*Johnny’s DMCST-induced dream*
John Gage squirmed fitfully in his sleep. No matter what position he tried, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Finally, he just gave up. The restless fireman’s eyes slowly opened and he lay there, squinting up at a sky-blue ceiling. ‘What an odd color for a ceil—’ he halted, right in mid-thought. The ceiling wasn’t sky-blue. The ceiling was blue sky! ‘What the—?!’
The disturbed sleeper stiffened and snapped bolt upright, to take a long look around. No wonder he couldn’t get comfortable! He was sprawled out on the cold, hard ground!
To his right, stretched mile after endless mile of flat, barren desert.
To his left, were low, rolling hills sparsely covered with clumps of dried out buffalo grass and mesquite bushes. Beyond the hills, he could see the bright, pink glow of dawn on the horizon.
Gage blinked his wide eyes and gradually engaged his gaping jaws. “What the—?!” he re-exclaimed, this time, aloud.
“It’s about time you stirred!” a familiar voice suddenly spoke up, from somewhere behind him.
John jerked and spun around.
His partner was stooped beside a small campfire, holding up an old enamel coffeepot. “Want a cup?” he grumpily inquired.
Gage just sat there, staring—in disbelief—at the bizarre way his buddy was dressed.
Roy was wearing a dust-covered, gambler’s-style Stetson—of some undeterminable color. The hat was pulled low over his blue eyes and was cocked almost sideways on his sandy-haired head. His heavy cotton shirt was a dingy white. Its cuffs were unbuttoned and its sleeves were rolled midway up to his elbows. He also had on a black leather vest, a pair of faded, old, dusty blue jeans and Western riding boots?
John was about to ask his companion why he was dressed ‘that’ way, when he suddenly noticed how he was clothed—er, not clothed himself! He stared down at his bare chest and arms—in further disbelief. At least his legs were covered. Much to his amazement, he was sporting skintight, tan leather breeches and a pair of tall, brown, leather moccasins, laced just about up to his knees. He caught a glimpse of something black, out of the corner of his eye—his hair? His hair currently hung down past his shoulders! There was a broad, leather band strapped to the upper portion of each of his arms. He raised his right hand and felt his forehead. A narrower band of leather was strapped across it.
There had to be a reason why the two of them were dressed the way they were.
John just couldn’t seem to recall what it was…
“Okay,” his irritated friend informed him, “I’m pourin’ it out.”
John snapped back to reality? “Uh-uh…No! No. I’ll have a cup.” He got stiffly to his moccasined feet and crossed quickly over to the fire. He picked up a slightly dented old tin cup and held it out to the coffee dispenser.
Roy gave him an annoyed glare and reluctantly poured him out a cup of very black coffee.
“Thanks!” Gage flashed his impatient friend a grateful smile and then watched as he tipped the pot upside-down and drowned their campfire out with the remainder of its contents.
The fire hissed and crackled and started smoking something awful.
DeSoto quickly kicked dirt over it with his boot, smothering both the fire and the smoke.
Gage glanced up from the steaming cup in his hands. “Ro-oy…what’s goin’ on?”
“What d’yah mean?”
“I mea-ean, where the heck are we? And, why are we dressed like…this?”
“We’re still two hours a’ hard riding from the Post! That’s where we are!” Roy smartly replied. “An’, how else are we s’posed to be dressed? In our Sunday-go-ta-Meetin’ clothes?” He stashed the empty coffeepot into a leather saddlebag. “We don’t have time to stand around here jawin’ all morning! Captain Stanley was expecting us back two days ago, already! An’ we’d a’ been there, too! If it wasn’t for you!” he annoyedly added. Then he snatched two leather bridles up and turned to leave.
“Where yah goin’?” Gage wondered.
“Where does it look like I’m goin’?” DeSoto irritatedly inquired. “To get the horses!” he grumpily explained.
John’s lower jaw dropped. “Horses?”
“And, if it’s not asking too much, do you think you can possibly finish that coffee and get ready to pull out? You’ve already cost us two whole da-ays! Remember?”
“No-o. What’d I do?!” John called after him. He watched Roy disappear over a little rise and then glanced around, looking completely lost. “What’d I do?”
DeSoto reappeared a minute or two later, leading two bridled horses—one, a raven black gelding, the other, a dark bay mare. “Saddle up, will yah!” he urged more than asked and pressed the black horse’s reins into the palm of his non-moving companion’s left hand. He gave Gage another grumpy glare. Then he brushed quickly past him and led his mare over to where his saddle and bedroll were.
Gage gazed down at the reins in his left hand…and then at the murky brew in his right. He dumped the cup’s still-steaming contents out and went striding back over to his own bedroll, with the big, black gelding in tow.
John shook the dirt and debris from both of his woolen blankets. The shorter one was doubled up and then placed upon his horse’s back. The longer one was rolled up and secured behind the seat of his US Army issue Cavalry saddle? He kept glancing in his moody companion’s direction.
But his peeved partner just continued to completely ignore him.
Gage gasped in frustration. “Look…Roy…whatever it was I did…I’m sorry. Okay?”
DeSoto’s jaw dropped in disbelief and he spun around to face his infuriating friend. “Whatever it was you did? WHATEVER IT WAS YOU DI-ID?! You make it sound like you don’t’ know what you did!”
“That’s prob’ly because I don’t!”
“Yeah?!” Roy turned his back on his clueless companion and resumed saddling his horse. “Well, I do! And, I don’t wanna talk about it!”
Gage gasped again, as his bugged buddy’s bewildering comments fueled his own frustration. “But—”
“—I don’t wanna talk about it!” Roy repeated, an unmistakable tone of finality clearly evident in his raised voice.
John reluctantly returned to his task. “Sheesh! What a grouch!” he grumbled to himself. ‘Oh, well…Maybe Cap’ll fill me in, when we get to the Post?’ He latched onto his saddle and swung it up onto his horse’s US Army-blanketed back. A rather disturbing thought suddenly poked its way into his completely boggled brain. ‘A Cavalry Post?…Nahhh! That’s ridiculous!’ But then, so was the bizarre get-up he was wearing.
DeSoto finished tying his saddlebags to the back of his seat and swung effortlessly up into his saddle. Then he tugged his horse’s head around and nudged it into a nice, easy canter.
Gage finished snugging and securing his saddle’s girth. Then he gathered up the gelding’s reins and hoisted himself up onto its tall back, as well. He gave their campground one last glance…and then went galloping off after his peeved partner. ‘When did Roy learn to ride?’
The pair rode along in complete silence, for what seemed like hours.
John couldn't really tell how much time had elapsed, because his watch was mysteriously missing.
Gage hadn't really minded the lack of conversation. He'd been too busy enjoying the crisp, morning air and sunshine—not to mention the amazing scenery.
The two buddies were traversing through some pretty diverse—and incredibly beautiful—country.
DeSoto suddenly broke off from the little creek they'd been following for the past few miles and headed his horse up a steep, and rather densely wooded, hillside.
Gage automatically turned his gelding's head and followed after his friend.
There was a wagon-wheel-rutted dirt road running along top of the hill.
Roy swung his mare's head to the right and then started heading down it.
Once again, John followed his partner's lead. The paramedic's eyes suddenly widened in surprise and he promptly reined his horse in. The flabbergasted rider just sat there in his saddle, staring out across the flat, open plain that now lay ahead of them…at a Western town, and the US Army Fort that stood beside it. "It is a Cavalry Post!" he exclaimed aloud. 'But…what would Captain Stanley be doing there? Better yet, what am I doing here?'
DeSoto noticed that his dallying friend was no longer following him. He reined his mare in and glanced back over his shoulder. "Will you come on!" he ordered more than asked and kicked his mount into a gallop.
Gage obediently urged his horse into a canter and then nudged it up a notch, into a gallop. He ducked low over the animal's outstretched neck and quickly closed the gap between him and his still in a bad mood buddy. "What is it with you, anyways?!" he shouted, over the sound of galloping hooves. "You wake up on the wrong side a' your bedroll, or something?!"
His grumpy partner completely ignored the question and spurred his mount on faster.
'So, you wanna race, do you?' Gage grinned and promptly did the same.
Once again, the gap between them closed and they galloped on—neck and neck.
As the pair approached the Cavalry Post, the fort's front gates swung open, and the racing riders went galloping through them—still in a dead heat.
They raced across an open yard and then reined their snorting, sweat-lathered horses up in front of the Commanding Officer's Quarters.
Gage flashed his 'fast' friend a broad, slightly crooked grin. "Where'd you ever learn to ride like that?"
Much to his amazement, DeSoto returned his grin. "The same place you did!" Roy smartly replied. "The top of a horse!"
Their grins broadened.
But then, Roy recalled that he was supposed to be mad at his amigo, and immediately became grumpy again.
The duo dismounted.
Gage loosened the girth on his saddle, to give his horse a breather.
DeSoto did likewise.
The pair wrapped their horses' reins around a hitching rail and then stepped up onto one of the board sidewalks that ran in front of each of the barracks' buildings.
