Chapter 2

That afternoon, John's men dragged the bodies of the mutilated Comanches out to a field and left them to be picked by the still living members of the band. They also rounded up the stock that the Indians had chased out of the barn before setting it on fire.

Mrs. Wilson fixed them a fine supper in appreciation for driving off the Indians. The men appreciated the home cooked food; trail fare got pretty tiresome. The men slept in their bedrolls near the house that night and had a fine breakfast fixed by Mrs. Wilson before they left that morning to continue their trip around the county.

Nothing else showed up to keep them busy for the next few days, so they were getting pretty bored until they heard the sound of shooting and shouting on the other side of the next hill. They immediately made their way toward the sound, sure that they would find somebody having Indian trouble.

What they found was a man running around his campfire (campfire in the daytime?) stark naked and yelling and shooting his Navy Colt in the air. They stopped when they saw this and waited until he had emptied his pistol. He had been laughing while he was running around and shooting, but now that he had run out of shots, he sat down and started crying.

They tried to question the man, but he ignored them as if he didn't see them, so they looked around the camp to see if they could figure what was going on. After only a minute of poking around, Jeb Smith called out, "I FOUND IT, CAP'N! LOOK AT THIS!" He held up a cooking pot of greens and cautiously sniffed. "Yep, loco weed, all right. This yahoo's been eating loco weed, an' it looks he did it apurpose. He has a poke over there that's jus' full of the stuff."

Jack said, "I've heard of people doin' that, but I ain't never seen it afore. It's pretty stupid do be doin' sumpthin' like that out here in Injun country."

Abe asked, "How much longer afore he sobers up, Cap'n?"

"I have no idea. I ain't never seen nothin' like this, afore. Anybody seen his hat? We don't want him ta git sunstroke. I don't give a shit ifen he burns from the sun, but it ain't no call fer 'im ta die of sunstroke."

Jethro picked up the man's hat and jammed it on his head. "He shore do look funny, sittin' there with nothin' on but his hat."

Jerome shouted, "LOOK OUT, CAP'N! INJUNS TA THE NO'TH!" He pointed toward a cloud of dust headed their way at a fast clip. It was either a party of Indians or a troop of US Army Dragoons out on patrol. Luckily, it turned out to be Dragoons.

When they rode up, John waved and said, "Howdy, Lieutenant. I'm John Shiply. We're a bunch of county militia out huntin' Injuns with mixed luck. How 'bout ya?"

"Good day, Mr. Shiply. My name is Lt. Johnathon Mathews. My detail is also looking for Indians, but we had no better fortune. What is wrong with that gentlemen?"

"We found him pretty much like that. It looks like he's been eatin' loco weed apurpose. We can't figure why a body would do that, but there he is. Kin we turn him over to y'all and be on our way?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be in order. Sgt. Mason, take custody of that man and treat him as if he is ill."

"Much obliged, Lt. Mathews. Well, I guess we'll be on our way. Good luck to y'all."

"Thank you, Mr. Shiply. Good luck to you, too."

After they were out of earshot, Jerome asked, "What's with that Army Lieutenant, Cap'n? He shore do talk funny."

"He talked like that cuz he's from up no'th, New Yo'k or New Englan', I think. Anyway, don't make fun of 'im, he can't he'p it cuz he talks that way."

"Well, I managed not ta laugh at 'im, but it shore were hard!"

A few hours later, as they were about to ford a river, Seth said, "Cap'n, look thataway," as he pointed east. A buckboard was bearing down on them as fast as the single mule could pull it. It looked like an older man was driving and a younger man was sitting beside him trying to reload a Mississippi Rifle as the buckboard bounced from bump to bump. Needless to say, the younger man was not having much luck.

John ordered, "JEROME, RIDE OUT AN' SIGNAL HIM TA COME TA US IN THOSE TREES ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER! THE REST OF Y'ALL COME WITH ME AN' LET'S SET UP A DEFENSE IN THOSE TREES!" They rode across the ford as fast as they safely could and dismounted among the cottonwoods.

John had the men take both their pistols and their rifles to form a skirmish line behind the first line of trees as they waited for the buckboard to reach them. The driver had seen Jerome and followed his signal to make for the trees. Jerome came rushing back with the statement, "Cap'n, I ain't never seen so many Injuns at one time. I shore don't know what's goin' on, but we are in for one hell of a fight!"

John said, "I hope they're Comanches, then, so they'll stay on their hosses. We got a chance ifen they do, but if they dismount, they could get in among these trees and wipe us out. BOYS, TAKE YER FIRST SHOT WITH YER RIFLES, BUT DON'T Y'ALL SHOOT 'TIL I TELL YA TA! WE DON'T WANNA START SUMP'THIN' WE CAN'T FINISH!"

Just then, the buckboard came up, and the driver said, "Thank God y'all seen us. A few more minutes an' we'd a been dead meat. I'm Jason Smithers an' this is my son, Robert. What kin we do ta he'p?"

"Tether yer buckboard over there with our hosses, and find a tree ta hide behind. Don't shoot 'til I tell ya ta. Are they Comanches?"

"Yes, sir, they are."

"Thank God fer that. By the way, I'm John Shiply. We're county milita out hunting Injuns, but we didn't expect to find this many at one time. Now, do what I said afore the Injuns git here."

In a couple of minutes, the Comanches appeared over a low rise about 200 yards away. "OK, boys, we want volley fire. Don't shoot 'til I call fer it. READY... AIM... FIRE!" Eight shots rang out as one! Everybody hurried to reload as they waited for the results of their first volley. Suddenly, 6 horses in the front row of the charging Indians fell, tripping up several in the second row. As nearly as John could tell, 13 horses were down, which must mean that 13 Comanches were out of the fight.

"READY... AIM... FIRE!" and 8 shots rang out. Again, horses in the first and second rows fell, John couldn't tell how many. The powder smoke was already beginning to obscure their vision. By this time, the Comanches were only about 30 yards out. John ordered, "SWITCH TO PISTOLS! FIRE AT WILL!"

The rattle of pistols firing lasted for a full 2 minutes as the Indians rode up, milled around out in the open, firing their arrows, and then rode off. "CEASE FIRE!" John roared. By this time, the powder smoke was so thick that it was hard to see among the trees. This was to the Whites advantage, since it made it almost impossible for the Indians to select a target; therefore, they were reduced to shooting their arrows blindly into the tree line and just hoping to hit something useful.

There were at least 20-25 dead and wounded horses lying in front of the trees, so John assumed that meant 20-25 Indians were also out of the fight. This made it look like the Comanches had lost around one-third of their number; John hoped so! The faster the rate that they could kill Indians, the quicker the Indians would decide that the fight wasn't worth the trouble.

So far, they had been lucky. Only Jeb had been hit by an arrow, and that in the ass! Nobody could figure out how it had happened, but he took unmerciful teasing over the incident. The wound wasn't serious enough to put him out of the fight, but he was going to hurt for a while whenever he sat down.

One of these days, the Comanches were going to learn that they put themselves at a serious disadvantage with their battle tactics. If they ever lost their stubborn streak and got off their horses, they were going to be a formidable enemy, considering how dangerous were were now. John hoped that they never learned!

Jason Smithers crawled up to John's position and asked, "Mr. Shiply, I am a physician. Do you have any wounded men that I might help with? My son and I recently arrived from Philadelphia, so I have all my supplies with me."

John pointed in Jeb's direction and said, "Our only wounded man is over there. I'm shore that he'll appreciate any thin' ya kin do to he'p 'im. His wound ain't real serious, but it shore is painful."