Chapter 1

"Damn! Look out, boys, here they come, again! Let the bastards git close enough ta be sure yer shots count. We don't want ta run out of powder afore we run out of Injuns!

"Captain" John Shiply (the title was honorary, bestowed by his men) kneeled, ready to fire his Dragoon Colt when the Comanches got close enough. It could make a nasty wound beyond 25 yards, but no man could say he could reliably hit his target beyond that range. The .44 caliber bullet would make a nice hole in whatever you did hit, but the trick was to hit something worth hitting. His other Colt was ready if needed, but he hoped that the Indians would break off before he needed it, just as they had done the last time.

He had 6 men in his band of Indian fighters, and they were each armed with 2 Dragoon Colts. That's 84 potential shots at 33 Comanche braves, and "brave" was the right word for them. The Comanches were armed with bows, and it was amazing how many shots they could get off in a full charge. Fortunately for Shiply and his men, the Indians didn't have enough arrows to stand off beyond 25 yards and shoot until all the Whites were dead.

The Comanches had to charge in and hope to ride the Whites down, meanwhile shooting as many arrows as they could aim and release. The ground around there was covered with foot-tall grass, except in the places where there were rocks large enough to trip a horse. This meant that the charging Comanches had to keep one eye out for the rocks as they charged, and this made it harder for them to concentrate on killing the Whites.

Shiply had deliberately chosen this ground to make his stand for just that reason; he needed any edge he could find to defeat this many Indians out for his scalp. The first charge had caught the Indians unprepared for the rocks, so two horses were down from broken legs, and the two Indians were dead, killed when their horses fell while running at high speed. Three more had been killed and 4 wounded by the shooting of the Whites. That was 9 down of the original 42 Indians that had jumped the Whites about 5 miles back.

The Whites might still escape with their scalps with a little luck. Two of Shiply's men had been hit by arrows, but not so bad that they couldn't still fight. That was good, because those two men, one shot in the arm and the other shot in the leg, were not going anywhere until the arrows were removed.

If the Comanches had dismounted and approached as infantry, they could have wiped out the Whites in short order, but the Comanches were too stubborn for that. A Comanche and his horse were a fighting unit and no self-respecting Comanche would step down from his horse to engage in the noble occupation of war. A Comanche lived on his horse, fought on his horse, and died on his horse—anything else was unthinkable!

John Shiply was counting on this as they prepared to meet the second charge from the Indians. "Ifen ya can't hit the Injun, kill his hoss. That'll discourage 'em as much as anything else, and the Injun will be jus' as dead!"

The Indians were now within the 25-yard limit and shooting their arrows. Shiply and his men returned fire with their pistols. The charging Indians were hiding behind their horses as much as possible, assuming that the Whites would no more kill a horse than would an Indian. The result was a number of dead and wounded horses!

By the time the Comanches were 10 yards away, 12 horses were down, killing their riders in the fall. Two other Comanches were shot and were riding their horses out of the fight. This sacrilegious murder of the horses broke the charge before the Indians got much closer; the Indians wheeled past the Whites and out of range as fast as they could move their horses.

Shiply called for a cease fire and looked around to survey the damage to his men. Damn! One of his men was down with an arrow in his throat. Another was wounded in the side, but he might survive if they could find time to attend to him. That meant that there were only 3 Whites, including himself, who were unwounded and able to fight.

"Jack, see if ya kin he'p Bill with that there arrow in his side. The rest of ya, reload as best ya kin." Shiply had emptied one of his revolvers and was about to pick up the other when the charge broke, so he immediately turned his attention to reloading his own gun. This was a laborious process, aided somewhat by the fact that they all carried paper cartridges with the built-in bullet. This cut down on the reloading time, but it still was not something a man could do in the midst of combat.

There were now only 19 Comanches in fighting trim. That was still enough to kill Shiply's outfit if they got careless, so they had to maintain a watch on their conduct.

"Jack, what's Bill's situation?"