A door suddenly flew open and a very upset Captain Stanley came stomping out of his quarters, looking rather 'sharp' in the midnight-blue Cavalry officer's uniform he was wearing. "What the devil's going on out here?! Where the heck have you two been?!"
John closed his gaping jaws and gave their angry, oddly dressed boss a 'Don't look at me-e, if you're expecting an answer anytime soon' shrug.
Roy whipped his Stetson off and whacked it against his blue jeans until it went from beige, to gray, to black. "The Comanche camp."
Captain Stanley looked astonished.
Gage was even more amazed by this bit of 'news'.
"Did you see any sign of the Colonel or the Major?" their Captain anxiously inquired.
John turned to his partner, who seemed to have all the answers.
"They're both still alive," Roy assured him.
The look on their boss' face went from relieved, to skeptical. "You sure?"
DeSoto nodded and then turned to give his partner an angry glare. "Johnny, here, got down into the camp and made sure!" He turned back to the Captain and continued. "The Comanche spotted him! You wouldn't believe what we've been through these past two days!"
"Sure he would. Go ahead," Gage encouraged, "tell u—er, him…"
Roy's jaw dropped. He stared at his partner in complete disbelief. "You're too much, you know that! I mean, you're really too much! You're unbelievable! You nearly get us killed—and then you wanna brag about it?!"
John opened his mouth, to explain that didn't remember 'almost getting them killed', but then halted, as their Captain held his right hand up.
"Never mind," Stanley ordered. "What about the prisoners? Could you see a way to rescue them?"
"It would be suicide to even try," DeSoto solemnly, and sadly, replied.
Hank motioned to his partner. "If he made it into—and back out of—the camp alive, why couldn't a rescue party do the same?"
DeSoto just stared back at Stanley in disbelief. "Captain, there are over 700 Comanche warriors in that camp—and another 200, or so, Mescalaro Apaches! Now, I don't know how he ever made it into and out of there alive! Or, even how we managed to make it back here! But I do know one thing, a man would have to be a downright fool to go up against that many Indians!"
Gage looked thoughtful and then somewhat insulted.
Stanley looked tremendously disappointed, but then brightened. "Find Lieutenant Stoker, Sergeant Lopez and Corporal Kelly, and have them report to me—on the double!"
Roy nodded and turned to leave.
The Captain latched on to the departing man's elbow. "Look, I know you two are civilian scouts, and that I can't 'order' you to do anything. But I'd sure appreciate it, if you were to join us…"
'Civilian scou-outs? What the—?' John turned to Roy, to see what his response was gonna be to their Captain's bizarre comments.
His partner took the Captain's little 'revelation' completely in stride. "What we'd really like to do next, is get ourselves some breakfast. We haven't had a descent meal in three days."
Hank took the hint and smiled. "Your breakfast will be ready and waiting for you when you return."
Roy grinned. "In that case, we'll be back—on the double!" He stepped down from the boardwalk and back up beside his horse.
John watched as his friend tightened his saddle's girth back up and pulled his mare's reins from the hitching rail.
The rider tossed the reins up onto his horse's withers and swung himself back up into his saddle. Then he tugged the animal's head around and went cantering back off across the yard and out the fort's front gate.
Gage was torn as to what he should do. He wanted to have a long talk with Captain Stanley, but he also wanted to stick with his partner. The confused fireman exhaled an exasperated gasp and decided to follow his friend. He snatched his reins from the rail, snugged his saddle's girth up, towed the gelding clear of the hitching post and then did a rather fancy 'moving' mount.
Captain Stanley watched the brave young brave go cantering off across the yard. Then he spun smartly on his tall, black leather booted heels and marched right back into his quarters.
John caught back up with his buddy in town.
“Where yah goin’?” Gage wondered, as his friend dismounted and wrapped his mare’s reins around the hitching rail in front of ‘The Sidewinder Saloon’.
“To give Lieutenant Stoker, Sergeant Lopez and Corporal Kelly the Captain’s message,” Roy replied and stepped up onto the boardwalk. “Wait here,” he advised.
“Why can’t I come with?” John wondered.
DeSoto pointed to a small wooden sign nailed next to the saloon’s entrance.
It said: “NO INJUNS ALLOWED”
John stared at the sign, and then at his friend, in disbelief.
Roy gave his bewildered partner a deeply sympathetic look. Then he pushed through the saloon’s doors and disappeared inside.
The unwelcome INJUN slipped his moccasined feet from his stirrups and dropped to the ground. He snugged his gelding’s reins to the same hitching rail. Then he stepped up onto the boardwalk, crossed over to the drinking establishment’s entrance and peered cautiously over the tops of the swinging doors.
His buddy was standing at the bar, speaking with Lieutenant Stoker and Sergeant Lopez.
Corporal Kelly was seated at a nearby table, talking to a pretty saloon girl.
DeSoto stepped up to their table and said something to Kelly.
Kelly tipped his hat to the pretty lady. “Pardon me, Miss. But something important has just come up,” he told her and began taking his leave.
Chet and Roy started heading for the exit.
Mike and Marco quickly concluded their business at the bar and trailed after them.
“So, those savages still have the Colonel and the Major, huh,” Kelly remarked, sounding more than a little miffed. “Probably tortured ‘em, too, no doubt. No wonder THEY say: The only good Indian is a dead Indi—” he spotted John’s eyes, noticed that they were narrowing into ominous slits, and immediately stopped speaking. “Present company excepted, of course,” he nervously concluded.
“Of course,” Gage sarcastically agreed and stepped aside, so the ‘white men’ could exit the saloon.
The four of them shoved their way through the saloon’s swinging doors and headed for their horses.
All five of them pulled their horses’ reins from the hitching rails. Then they mounted up and went trotting out of town, in the direction of the fort.
The group cantered up to the Commanding Officer’s Quarters and dismounted. The men secured their mounts to the hitching rails and stepped up onto the boardwalk.
The group reassembled in front of the door to their boss’ office.
Corporal Kelly rapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden portal a couple of times.
“Come in!” Hank Stanley invited.
Chet opened the door and, as the men entered the office, single file, an enticing aroma filled their nostrils.
The entire room smelled of grilled pancakes.
The three soldiers in their little group promptly snapped to attention and saluted.
Instead of returning their salute, the fort’s Commanding Officer waved an arm toward his desk.
An enormous platter, piled high with hot, buttered flapjacks, was sitting in the center of it.
“There you are, gentlemen,” the Captain announced and passed each of his civilian scouts a plate and a fork. “Go ahead,” he encouraged and motioned to two chairs that had been placed in front of his desk. “Sit down. Enjoy your breakfast.”
Gage and DeSoto gave their gracious host looks of undying gratitude and sank their famished selves into the proffered seats.
Stanley placed a steaming cup of black coffee down in front of each of them and finally directed his attention toward his troops—who were still standing there at attention, saluting him. Hank returned their salutes and then said, “At ease, gentlemen. Please…be seated.”
The soldiers dropped their raised arms and then the rest of themselves into the three remaining chairs.
“Well,” Stanley began, “as you have probably already heard, the Comanches still have the Colonel and the Major, and they are both still alive. At least, they were two days ago.”
“It’s a shame we can’t do something about that,” Lieutenant Stoker spoke up. “Unfortunately, we just don’t have enough troops to take on that many Indians.”
His fellow soldiers nodded glumly in agreement.
“Who says that we have to ‘take them on’?” the Captain calmly inquired. “I’ve come up with a plan—a way for us to get them back, without any loss of lives—on either side.”
All five members of the officer’s captive audience suddenly looked curious—and more than a little skeptical.
“Gage and DeSoto have assured me that there is no possible way for us to get the prisoners out of the Comanche’s camp,” the Captain continued. “So I’ve devised a plan that will force the Comanches to release them.”
His men exchanged thoughtful glances and then stared back up their Commander, looking extremely curious.
“Here’s the plan. We wait til dark…sneak down into the Comanche’s camp…and kidnap two of their chiefs—” Stanley was forced to stop talking by DeSoto, who suddenly seemed to be choking on a piece of his flap-jacks.
John gave his fitfully coughing friend’s back a not too gentle whack. “Hey, you gonna be okay?”
Roy shot his helpful associate an annoyed glare. Then he cleared his throat and swung his head in their host’s direction. He gave the Captain an ‘Have you lost your cotton pickin’ mind?’ look.
Hank completely ignored the look and calmly continued. “Then we take our prisoners and trade them for their prisoners.”
DeSoto wasn’t the only member of the officer’s audience who was a bit dubious.
Lieutenant Stoker very delicately formed his doubts into words. “Captain Stanley, what makes you think that we could get in and out of the Comanche camp—without losing any lives?”
“Because someone has already proven that it can be done,” the Captain calmly replied.
Sergeant Lopez turned to Corporal Kelly. “Regali’s got half the Comanche Nation with him.”
Kelly nodded grimly. “Not to mention those butchering Mescalaros.”
The soldiers sat there, wondering who could’ve been insane enough to face such overwhelming forces—alone.
