Chapter 3

They finished their first circuit of the county, and John turned in his report. Sheriff Silas Gillespy was suitably pleased with the report and gratified at the result of the patrol. "Congratulations, John, that nose croppin' is a bully idee! It marks the bastards so nobody can mistake who done the deed. Yessir, a bully idee!"

"Thanks, Silas. When do ya want us ta make our next round?"

"Take a couple of days off ta let the boys have a little toot. Ya know? Drink some beer and visit the girls down at the Long Horn. Then make another loop, pretty much same as the first time."

"OK, boss. Ya called it. We'll leave in three days. The boys deserve the break."

Three days later, the hangovers pretty much gone, saw "Shiply's Troop" leaving on their second patrol. They really felt and looked like a military unit, all they needed was a guidon pennant. Seth half joked about making them one showing a severed nose! John said he didn't mind, as long as it didn't interfere with the operations of the unit. Actually, John was pleased at the idea—it would help the men to bond even tighter as a unit.

That night, damned if Seth didn't make a flag for them showing a severed nose. It was crude, but nobody would have any trouble recognizing the nose for what it was. John did think that Seth got a little carried away with the dripping blood, though. The men all liked it so much that they said that they would pool their money and have a real flag made when they got back from this patrol.

The first 2 days of the patrol were quiet, but the third day broke the monotony with a bang. They heard some shooting in the distance and rushed to aid the Whites who would be under attack. They were surprised when they saw what they were riding toward.

Lieutenant Johnathon Mathews, recognizable by his guidon, and his patrol were surrounded by 30-40 Comanches, all riding around in a great circle and firing arrows at the soldiers. The soldiers were firing back, and were doing a better job of killing Comanches than vice versa. However, based on the usual Army issue of ammunition, the soldiers would run out before the Indians did. All the Comanches needed to win was patience, and they had plenty of that under these circumstances.

John ordered the men to remain mounted and prepare their rifles. One volley from the rifles would be followed by a charge with free firing from their pistols. His plan was to ride through the circling Indians, but not stop at the Army patrol. He wanted to ride on through the Indians and, once clear, reload and charge back. He hoped that this would be enough to drive the Indians away. If not, they would keep going back and forth until the Indians were all dead or did leave. John was sure that their pistols would give them enough of a firepower advantage that they could beat the Indians soundly.

Shiply's Troop rode a little closer; Seth had worked out a way to tie his pennant to his saddle so that it wouldn't interfere with his fighting. When they got as close as John thought was necessary, he ordered his men to halt. "READY... AIM... FIRE!" Seven Comanche horses and their riders fell. "PISTOLS AT THE READY... CHARGE!"

John had time to think that they could use a bugler to complete the picture before he fired his first shot. Damn, he missed his first shot, but he hit an Indian, instead! It was funny, but the weight of his Dragoon pistol didn't worry him in a fight like this—he never noticed it with his adrenalin pumping through his system the way it was. In fact, the mass of the pistol helped to keep its aim as he rode his horse into the melee. He had emptied his first pistol and drawn his second before he had cleared the Indian host.

John didn't know how many shots he had fired until he stopped to reload. Eight shots had been fired; he hoped that most, if not all, had done their job. All of the men had gotten through the first charge with no serious wounds, but there were some nicks and scrapes. Everybody reloaded, and they prepared to charge again.

The Comanches were at a serious disadvantage in a fight like that first charge. It was very hard to stay on your horse and fire an arrow at a man on your right, particularly if you were concerned with not harming his horse. The Comanches had recognized that Shiply's Troop was the more dangerous enemy at the moment, so they gave up their attack on the soldiers and prepared to fight the way they most enjoyed: with lances on horseback.

Fortunately, Lt. Mathews was smart and immediately recognized what the Indians had in mind. He also saw the value in shooting at a charging horse, so he ordered his men to hold their fire until the Comanches charged at Shiply. At that point, the men were to shoot at the Indians' horses.

The Comanches had extra incentive—they had recognized the symbolism on the pennant Seth carried. In fact, they were so intent on killing the Whites that it impaired their judgment. There was no organization to their charge, which gave an edge to Shiply's men.

By the time the Indians were ready to charge, the pistols had been reloaded. John shouted, "REMEMBER, BOYS, KEEP GOING! IF YA STOP YA'RE DEAD!... CHARGE!"

The two sides met about 35 yards from the dug-in soldiers. Mathews' men had managed to kill several Indians before their charge reached Shiply's men, but they had to stop shooting for fear of hitting their friends. It took only a few seconds for the two foes to pass each other, but there was considerable carnage in those few seconds.

The Indians were as skilled with their lances as the Whites were with their pistols, so there were many wounds on both sides. Abe was badly wounded in his right arm and had his horse killed under him. Luckily, he was able to jump from his horse before it fell, so he was able to absorb a lot of the shock of the fall by rolling. Tough as he was, Abe was able to get up and run to shelter among the soldiers before a Comanche could ride him down.

The rest of Shiply's Troop made it through the Indians and rode far enough to reload, again. The soldiers opened fire on the Indians, again, as soon as the militia was clear. This one-two punch method of fighting was taking a heavy toll on the Comanches. By now, there were only 9 Comanches left of the original 27. The Indians looked around, assessed the situation, and rode away as fast as their horses could take them.

Shiply's Troop reloaded before holstering their guns, and rode to the soldiers where they were greeted like long lost brothers. There was a lot of back-slapping and hand-shaking and general good cheer which Mathews and Shiply let run its course, since it looked like the Indians would not be back for a while.

After the usual round of greetings and thanks on both sides, John asked, "Lt. Mathews, I know a lot of the kills belong ta yer men, but would ya mind if we cropped the noses from all the Comanche corpses. We're trying a little mental warfare here. We want the Comanches ta think that our battle extends beyond the grave, and they should back off from the fight if they want to have a decent afterlife."

Mathews laughed and said, "That is a bully idea! I commend whoever thought of it. If you wish, I am sure that my men would be delighted to assist yours in accomplishing that chore."

"Ya'er welcome ta he'p, Lieutenant. An' we'd be obliged ifen y'all did the same after all yer battles."

"We certainly will. And now I know the significance of your guidon. Yes, a bully plan!"

"Where y'all headed, Lieutenant? I wuz fixin' to head inta Wilcox."

"Yes, Wilcox was to be our next stop. Would you care to join us?"

"Yes, we would. Ifen ya don't have other plans fer them, we usually takes the Indian hosses inta town an' sells 'em ta pay fer a beer celebration. Yer men are welcome ta join us."

"Ah, that, too, is a bully idea. You, Sir, are a man after my own heart!"

"Do y'all have a medical man with ya? One of my men had a wound in his arm what needs lookin' after, an' we all got cuts and scratches what need cleanin'"

"Please feel free to make use of our facilities. We do have a true physician with us, a Dr. Smithers, whom we were escorting to Hansonville. Please see him for anything you might need."

"Now, don't that beat all! I'll bet he's the same Dr. Smithers what we met on our last patrol. It shore is a small world, but I guess that there ain't so many people out here, but what ya'll run into the same folks over an' over."

"Yes, you are probably correct. Now, please excuse me, as I have some necessary chores to attend to."

"Certainly, Lieutenant. I was in the Army during the Mexican war, so I know what ya mean. Ya go ahead, an' I'll see the good doctor."