stage, nude, tied spread-eagle to four stakes, with glowing coals still burning on her naked stomach. She had died painfully.
Henley closed his eyes, clenched his fist and grit his teeth.
Sergeant Riley halted beside Henley. “It's a warning, sir.”
“Damn it! I know that! They might have others they're itchin' to kill. Turn back unless you want more on your conscience.” He rubbed his forehead, open palmed. “Do something with her, Sergeant.” said the Lieutenant turning to the Sergeant. The pain registered on his face. What to do now?
The Sergeant dismounted and motioned for two of the stronger stomach troopers to help.
Henley was deep in thought. He was not even looking for signs of the Apaches. He knew they were long gone. They had taken off as soon as they set the fire. He looked back down the hill they had just climbed. The Apaches could have seen them coming for a couple of miles. He stared at the valley below.
The Sergeant walked up to the Lieutenant who was still mounted. “Sir, she was, uh ---”
“Yeah, I know. She was raped, too. Probably has knife cuts all over. Maybe even missing a breast.” Henley said without looking at the Sergeant.
Riley turned away.
The rest of the troop were still mounted, awaiting orders. Sergeant Riley mounted and trotted his horse to the Lieutenant.
“Are we goin' back now, sir?”
Henley took a deep, audible breath and exhaled harshly, then swung his mount to the south. “No! I'm still goin' to stop them. Now!”
The column pushed on. Deeper and deeper into Mexico. The sun was slowly nearing the horizon. Less than a couple of hours of daylight left. They would have to stop soon.
The Indians' trail was clear, almost too clear. Up small hills, through dry washes, around large outcrops of rocks, but always deeper south. The trail led across a wide, flat stretch of desert and through a deep, winding dry wash. The wash was some six-foot deep with banks straight up and down except for the cut where the trail led through to the other side. The wash was easily fifteen feet wide.
They crossed carefully, wary of ambush. Once across, Henley halted and studied the rocky outcrop and hill less than a hundred yards ahead.
“I smell ambush, Sergeant. That narrow pass through there is too inviting.”
“I agree, sir.” nodded the Sergeant.
“I think we better ease back down into this gully and rest a spell.”
The troop retreated to the wash.
“Dismount your men and line them along these banks. Warn the end man in each direction to keep an eye down the draw itself.”
Henley carefully looked his men over as they dismounted and lined the banks. “Jackson!” called the Lieutenant upon finding the man he wanted, “Over here.”
Corporal Jackson ran to the Lieutenant. His 15-year hitch in the army had ingrained in him the need to rush when a superior called, especially Lieutenant Henley.
“Jackson, you're a good man. You've had a lot of experience with the Apache. That's why I want you to scout out that hill.” explained Henley pointing out the path he was to take. “Leave your carbine and just take your pistol. If it's clear, wave from up there. If not --- be careful.” Henley smiled as he slapped Jackson on the arm. “Take care, you hear?”
Jackson smiled, saluted, “Yes, sir.” Then started up the draw.
“Sergeant,” called Lieutenant Henley turning to Riley, “I want you to send three or four men down the wash until they're well out of sight, backtrack till they meet the burial detail --- on second thought, tell them not to go over a couple miles --- drag bushes or anything else they find to stir up dust and come a runnin'! I want those Apaches to think we have reinforcements. Send the bugler. Have him sound a loud 'Charge' if we start shootin'.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Sergeant,” Henley thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the pass ahead. Have them leave their carbines and hats scattered along this bank in plain sight. And stay low as they leave.”
Riley nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“If they can't get the horses out of the wash, send a runner to the burial detail. A few is better than none.”
Lieutenant Henley turned and hunted Corporal Jackson up in his field glasses. Jackson was now at the base of the rocky outcrop and starting to climb.
The minutes dragged by. Jackson carefully made his way to the top.
“Corp'l Jackson's a good man, sir.” said Riley as he leaned against the bank by the Lieutenant, carbine ready.
“That's why I sent him.”
Soon Jackson disappeared over the ridge.
Henley lower the glasses and rested. “Now the waiting really starts.”
More minutes dragged by. Jackson had been gone a good quarter of an hour and no signs nor gunshots. Henley wiped his face with his neck scarf then wiped the sweat out of his hat. The air was finally beginning to cool some as the sun dropped below the horizon.
Riley pointed to the crest of the hill. “There's Jackson now, sir! Wavin' all clear.”
Henley spun around around and stared at the lone figure waving from the very top of a large boulder. He started to smile, then stopped. Something was wrong. “Damn idiot! Damn it!” He cursed as he grabbed the Sergeant's carbine. “Wave back at him!”
Riley stared at him, bewildered, “What --- “ then shook his head and rose to wave.
The Lieutenant beaded down on the figure and fired. The man twisted