The Captain caught their questioning looks and directed his gaze to Gage.
The men stared at the Cavalry scout’s back, in shock and disbelief.
“Johnny made it in and out of the Comanche camp?” Kelly questioned.
Gage lowered his loaded fork and glanced back over shoulder. “Well, actually—”
“—Roy, here, says he watched him do it,” the Captain interrupted. “Now, it’s bound to be an extremely dangerous mission. And, under the circumstances, I can’t order any of yous to come along. So I’m asking for volunteers…”
Sergeant Lopez locked gazes with Gage. “Are you volunteering for this?”
John looked at a complete loss and turned to his partner. “Are we?”
Roy could not believe his ears. “Are you outta your ever-lovin’ mind?! What?! Have you suddenly gone plumb loco, or somethin’?! We just spent the last two days dodging Comanche scouting parties! Remember?!”
“No-o,” John told him, truthfully.
“Well, I do!” his somewhat confused partner exclaimed. “And I ain’t the least bit anxious to go through that again!”
John saw the look of extreme disappointment on their Captain’s face. “These two prisoners the Comanche have…are they good men?”
Stanley nodded. “Very good men…with wives and children.”
“Do the Comanche intend to kill them?” John further inquired.
All four of the soldiers in the room nodded, solemnly.
“In that case,” Gage flashed his glum Captain a sad, slightly crooked, smile, “you can count me in.”
DeSoto dropped his fork—and his lower jaw.
“Me, too,” Chet quickly chimed in.
“I guess I’ll go,” Marco muttered, sounding a lot less enthusiastic.
“When do we leave?” Mike wondered, his inquiry leaving no question as to where he stood on the matter.
The Captain gave each member of his little group of ‘volunteers’ a warm, appreciative smile, and then turned to his second-in-command. “Lieutenant, requisition five fresh mounts and enough provisions to last three days.”
Stoker nodded and turned to Lopez. “Sergeant, requisition five fresh mounts and enough provisions to last three days.”
Lopez nodded and turned to Kelly. “Corporal, requisition five fresh mounts and enough provisions to last three days.”
Kelly nodded and looked around the room. “This patrol could use a few privates,” he grumbled and started getting stiffly to his feet.
The guys grinned.
Gage glanced at his partner.
DeSoto was too disgusted with him for words.
“Well, we can’t just leave them there to die,” John stated in his defense.
“Oh…really? Why can’t we?” his partner annoyedly pondered.
“Be-e—cause we’re rescue men. That’s what we do. We ‘rescue’ people.”
“Hey, I’m all for ‘rescuing’ people! I’d just like to be able to live to tell about it, is all!”
“You heard what they said. The Comanche are gonna kill ‘em.”
“Yeah. And, at a hundred and fifty Indians—to each one of us—they’re probably gonna kill us, too!”
John flashed his grumpy companion a tentative smile. “Us?”
Roy’s weary shoulders sagged in defeat. He exhaled an exasperated gasp and gave his exasperating buddy a reluctant nod.
Gage grinned and slapped his partner on the back—again.
DeSoto gave him another, disgusted, grumpy glare.
Their Captain looked positively delighted. “Corporal, make that six fresh mounts.”
Kelly clicked his heels smartly together and gave his grinning Superior Officer a rather snappy salute. “Oui, oui, mon Capitaine!”
Stanley’s grin broadened. “This isn’t the French Foreign Legion…yah twit.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’!” Kelly sheepishly acknowledged. “—tain,” he quickly tacked on and wisely took his leave.
Captain Stanley whipped the US Cavalry hat from his head and swiped the perspiration from his sweaty brow. “How much further?” he inquired, directing his gaze at Gage.
John looked at a total loss and turned to his partner.
Roy shielded his eyes and stared up at the position of the sun. “If we keep going at this pace—and don’t run into any of their scouting parties—we should reach the Comanche camp by nightfall.”
The Captain was both pleased and relieved to hear that. “All right, mount up!”
The men obediently swung back up into their saddles and DeSoto started leading their little patrol downstream.
They rode on for the remainder of the day and reached the Comanche camp just after sundown—exactly as his partner had predicted.
The patrol paused in a little clearing, at the top of a heavily wooded, moonlit hill, and DeSoto motioned for them to dismount.
Gage gritted his teeth and then slowly—and very painfully—lowered his stiff, sore self to the ground. It seemed that, after spending over fourteen hours hugging the back of a horse, the fireman’s legs had forgotten how to walk. He did a few deep knee bends, to limber himself back up a bit, and then stumbled off after his nimble partner—who’d gone creeping off into the dense underbrush.
The two of them fought their way downhill for awhile.
Suddenly, Roy froze.
John froze, too, and then stood there, staring over his statuesque friend’s shoulder, at the glowing, orange embers of a hundred Comanche campfires.
The pair watched in silence as silhouetted warriors moved about the incredibly large Indian encampment.
Movement returned to Roy’s limbs and he motioned for them to head back up the hill.
DeSoto stepped up to the Captain. “They’re still there,” he reported, his whispered words dripping with disappointment.
“Excellent!” the Captain exclaimed, his equally hushed voice filled with excitement. “Okay, John, what do we do now?”
“Uhhhh…we-ell…” the paramedic struck a pensive pose. He had never had to lead a Cavalry patrol into a Comanche camp to kidnap a couple a’ chiefs before. So he had no experience to draw from. However, his wild imagination was certainly willing to rise to the occasion. “You can start by stripping. Everything’s gonna hafta come off.”
The Captain and his men immediately started stripping.
John pulled his knife from its sheath. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
Gage crossed over to where his Captain’s mount was tied and lopped a long length of the horse’s tail off. He did the same to Stoker’s, Lopez’s and Kelly’s mounts. He stopped behind his buddy’s horse and held up its still intact tail. “You coming with?”
“Uhhh…no. No,” Roy replied. “Someone has to stay with the horses.”
John dropped the animal’s tail and replaced his knife.
Gage stepped back up to Stanley.
The Captain and his crew were standing there, clothed in nothing but their one-piece, woolen longjohns—complete with cute little buttoned flaps in the backs.
Gage emitted a gasp that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Everything has to come off,” he impatiently repeated. “And then you can put your pants and your boots back on.”
The men looked every bit as uncomfortable as they felt, to hear that.
Kelly was downright horrified. “B-But…that means we won’t have any underwear on.”
This time, John exhaled a weary sigh. “You have two choices. You can die—with your underwear on. Or, you can live—without it.”
The one-piece longjohns were immediately removed, as modestly as possible, and pants and boots were promptly pulled back on.
Gage then went down the line, handing a big gob of tail hair out to each of the ‘white-eyes’. “Drape this horse hair over your heads,” he ordered. “Side to side,” he specified, suppressing a smile.
The men did just as directed, draping the long strands of horsetail over their heads, until the hairs hung down to their bare shoulders—equally—on both sides.
Next, John took the soldiers’ four, bright-yellow neckerchiefs and tied the makeshift wigs in place. “Now, smear some dirt on your ‘pale’ faces.”
The men stared distastefully down at the dirt beneath their feet.
“Go on,” Gage urged. “And, while you’re at it, get your pale arms, backs and chests, too.”
One by one, his companions stooped down and started smearing dirt over their pale skin. They did each other’s backs and then stood there, beneath the light of a full moon, staring at one another’s scarf headbands and shoulder-length hair, marveling at their amazing transformation.
‘Oh well,’ John silently assessed, ‘we do have darkness on our side.’ He gave the bright orb in the night sky an annoyed glare. ‘Sort of.’ He exhaled a resigned sigh and turned to Stanley. “We’ll need ropes and gags.”
The Captain turned and issued the order to his Sergeant.
Marco stepped up to his horse and removed the requested items from one of his saddlebags.
“What are we gonna use for weapons?” Lieutenant Stoker cautiously inquired.
“We don’t need ‘weapons’,” John informed him. “Besides, we fire one shot—and we’re all dead.” He saw the unhappy looks on his friends’ faces and forced a sad smile. “The plan was to not lose any lives—Indian or White. Remember?”
Stoker nodded, glumly.
“Okay then,” Gage determined, “let’s go. Stick to the shadows…as much as possible,” he added, giving the full moon another annoyed glare.
The brave band of kidnappers departed the little moonlit clearing and then disappeared down the heavily wooded hillside.
The rescuers soon reached the edge of the Comanche camp and their guide motioned for them to stop.
“Remember,” Gage reiterated in a whisper, “keep to the shadows and—no matter what happens—don’t say a single word.” He stared at the two mustachioed Indians in their little group for a few moments and then winced. “Try to keep your faces concealed,” he strongly advised.
The Captain looked curious. “What happens if they stop us?”
“Just laugh,” John replied, “and keep on laughing.”
The men seemed extremely skeptical as to the soundness of that advice, but crept off after their departing friend, anyway.
The tiny band of intruders managed to make it past two guards—completely undetected.
However, a third guard spotted the group and ordered them to halt.
“Start laughing,” John urged, out of the side of his mouth, “and keep moving.”