"Well, Cap'n, hit looks lak Bill wuz awful lucky. That there arrow jus' broke a couple of ribs, but didn't penetrate beyond that. That there wound's gonna hurt lak hell, but hit ain't gonna kill 'im ifen he don't aggravate hit too much."

"Thank God fer that! Ya go ahead an' reload. It looks like we still got a few minutes afore they try again." Shiply picked up the two guns from the dead man and used that man's supplies to reload them. He gave one to Jack to use and gave the other to Seth, who was also unwounded.

Jethro commented, "Cap'n, looks ta me like these here Injuns never run up again a pistol like the Dragoon, afore. They don't seem ta know that our bullets kin kill a hoss in one shot. I jus' wish the pistol wasn't so damned heavy."

"Ifen it wasn't that heavy, it'd prob'ly break yer wrist with the recoil. Quit moanin' an' be glad ya got a hoss-stopper."

"Shit, Cap'n, I ain't moanin', I jus' wish I could carry the gun on my belt, 'stead of strapped ta my saddle."

"Yeah, there is that. But, I tell ya, Jethro, while ya're wishin', wish fer a cannon with cannister shot. We could sure use the world's biggest shotgun the next time they charge!"

They all laughed at that, but settled back to watchful waiting, sure that the next charge would be as fierce as its predecessors. "Here they come! Don't forget, shoot the hosses ifen ya have ta."

This time, only the leading Comanches used bows, the rest had their lances ready. This signaled that there was no chance that the charging warriors would shear off this time. They planned to charge to close quarters and stab with the lance. This time, the heavy caliber of the .44 Dragoon Colt would be a God send to the badly outnumbered Whites.

The flying arrows did no damage this time; the Whites kept their heads down and waited until the charging Indians got to practically point blank range. Once the Indians were within 12-15 yards, they were met with a fusillade. The shots were fired as fast as the Whites could cock, aim, and shoot. The continuous roar of the heavy gunpowder loads and the resulting smoke turned the field of conflict into a gray haze of confusion.

This worked to the advantage of the defenders, since they were difficult to find as the Indians sought to drive a lance into a critical place on the target's body. They had all expended their first 6 shots and were in the midst of using the last of their second load when the last of the Comanches bore down on them. Only Jack and Seth were armed with a third pistol, so they would have to do the main fighting against the mounted warriors.

The other defenders, at least, the two who were still mobile, drew their bowie knives and prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Jethro was the first to reach this stage and reacted forcefully when an Indian rode at him with his lance extended. Probably without conscious thought, Jethro threw this heavy pistol into the face of the charging horse. The horse shied when he was struck by the over-4-pound pistol and the lance was jerked out of line. Jethro grabbed the shaft of the lance as the horse thundered by and pulled the surprised Comanche from his seat on the horse. Jethro thrust his bowie knife nearly to the hilt in the Indian's throat before the man could recover from his fall.

Dropping his knife, Jethro held the captured lance with both hands and rested the butt against the ground. The next horse to come at him impaled itself on the lance and fell over onto its Comanche rider, pinning him to the ground. The Indian was easily and quickly dispatched with Jethro's recovered bowie knife.

Poor Bill Jones was not able to move out of the way of the lance aimed at him and was killed by the first brave to charge at him. Bill still got off a shot that mortally wounded his attacker, so that was kind of a stand-off, but the Whites could not stand that kind of trade.

Art Finch, the man with the leg wound, was a little bit luckier. He managed to kill the first 2 Indians who charged him, but lost the battle to the third. Shiply's command was now down to 4 living fighters, but all of them had some sort of wound. The only thing that saved them was the large number of dead horses that blocked the clear paths to the defenders. The 6 Indians who were able to ride away this time had no way to charge the defending Whites. Their only recourse was to stand off and fire their arrows.

Fortunately, the Indians didn't have enough arrows to make this worth the effort, so the Comanches gave up the fight and rode away. The Whites reloaded as quickly as they could, just in case the Indians changed their minds. This didn't seem likely, but it was the prudent thing to do when Indians were known to be in the neighborhood.