The men mustered up a few nervous chuckles.
“Put your hearts into it!” their guide warned, in a whisper.
The guys began to laugh a little louder and harder.
Chet and Marco bent down and slapped their knees, and the entire group just kept right on laughing—and walking.
The Comanche guard pointed his feathered lance at the laughers and advanced a few feet in their direction. “Ish-nabe`!” he gruffly repeated. “Masanta neche`!”
The merry little band continued to disregard the shouted order—er, threat, and chose, instead, to laugh their way right on by the grumpy guy.
Gage glanced back over his shoulder and gave the now completely bewildered guard a broad grin and a shrug.
The guard lowered his spear and then stood there, grinning and shaking his head.
The patrol laughed their way out of the guard’s line of sight.
John halted his friends again and they stood there for a few moments, huddled behind a teepee, heaving various sighs of relief.
“That was close,” Captain Stanley understated.
Gage nodded in agreement. “We’re gonna hafta be more careful. The next guard might not have that guy’s sense of humor.” That said, John moved on, motioning for his friends to follow.
By sticking to the shadows, the group was able to make its way deeper and deeper into the heart of the Comanche camp.
Suddenly, their guide drew everyone to a halt, again. “The teepee of a chief,” he announced.
The Captain stared across the open yard, at the tent Gage was pointing toward. “How can you tell? All the tents look exactly the same, to me.”
The rest of the men nodded.
“The tents are exactly the same,” Gage agreed. “But they all don’t have a spear—with a chief’s head-dress tied to it—pitched in front of them.”
The guys spotted the spear—and the chief’s headdress—and then turned back to their guide, looking duly impressed.
“Now what?” Stanley wondered.
John studied the situation for a few seconds. “We need to create a diversion…something that will get him out of the tent long enough for us to get in. Then, when he goes back inside, we grab him!”
The men nodded the plan approvingly.
“A diversion, huh,” Kelly paused, looking curious. “Just what did you have in mind?”
A pretty young Indian maiden dropped a pile of wood onto the ground beside a campfire and then started off across the yard, heading right for them.
“This,” John replied. He waited until the girl was almost right on top of them. Then he stepped out of the shadows, snatched onto her wrists, pulled her into his arms—and kissed her.
The girl gasped and shrieked and started struggling—oh, yeah…and screaming…bloody murder!
Gage grinned and let the girl go.
Their diversion ran off—screaming at the top of her lungs.
The tent’s residents came dashing out into the yard, to see what all the commotion was about.
John took a couple strips of cloth and a few strong cords from Sergeant Lopez’s outstretched hands and placed them in his Captain’s. Then he motioned for his two clean-shaven fellow kidnappers to follow him.
They did.
The three men snuck around to the back of the chief’s teepee and Gage used his knife to cut an opening in the tent’s leather hide wall, big enough for them to enter.
They did.
Once inside, the kidnappers pressed themselves up against both sides of the entrance flap, and then stood there, waiting.
The chief’s woman was the first to return, grumbling disgustedly beneath her breath.
John clamped a hand over her mumbling mouth and an arm around her plump waist, and whisked her away from the entrance.
The chief came snickering into the teepee.
Stanley and Stoker grabbed onto his arms and wrestled him to the ground.
The chief’s squaw, who outweighed Gage by a good seventy some pounds, was able to thrash her arms and elbows around and kick enough to do her attacker’s ribs and shins some serious damage.
John had everything he could do to hold onto the wild woman! He gritted his teeth and tried—desperately—to keep the feisty female from sinking hers into his right hand.
Following a brief struggle, Stanley and Stoker were able to get the old guy’s mouth gagged and his wiry wrists tied behind his back.
Gage heaved a welcome sigh of relief as they then stepped up to assist him with his burden.
By the time the old woman was finally bound and gagged, all three men were battered and breathless. They laid their fierce foe gently down on a buffalo robe and then secured her tied ankles to one of the teepee’s lodge poles.
Stoker and Stanley freed the chief’s bound ankles and then pulled the gagged guy to his feet.
All four men then disappeared through the slit John had cut in the tent’s back wall.
Stanley and Stoker pulled their squirming prisoner over to where the Sergeant and the Corporal stood.
“The Lieutenant and I will take this prisoner back to the horses,” the Captain breathlessly announced. “You two, go with Gage and get the other one.”
Gage grimaced. ‘The other one?’ Flaunting with death once was bad enough. But, twice? “Yeah…sure,” he unenthusiastically acknowledged. “Nothin’ to it.” He watched Stanley and Stoker drag their reluctant captive out of sight and then started moving rather reluctantly off himself.
Lopez and Kelly followed their creeping guide back off into the shadows.
Using the protective cover of darkness, the trio made their way even deeper into the Comanche camp—their heightened senses keenly in tune to every dancing shadow, barking dog and snapping campfire ember. Their darting eyes and flaring nostrils burned a bit, from encountering clouds and clouds of wood smoke.
Suddenly, Chet stiffened and latched onto John’s left arm. “Another headdress,” he smugly pointed out, “another chief.”
John turned in the direction of his friend’s pointing finger.
Sure enough! Pitched in the dirt, just outside the entrance to a teepee, was a long, tapered spear, and, tied to its top, was a rather resplendent chief’s headdress.
“Yeah,” Gage clutched his bruised ribcage, “and here’s hoping he’s a bachelor…”
They crept from shadow to shadow and gradually worked their way closer to the chief’s abode.
Marco grabbed Gage’s arm, this time. “It’s my turn to create the diversion,” he announced.
Gage gave him an ‘Oh, brother’ look, but then nodded.
Lopez beamed him back an anticipatory grin.
Suddenly, a rather rotund woman exited one of the nearby teepees and started heading their way.
Sergeant Lopez was completely shattered.
His companions were most amused.
Marco hesitated.
John and Chet gave their stalled ‘diversion creator’ a shove in the girl’s direction.
As the woman came within reach, Lopez reluctantly pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
The girl dropped the basket that she was carrying, threw her arms around her assailant’s bare shoulders—and kissed him right back!
Marco gasped and struggled desperately to free himself from the amorous female’s embrace.
The girl giggled and finally let her squirming captive go. She then retrieved her dropped basket and went on her merry way, giggling all the while.
Marco stared after her in confusion. He straightened his horsetail wig back up and then glanced at Gage and Kelly.
The two men were standing there in the shadows—doubled up in silent laughter.
The Sergeant frowned and went stomping back up to them.
His companions pursed their lips and struggled to regain their composure.
Marco was just about to voice his extreme displeasure with the grinning pair, when the same girl, that had created their first diversion, came walking toward them. His mustached face immediately lit back up. “All right!”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Gage latched onto Lopez’s left wrist and prevented him from leaving. “You just had your turn. Remember?”
Lopez’s face fell and his bare shoulders sagged.
Kelly’s countenance instantly brightened. But then he, too, was pulled to a stop.
“Sorry,” John told him. “But your mustache will give us away…It tickles,” he explained.
Chet’s jaw dropped and his mustached face filled with a look of utter astonishment.
The girl kept right on coming their way.
As soon as she came with range, John snatched onto her wrists and pulled her into his arms again. ‘I sure wish you were someone else,’ he sadly mused, just prior to kissing her.
Their lips met and the kiss lingered.
‘Why isn’t she screaming, or trying to get away?’ John silently wondered and slowly lifted his eyelids. In the flickering light of the flames from the closest campfire, he suddenly got a glimpse of the girl’s eyes.
They were blue!
‘They’re the same shade of blue as—’ John stopped, right in mid-thought, and a strange feeling suddenly came over him. He broke his embrace and towed the blue-eyed Indian maiden? closer to the campfire. “Cathy?!” he exclaimed, sounding every bit as astonished as he looked. “What are you doing here?!” Two sets of hands latched onto his bare arms and began dragging him back over to the safety of the shadows.
“C’mon, Loverboy,” Sergeant Lopez sternly ordered, “before you get us all killed!”
Kelly glanced back over his shoulder and gave the girl an annoyed glare. “Start screamin’, will yah!”
Cathy obligingly began to scream. But her heart wasn’t really in it.
John spun back in the woman’s direction. “Come with me!” he pleaded.
The pretty miss completely ignored him and just kept right on screaming.
John’s vision blurred and his labored breath caught in his tightening throat. “Please, Cathy?!”
The girl chose, instead, to run away from him.
Gage gazed blurrily after her for a few moments and then finally allowed himself to be hauled off by his two persistent companions.
“What the heck’s the matter with you?!” Corporal Kelly demanded in a whisper, when the trio reached the rear of the chief’s teepee. “You could a’ got us all killed!”
John just stood there, looking as drained and empty as he felt. For all he cared, right then, he may just as well be dead.
“Get with it, Gage!” Kelly angrily ordered.
Gage reluctantly ‘got with it’ and forced himself to move. He slipped his knife from its sheath and started cutting an opening in the back wall of the tent.
Once inside the pitch-black teepee, the three kidnappers pressed themselves up against the sides of its front entrance.
The chief eventually returned from his investigation of ‘all that screaming’ and got immediately gang-tackled.
It took all three of them to wrestle the wiry, old chief to the ground and they were breathing extremely hard, by the time they finally managed to get the agile old guy bound and gagged.
The kidnappers pulled their prize to his moccasined feet and then promptly disappeared, out through the slit in the back of the tent.
Gage, Kelly and Lopez battled their way up the heavily wooded hill overlooking the Indian encampment.
A whiff of fresh horse manure acted as a compass, directing them right back to the rendezvous point.
The three completely exhausted men reached the little moonlit clearing and dragged their feisty captive over to where the horses were tethered.
The surprisingly strong old man had fought his captors—every single inch of the way.
“It’s okay,” they heard Captain Stanley call out softly. “It’s our guys,” he added, sounding tremendously relieved.
Stanley, Stoker, and DeSoto stepped out of the shadows, with their ‘other’ captive.
The Captain studied the trio’s still-squirming prisoner for a few moments and then his jaw dropped open. “You’ve captured Regali, himself!” he numbly announced.
Kelly and Lopez appeared stunned by the news.
Gage just stood there, breathing hard, and staring blankly off into space. He was too depressed to be impressed.
“Nice going!” Stanley told their gasping, glum-looking scout. “We really have some ‘bargaining power’, now!”
The rest of the men nodded in agreement and then started pulling their horsetail wigs off—and their blue coats back on.
DeSoto stepped up to his sad partner’s side. “It’s that girl. Isn’t it. You saw her again. Didn’t you.”
Gage glanced in his clairvoyant companion’s direction. “Again?”
Roy nodded. “You saw her the other night, too. Remember? She’s the reason you were spotted. She’s the one that got you to get us nearly killed.”
“I’m…sorry, Roy. But I don’t remember a thing—before this morning.”
“I tell yah what…as long as you’re forgetting things…I sure wish you’d forget about her.” DeSoto gave his glum pal’s slumped shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then started heading for his horse. “C’mon, let’s get outta here!”
The rest of the men stepped up to their mounts, as well.
Lieutenant Stoker reached his horse and suddenly realized something. "What are these guys gonna ride?" he wondered and motioned to their prisoners.
John hauled himself up into his saddle and then sat there, wishing that they would’ve thought to bring some extra horses along.
Instantly, two saddled horses came meandering out into the moonlit clearing.
The men stared at the new arrivals, looking absolutely astounded.
“Where did they come from?” Sergeant Lopez pondered and glanced anxiously around.
“Who cares!” the Captain quietly exclaimed and began shoving Regali up onto one of the mystery mount’s backs. “THEY say: Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
The other prisoner was thrown up onto the other ‘gift horse’, and then both of their unwilling guests’ wrists were securely strapped to their saddles.
“Mount up!” Stanley ordered.
The rest of the men obediently climbed up into their saddles and the patrol started heading off down the hill—away from the Comanche camp.
Captain Stanley halted the patrol several miles from the Comanche camp. “All right. Now, we are going to need another volunteer. Someone has to ride back there and make arrangements for the prisoner exchange.”
There were no volunteers forthcoming.
So Stanley turned to his number one draft choice. “How ‘bout it, John? You are, after all, the most qualified to deal with the Comanches.”
Gage just sat there, gazing glumly down at the ground.
“Ga-age?!”
John heard his Captain addressing him and jerked back to reality? “Yeah, Cap?”
“How ‘bout it?”
“How ‘bout what?”
Stanley exhaled an exasperated gasp. “How ‘bout you riding back to the Comanche camp to set up the trade?”
‘Flaunt with death for a third time?’ John morbidly mused. ‘THEY say: Three strikes—and you’re out. On the other hand…maybe I’ll get to see Cathy again?’ “Sure. Why not.”
His Captain looked tremendously pleased.
His buddy about fell off his horse. Roy quickly regained his seat. “Uhhh, excuse us for a moment,” he calmly requested. Then he latched onto the bridle of his loco partner’s horse and led it out of earshot.
DeSoto studied his silent companion carefully.
His partner was just sitting there, slumped in his saddle, looking sadder than sad.
“You’re going back to see that girl. Aren’t you.”
“That’s not the only reason. Somebody has to go back and arrange for the exchange.”
“Forget the girl, Johnny.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean, you don’t want to,” Roy quickly corrected. “What I can’t understand is why you didn’t just take her with you, when you first had the chance? Why do you keep going back? You’re gonna get yourself killed. You know that.”
“I tried to get her to come with me, this time. She wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to come.”
“Then don’t go back there!” DeSoto pleaded. “Just forget about her!”
“I told you. I’m not just going back for her. Someone has to set up the tra—”
“—Oh. Right,” Roy interrupted, his words oozing with sarcasm. “So you’re just gonna go trotting up to 700 Comanche warriors and tell them to let the Colonel and Major go?” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “That’s how the Colonel and the Major got captured in the first place! They tried to deal with the Comanche! And look where it got them!”
“Yeah. But, I’ll have ‘bargaining power’,” John reminded him, and motioned toward their two prisoners.
DeSoto just stared back at him in disbelief. “Bargaining power? Bargaining power?! I’ll tell you who’s got all the ‘bargaining power’!” He pointed in the direction they’d just come from. “Those 700 Comanche warriors have all the bargaining power! What’s to keep them from killing you and then going after Regali and the other chief? I’m sure the 700 of them could get their chiefs back without ‘bargaining’! Then they’d have their prisoners and our prisoners and us prisoners!”
“I see your point,” his partner muttered pensively.
Roy looked hopeful. “Then…you’re not going back there?”
“Of course I’m going back there. How else am I supposed to reach them? I mean, I didn’t see any payphones or Western Union offices between here and the fort. And I wouldn’t think smoke signals would show up all that well at night.” That said, John swung his horse’s head around and nudged it into a canter.
DeSoto stared after him, sadly shaking his head. “He’s hopeless,” he mumbled to his horse. “Absolutely hopeless.” He swung his mount around and followed his ‘hopeless’ friend back up to the patrol.
Gage pulled his horse up alongside of Stanley’s. “Cap, how ‘bout we rendezvous back at that little stream, where we stopped to water the horses?”
“Sounds good,” his Captain quickly concurred.
“If I’m not there—with the Colonel and the Major—by sunup,” the trade negotiator solemnly continued, “you may want to set those two free and then make a run for the fort.”
“Right,” Stanley acknowledged, sounding equally solemn. “Good luck, John.”
Gage gave him a grateful smile and a nod.
“Okay. Let’s move out,” the Captain ordered. “We’ve got a long, hard ride ahead of us.”
John watched the patrol ride off into the moonlit night, with their two prisoners’ horses in tow.
His partner swung his horse’s head around and went cantering off in the direction of the Comanche camp.
Gage grinned and then took off after him.
John pulled up alongside of his moody companion. “You don’t hafta come along. I mean, I’m the one who ‘volunteered’ for this.”
Roy reined his horse in and then gave his buddy another look of complete and utter disbelief. “Yah know, if it’s true what THEY say…that Indians are superstitious about killing crazy people…You don’t have a thing to worry about!” That said, he kicked his horse back into high gear.
John found his flustered friend’s remark more ‘amusing’ than ‘insulting’. He beamed a broad, slightly crooked grin at his witty partner’s back and then nudged his mount into forward motion, too.
Gage and DeSoto were just a couple of miles from the camp, when they suddenly came across a band of twenty or so Comanche warriors,
The pair rode right up to the scouting party—and surrendered.
The astonished Indians aimed their spear tips and rifle barrels at their captives’ chests and they were jerked—violently—from their saddles.
The two trade negotiators grimaced and gasped, as their arms were wrenched behind their backs and their wrists and elbows were securely tied, with long, strong strips of rawhide.
They were roughly relieved of their weapons, and then flung—not too gently—back up onto their horses.
Two brawny braves snatched onto the animals’ dangling reins and began dragging them off, in the direction of their camp.
All twenty or so warriors began ‘yipping’ and ‘whooping’ wildly.
John cringed at all the ruckus and racket their celebrating captors were creating. “Sheesh! They sure seem to make an awful lot a fuss over a surrender. Don’t they?”
“Yeah,” Roy glumly agreed. “Imagine what it would be like, if we’d a’ actually put up a fi—” he stopped speaking and grunted in pain, as a spear tip was suddenly pressed into the center of his back.
The pair wisely decided to remain silent for the remainder of their brief, jostling journey.
The scouting party paraded their captives all through the camp, finally coming to a halt in front of another chief’s teepee.
The tent’s rather aloof looking resident stepped out, removed a headdress from the top of the nearby spear it was attached to and placed it regally down upon his head. The old guy gave the captives a couple of ‘if looks could kill, they’d be dead’ stares and then motioned for them to be brought before him.
Once again, John and Roy were yanked roughly out of their saddles. The pair stumbled as they were pushed and prodded up to the chief, and then just stood there with spear tips pressing painfully into their backs.
Finally, John mustered up the courage to clear his throat. “Uh-uh…Hi there,” he greeted the Comanche big wig, sounding as amiable as circumstances would allow. “If someone will kindly free my hands, we can get on with the arrangements for the prisoner exchange.”
“Forget about your hands,” Roy strongly advised. “Just tell him the plan.”
“I can’t forget about my hands. I don’t speak Comanche. I speak Sign Language. You gotta use your hands for Sign Language.”
DeSoto stared at his fellow negotiator in both shock and disbelief. “It’s a good thing my hands ain’t free right now, or I’d strangle you!”
His partner looked extremely apologetic.
But his buddy remained really peeved with him. “If—by some ridiculous stroke of luck—we manage to make it out of this mess alive, and I am actually able to speak again, it ain’t gonna be to you!”
John winced.
The chief motioned for his braves to shut the two men up.
The pair felt the spear tips press harder into their backs and directed their undivided attention back to their unhappy looking host.
The old guy glared menacingly back at them. “Nueve` guam Regali. Nueve` guam Cutar,” he calmly declared. Then he pulled a knife from his belt and completely lost his cool. “Apa nashla rite` Regali y Cutar!” he screamed and pressed the tip of his knife’s shiny, sharp blade up to their black-haired captive’s throat. “Where pony soldiers are?!” he suddenly demanded, speaking in broken English.
John could feel the tip of the blade beginning to cut into his flesh. He swallowed hard and promptly put forth a polite request. “I…uh…really wish you wouldn’t do that.” The stabbing pain in his throat instantly subsided. He glanced down at the old guy’s empty raised hand, and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “So-o…you speak some English. That’s…great.”
The chief type stared down at his empty hand…and then at the ground around his feet, looking completely stunned.
“Now,” John turned to the side and held up his bound wrists, “if you’ll just untie my hands, I’ll tell you how you can get Regali back.”
At the mention of Regali’s name, the old chief started nodding—rather excitedly. “Regali! Regali!”
“Right. Regali. Regali. Just free my hands—” John was jerked back around and then held in the firm grip of two brawny braves.
The old guy pressed his mean, ugly kisser right up to their talkative hostage’s unhappy face. “Where pony soldiers are?!” he impatiently repeated.
Gage was running a little low on patience, himself. He exhaled an exasperated gasp and attempted to turn sideways again. He couldn’t. So he gave up on his hands and decided to use his head, instead. “You,” he motioned toward the chief type with his head, “give us,” he motioned to himself and his fellow negotiator, “pony soldiers. We,” he motioned to the two of them again, “give you,” he motioned to the old guy, “Regali.”
The Comanche chief looked thoughtful.
John looked hopeful. “Pony soldiers us…Regali you.”
A look of dawning understanding came over the old man. He turned to one of his warriors and shouted out an order.
The brave nodded and disappeared.
The warrior reappeared less than three minutes later, with a half a dozen other Indians—and two distinguished looking Cavalry officers.
The trade negotiators’ glum faces immediately lit up.
The chief grabbed one of the officers by the arm and dragged him up to the captives. “Pony soldiers!” he declared, with a sickening smirk.
“Right! Pony soldiers come with us,” John motioned with his head in their direction again. “Regali y Cutar come to you.”
“Pony soldiers!” the old guy shouted and pointed off into the distance. “Regali y Cutar,” he calmly added and motioned to the ground at his feet.
“Right! Right! You got it!” John grinned and turned to his partner. “He got it.”
Roy responded with a roll of his eyes.
The old guy immediately issued another order.
Two of the still mounted Indians hopped off their horses and led their mounts up to the old man.
The chief took a knife from one of them, stepped up behind the two Cavalry officers and sawed through the leather straps that were keeping their elbows and wrists bound.
The two officers exchanged anxious glances and began rubbing their raw wrists.
The old guy issued a final order.
The pony soldiers were—literally—thrown onto the two horses’ backs.
One of the men gave Gage and DeSoto a look of undying gratitude before galloping off.
The other guy just high-tailed it out of the Comanche camp, without so much as a backward glance.
John stared after the departing officers for a few moments, feeling mixed emotions. He was glad that they had successfully accomplished the Colonel’s and the Major’s rescue. Yet he was hurt that they hadn’t stuck around til he and Roy were ready to leave, too.
Roy saw the Comanche chief holding a huddled, muffled conference with one of the Mescalaro chiefs, and felt extremely sick to his stomach.
John noticed that his partner was suddenly looking rather ill and turned to see what he was staring at.
A new chief was standing there, staring at them like he was a cat—and they were a couple of canaries.
The old guy gave the ‘cat’ a sickening smirk and a nod.
“NO-O!” John exclaimed, instantly breaking into full panic mode. “We go with pony soldiers!”
The Comanche chief issued a final final set of instructions to his warriors, and then he replaced his headdress and ducked back inside his tent.
Unfortunately—for them—nobody seemed to care.
“Mescalaros,” Roy quietly replied.
“Mescalaros?” John numbly repeated. ‘Hadn’t Chet referred to them as ‘butchering’ types?’
“NO-O!” Gage screamed again and struggled—with everything he had left in him—to break free from his new arm-grippers. His rapidly waning strength, however, was no match for the combined strength of the four brawny braves that surrounded him. The dark-haired captive tried to calm himself down, so that he could think clearly. But his wild imagination was getting the upper hand, and disturbing visions—of being ‘butchered’ alive—kept flooding his brain. John suddenly had the uneasy feeling that the two of them were about to find out if it was true what THEY say…about Indians and crazy people.
The Apaches’ protesting—and more than a little petrified—prisoners were dragged, kicking and squirming, out into the middle of a little moonlit clearing, about a quarter of a mile from the Comanche camp.
Gage kept up his desperate struggle to pull free.
DeSoto stopped all motion and just stood there, pinned between his brawny captors, staring solemnly down at the sandy soil beneath his feet.
John noticed that his partner had ceased fighting. He stopped his thrashing, too and followed his frozen friend’s solemn gaze to the ground. “What’s the matter?” he breathlessly inquired. “You know…what they’re…gonna do…to us?”
Roy nodded and didn’t take his eyes off the sand for an instant. “They’re...going to…stake us out,” he softly answered, sounding equally winded.
Gage glanced anxiously around and then back at his partner. “A-and…?”
“They’re just…going to…stake us out,” Roy solemnly assured him.
“That’s it?” John joyously exclaimed. “Man!…What a relief!…You wouldn’t believe…some of the thi—”
“—on an anthill,” Roy reluctantly added and finally raised his troubled gaze from the ground.
Their eyes met and the two friends exchanged looks of abject horror.
Gage gritted his teeth and started struggling harder than ever. “NO-O!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “YOU CAN’T…DO THIS…TO US!”
But the Mescalaro braves obviously didn’t believe him, because they just went right on about their nasty business.
John watched helplessly, as eight 4’ wooden stakes were driven 3’ into the sandy soil of the clearing. Three ridiculously strong men gripped each of his arms, and the leather bonds on his wrists and elbows were cut.
The arm-grippers dragged him, kicking and thrashing, over to the center of four of those buried stakes.
John grunted in pain as he was thrown down onto the ground and then forced to lie—spread-eagled—on his back. He felt a wet, rawhide noose being slipped over each of his hands and feet. His arms and legs were stretched out, as far as they possibly could be, and yet still remain attached to his body. The captive emitted another involuntary groan as the wet rawhide straps were then pulled up—snugly—and securely fastened to those four buried stakes. Gage gasped in frustration, at his inability to do anything about it.
His sadistic captors finished with him and went over to give their companions a hand with his partner.
Speaking of his partner…
Roy saw John jerking on his bonds. “Relax,” he numbly advised.
Gage noticed that DeSoto’s voice sounded sort a’ drained and hollow, like he’d already given up any hope of them surviving their ordeal. He did have to admit, their current situation did seem rather dire. ‘No!’ he told himself. ‘As long as we’re alive, there’s hope!’ “YOU CAN’T…DO THIS…TO US!” he angrily repeated, and kept right on jerking at his wet rawhide bonds.
The Mescalaro braves finished securing his buddy to the remaining buried stakes and then began taking their leave.
“WAIT!…COME BACK!…YOU CAN’T JUST…LEAVE US HERE…LIKE THIS!”
The departing braves disappeared into the shadows on the edge of the clearing.
Their shouting captive shut up and started squirming around, in an attempt to get comfortable. Gage gasped again, as he suddenly realized the futility of his efforts. There was no way he was ever going to ‘get comfortable’ while he was staked out on an anthill. So he gave up trying and resigned himself to the feeling of being terribly uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry,” his friend further advised. “They’ll be back…around sunup…to watch.”
“To watch…what?” John nervously inquired, and lay there, positively dreading Roy’s reply.
“Never mind,” Roy told him. “Look…just forget I said that.”
But John couldn’t forget. “To watch wha-at?” he anxiously repeated.
“Forget about it. Will yah?” his buddy requested. “And just try to relax. This wet rawhide is gonna start drying out. And, when it does, it’s gonna start shrinking…and pull—” He cut himself short and attempted to shift the subject again. “It won’t hurt so much, if you unten—” DeSoto determined that he should probably shut up—entirely.
Gage exhaled another exasperated gasp and then lay there, gazing glumly up at the moon. “This can’t be happening! Nobody really does things like this to anybody!” His hands and feet were already starting to tingle.
Those four wet rawhide straps were acting as four tourniquets.
The four tourniquets were obstructing the arterial and venous blood supply to his tingling appendages. The infarction was causing cellular necrosis to occur.
‘Lack of perfusion results in anoxia…which leads to the need for surgical amputation of the affected—’ the paramedic paused, right in mid morbid thought.
No wonder his partner had already given up hope.
‘Maybe the Colonel and the Major didn’t leave us behind, after all? What if they stuck around to help us?’
They could sure use some help!
“HELP!” John shouted, into the cold night air. “SOMEBODY—ANYBODY—HELP US!…PLEA-EASE!”
“Save your breath,” Roy gently urged.
John raised his head and aimed his anguished gaze in his friend’s direction. “I gotta do something! I can’t just lie here…and do nothing!”
“Go on then. Shout until you can’t shout anymore. That’s what THEY want…for us to ‘put on a good show’ for them. Well…I’m not gonna give them the satisfaction.”
John swallowed hard and let his head drop back. “I’m…sorry, Roy. I’m really really sorry…”
“So am I,” Roy softly assured him. “Believe me, so am I…”
John spent the next two tortuous hours dreaming up some new lyrics for an old song…about marching ants.
He’d managed to remake it all the way up to the number nine. But, occasionally, he went back to the beginning, to keep what he’d already come up with from being forgotten.
‘The ants go marching one by one…to breakfast today,’ he began again. ‘The ants go marching one by one…to breakfast today. The ants go marching one by one. They’ll be here with the rising sun. And the ants go marching…round and round…and down in the ground…and out in the rain—’ he halted in mid chorus. ‘Man! And I thought the medical stuff was morbid!’ He determined that his new lyrics were waaaaay too depressing.
With the ants out of the way, the first thing that entered his mind was pain—horrendous, excruciating pain, and it suddenly became clear why he had been concentrating so hard on the damn ants.
His tortured body felt like it was being torn in four different directions at once.
It was!
His hands and feet were swollen now, and had gone completely numb—a fact about which he had mixed emotions. While he was relieved that the horrific pain had subsided, he was also mortified, knowing that—if he survived the torture—they would undoubtedly need to be amputated.
‘Uhg! Too morbid! Too morbid!’ John shuddered and shoved the whole amputation business out of his mind, too. The very next thought he had, concerned his breathing. His inability to draw a deep breath had caused his respirations to become rapid and shallow—and labored. “It’s…shrinking,” he realized aloud. “And…I’m not…gonna…be able…to…stand this.”
“Sure…you will,” Roy assured him, sounding equally breathless. “When…the pain…becomes…unbearable…We’ll…pass out.”
John found very little comfort in his pal’s prediction. “When…will that…be?” he breathlessly wondered. “Before…or after…I go…stark raving…mad?”
“Hopefully,” his hurting friend told him, “before…the ants…get here.”
John grimaced and groaned.
He’d forgotten about the damn ants.
John lay there, tossing his head from side to side, and gasping. Every shallow breath had become excruciating—the result of his body being stretched beyond its limits.
It seemed like he’d been lying there for an agonizing eternity.
He had!
The tortured young man moistened his parched mouth and tried to talk. “Ro-oy?” he finally managed to croak, following several failed attempts.
It took his partner an interminably lo-ong time to reply. “Yeah…Johnny?”
John flashed a bitter smile up at a blurry full moon. “Maybe…the ants’ll…sleep in?”
His hurting friend was forced to chuckle—and groan, as the sudden movement, though slight, increased his already intense agony by tenfold.
Gage’s bitter smile vanished. He grimaced at the thought of having caused his partner even more pain. It wasn’t fair! He was the one who had ‘volunteered’ for this! Not Ro-oy!
“Could be…worse,” DeSoto determined—through tightly clenched teeth, once he’d managed to regain his composure.
“Oh yeah?” John bit his lower lip and blinked fresh tears from his eyes. “How so?”
“We…could be…lying here…buck naked…and…smothered in honey,” his partner lightly pointed out.
And it was Johnny’s turn to chuckle—and groan. ‘Leave it to Roy, to find a ‘bright side’ to all of this.’
Speaking of Roy…and ‘all of this’…
Gage suddenly choked back a sob of regret. Oh, how he wished that he had never gotten his light-hearted partner involved in any of this hideous business!
His hurting friend instantly stopped gasping.
“Ro-oy?” he anxiously called out.
There was no answer.
John’s already stressed heart skipped a beat or two. He somehow managed to lift his head up, just enough to be able to see over his left shoulder. He blinked his vision a bit clearer and stared, in complete and utter disbelief, at the empty, moonlit ground.
His partner was no longer lying there beside him—even the wooden stakes were gone!
“Ro-oy,” he numbly repeated, and allowed his head to drop back onto the sand.
It was happening. He was losing touch with reality.
“Reality?!” he bitterly exclaimed. “This isn’t…real!…This is…crazy!” He grimaced and groaned and closed his watering eyes—tightly. He felt something brush against the right side of his heaving chest and forced his damp eyes back open.
Cathy’s blurry face appeared before him.
‘Now, that’s more like it!’ John told his cracking mind. ‘What a way to go! Gazing into those beautiful blue eyes…’ “No-o!” he pleaded, as the lovely apparition began to pull away. “Don’t go!…Plea-ease…don’t…leave me…agai—” He was forced to stop speaking, as the girl held two of her fingers up to his parched lips.
The pretty miss then pulled out a knife and began sawing back and forth on the thick leather strap that was keeping his right wrist secured to the wooden stake. At last, she was able to cut through.
“AHHH-AHHH!” the tortured man screamed in agony, as the incredible tension on his upper torso was suddenly released.
The woman stepped over the now moaning young man and immediately went to work on the thick, strong strap that was keeping his left wrist bound to yet another buried stake. Cathy cut his left arm loose and then promptly proceeded to free his moccasined feet.
“Thanks!” Gage gasped, as the blade of his beautiful rescuer’s knife sliced through the last of his leather restraints. He was eternally grateful, and tremendously relieved, to finally have all that unbearable tension on his body parts eased. He would have liked to just lie there for awhile and catch his labored breath.
But the pretty miss had other plans.
Cathy tossed her knife aside and tried to pull the freed captive up into a sitting position.
Wishing to assist the woman with her task, John attempted to move. ‘Mistake! Mistake! Mista-ake!’ he silently shouted, and tried his level best to stifle an audible response to his suddenly quadrupled pain. In spite of his best efforts, an agonized groan escaped from his tightly pursed lips. “I’m…sorry,” he gasped, with a grimace. “But…I can’t…move.”
The woman wasn’t the least bit deterred by the news. She simply wrapped his limp left arm behind her neck and pulled him into a sitting position.
John tried to force his pained, protesting, super-stretched muscles to move. But they were still refusing to cooperate.
Somehow, Cathy managed to maneuver the tortured young man up onto his knees.
John just knelt there, swaying slightly from side to side, while every muscle, tendon and ligament in his entire abused body went ‘spastic’ on him. Well…with the exception of his hands and feet—which were completely dead. He was helpless.
And the situation seemed hopeless.
John sure wished that his hands and his feet were quite so useless! He stared wonderingly down at his hands, as ‘the feeling’ instantly returned to them—and his feet. He swallowed hard and attempted to wriggle his no longer black and swollen fingers. They moved! He tried wriggling his toes. They moved, as well! Not only did he have his hands and feet back—but they seemed to be pain-free! He wished the same could be said for the rest of him. Instantly, the agony he was experiencing ceased to exist. “What the—?” He scrambled quickly to his feet—his perfectly normal, healthy feet and began to search the sandy, moonlit clearing for his missing partner. “Roy?!…Ro-oy?!” he called out again, this time a whole lot louder. But received no reply.
There was no sign of Roy—anywhere!
“What the—?” the stymied searcher exclaimed, for the second time in as many minutes.
Cathy stepped out of the shadows on the edge of the clearing, leading his saddled horse.
John ran up to her. “Cathy, where’s my friend?!” he anxiously inquired. “Where have they taken my friend?”
The woman stared back at her questioner in complete confusion. “I know of no ‘friend’. You came to our camp—alone.” She placed the reins in his hands and then shoved him up to his horse’s side. “Hurry! You must go—now! Before they co—”
“—Cathy,” John interrupted, latching onto the little lady’s wrist, “where is the other prisoner?!”
The girl exhaled an exasperated gasp. “There is no ‘other prisoner’! You got Nemas to release those Army officers, and you came here—alone!” she impatiently repeated.
‘Roy must’ve escaped…’ John reasoned. He gave his mystified mind a few quick shakes and his rescuer’s wrist a firm squeeze. “Come with me,” he encouraged.
But Cathy completely ignored his request.
“Plea-ease?” John pleaded, the desperation evident in his cracking voice.
Cathy pulled her wrist free of his grasp and took several steps back. “If you do not go—now, they will kill you!”
John’s vision blurred. ‘You won’t come…and I can’t stay.’ He slipped his left foot into the steel stirrup and swung his right leg over his saddle.
Cathy latched onto his horse’s bridle. Then she turned the animal around and smacked it on its behind.
The horse bolted forward.
John reined the runaway in, and glanced glumly over his left shoulder.
Cathy turned her back on him and began walking off.
His blurry eyes followed her until she disappeared into the shadows at the edge of the clearing. Then he swung his head back around and nudged his horse into a canter. “Why-y?” the hurting young man whispered into the wind.
But, once again, he received no reply.
John reined his snorting mount in, to give it a breather. The rider slipped his moccasined feet from his saddle’s steel stirrups and slowly lowered himself to the ground. He was feeling so whipped from his ordeal, and so doggoned saddle sore, that he had to lean against his lathered horse to keep from falling down.
A soft pink glow was beginning to appear on the eastern horizon.
With five hours of hard riding still ahead of him, there was no way he was going to reach the rendezvous point by dawn. He sure wished that he could be with the rest of the patrol—right now!
John jerked, startled to find himself, and his horse, standing in the middle of the patrol at the rendezvous point. He gazed around at his equally startled friends, looking completely confused. “What the—?” he exclaimed, for the umpteenth time in the past two days.
Captain Stanley overcame his astonishment and closed his gaping mouth. “Where’d you come from? We didn’t hear you ride up.”
John didn’t hear his Captain’s question. All of his attention was currently directed toward his partner.
Roy was just sitting there on his horse, safe and secure—and looking none the worse for wear.
John hurried up to him. “Roy! Man! Am I ever glad to see you! How did you manage to get away?”
Roy gave him a strange stare. “Get away? Get away from what?”
“The Comanches.”
“The Comanches? The Comanches have never ‘had’ me. You wouldn’t let me go with you. Remember?”
A strange look came over John as he suddenly realized that everything he’d wished for, had, seemingly, come to pass. Well, maybe not everything. He still had to leave without Cathy.
At the sound of approaching riders, everyone turned around.
The Colonel and the Major came galloping up to their little group and dismounted.
The soldiers and the Army officers exchanged snappy salutes.
Gage gave the pair an icy glare and then swung himself up onto his rested horse’s back.
The Colonel was staring at their rescuer like he was a ghost, or something. “How did you ever manage to get here ahead of us?”
John completely ignored the officer’s question. “Thanks for hangin’ around to help us—er, me,” he sarcastically stated.
The Major hung his head and looked even more disgusted with himself than Gage was. “I’m sorry. But—all I could think about, at the time—was getting back to my wife and kids.”
John flashed the repentant officer a half-hearted smile. At least he had given them—er, him, a grateful glance—before galloping off. He immediately dismissed all feelings of bitterness and betrayal and turned his attention toward their two very important prisoners. “Cap, we should probably let Regali, and his friend there, go…” he suggested.
“Right.” The Captain pulled his horse between their two captives’ mounts and cut the cords that were keeping their wrists secured to their saddles.
The freed prisoners slid off of the Cavalry horses. The pair raced over to the two Indian ponies and climbed effortlessly up onto their backs. They turned the antsy animals around and went galloping off in the direction of their camp.
John watched them until they disappeared over a little rise. Then he swung his horse’s head around and went riding off himself, in the opposite direction.
Roy rode after him.
“Mount up, men!” the Colonel ordered.
They did.
Gage and DeSoto heard the group coming up behind them and glanced back over their shoulders. Their eyes widened and their jaws dropped. They stared past the Cavalry patrol at a ridge on the other side of the little creek they’d just crossed.
Fifty, or so, Comanche warriors were lined up along that ridge, with their rifle barrels raised and their bows drawn—just waiting for the signal to attack.
Corporal Kelly saw their two scouts’ astonished looks and turned to see what they were staring at. “Colonel! We’ve got company!”
The remaining members of the patrol turned in the direction of the Corporal’s pointing finger and spotted the Comanche scouting party that was about to ride down on them.
John couldn’t take his eyes off of their drawn bows and raised rifle barrels. The thought of all of those flying bullets and arrows was truly terrifying! He suddenly remembered something and brightened. “Man! I sure wish they wouldn’t point those things at us—” Almost before he could even finish speaking it, his wish was fulfilled.
Just as the Comanche let loose with their war ‘whoops’ and started charging down the ridge, their weapons vanished into thin air!
John saw the soldiers reaching for their rifles and drawing their sabers. “And I wish they wouldn’t do that.”
Lieutenant Stoker stared down at his empty right hand, looking completely confused. “Hey! Where did my rifle go?” He glanced around. “We don’t have any weapons!”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” John told him. “THEY don’t have any, either,” he continued and pointed to the now stalled, and extremely puzzled-looking, scouting party.
The soldiers turned and stared at their disarmed enemies in amazement.
“They still greatly outnumber us,” the Colonel glumly realized and turned to Stanley. “What do you suggest we do, Captain?”
“I suppose we could throw rocks at one another…” the Captain sarcastically suggested. “Or give each other dirty looks. Or, we could try to outrun them!” He swung his horse’s head back around and gave it a couple of good, swift kicks in the ribs.
The rest of the soldiers turned their mounts around and went riding off after the Captain in a huge cloud of dust.
Seeing that the scouting party was about to ride right down on top of them, Roy was more than ready to make a run for it himself.
John reached out and latched onto the bridle of his about-to-bolt buddy’s horse. Then he turned back to face the fifty, or so, weaponless warriors that were swooping and ‘whooping’ down on them. “I wish you guys would go back to your camp—and leave us alone,” he sternly tacked on.
The Comanches stopped their angry advance, swung their ponies around and went galloping off…in the direction of their camp.
DeSoto stared after the disappearing Indians for a few motionless moments and then slowly turned to his partner. “How—How’d you do that?”
“Easy.” John slipped his feet from the stirrups and allowed himself to slide to the ground. “Everything I wish for…seems to happen.”
Roy dropped to the ground and stepped up beside him. “No kiddin’?”
John flashed his partner a half-hearted smile. “No kiddin’.”
His friend was fascinated. “How does it work?”
“All I have to do is wish.”
Roy was even more intrigued. “Do it. Wish something.”
“Oka-ay…I wish we were back at the fort.”
Before Roy could even blink an eye, he found himself standing beside his partner, in the yard back at the Post. “Johnny, that was fantastic! That was really incredible! And you can have anything you want?”
John stared off in the direction of the Comanche camp, looking lost and sad…sadder than sad. “The one thing that I wish for the most…is for me to have the woman I love in my arms and—” Cathy suddenly appeared, wrapped in his arms. He pulled her close and then held onto her, tightly. It felt so-o-o good to be able to hold her in his arms again. Gage grimaced and then forced himself to finish the rest of his wish. “—for her…to be…happy.” The young woman vanished—just as suddenly as she had appeared. John stared blurrily down at his empty, aching arms for a few moments. Then he choked back a sob and dropped to his knees. The ache in his heart was unbearable! Far worse than any physical pain imaginable! It hurt so-o-o bad that he found himself wishing that he were still staked out to that anthill, rather kneeling their—slowly dying inside.
The terrible hurt in his heart instantly subsided and he found himself staked out on the sandy soil of that little clearing, once more. He blinked the tears from his eyes and slowly lifted his head up, to have a look around.
Millions of ants were marching across the sand—heading right for him!
“NO-O!” John screamed and jerked on his bonds…
Mike, Karen and Chet jerked, too, startled as John Gage suddenly gasped and then snapped bolt upright in his hospital bed.
Gage glanced blurrily about the room, looking first—confused…and then a wee bit embarrassed. He tossed his remaining covers aside and started getting stiffly out of bed.
Those four, big invisible guys were trying to hold him down again.
Kelly looked more than a little concerned. “Where yah goin, babe?”
“For a walk. You wanna come with? I could probably scrounge up a wheelchair…”
Chet gazed glumly down at his busted up ribcage. “Na-ahhh. Better not.”
John gave his glum bed-ridden chum—and his leg cast—a couple of deeply sympathetic glances and then went stumbling out into the hall.
Kelly turned to the couple across the room from him. “What do you guys think?” he wondered and placed his thumb over the button on his call buzzer. “Should we rat him out?”
Mike stared at his friend’s empty hospital bed for awhile and then turned back to Chet. “Maybe he just wants to be alone for a little while?”
Karen stared at the empty doorway, looking more than a little worried. “He didn’t look like he should even be out of bed, let alone roaming up and down the halls…”
So, it was one vote ‘no fink’ and one vote ‘fink’.
With Marco still asleep, that meant that Chet had the deciding vote. His concerned gaze shifted from Gage’s vacated bed…to the hallway…to his buzzer. He exhaled a weary sigh and removed his thumb from the call button.
TBC