Come Sundown (24 page)

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Authors: Mike Blakely

BOOK: Come Sundown
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When I galloped to Miguel Pino's position, where Kit and Blue and I had watched the battle all day, I found Lieutenant Luther Sheffield standing in my way on the road, a government rifle in his hands. I put my own hand on the butt of my Colt to check his move. He didn't point the rifle at me, but he cocked it.
“Damn it, Lieutenant, I have orders from Colonel Canby to deliver to Colonel Pino. There's no time for our personal quarrel here and now.”
“Give me the orders. I'll deliver them.”
“I can't do that. My instructions are to deliver the orders myself.”
“You're awful goddamn full of shit. You're nothing but a messenger boy.”
“Are you going to let me pass or not?”
Sheffield sneered. He truly hated me. “I'm gonna let a bullet pass through your guts. You better pray I don't get within a hundred yards of you down there on that battlefield when the shit starts.”
With that threat, he uncocked the rifle and stepped aside. I rode on by, but kept an eye on Sheffield, and an ear tuned to the sound of that rifle cocking again. I found Colonel Pino and delivered my orders. On my way back down the road, I didn't see Sheffield and could only imagine that he was lying in ambush behind some boulder. I rode fast, and got back to Kit's First New Mexico Volunteers on the front.
When I arrived, the men were dismounting, every fourth man taking his mount and three spare horses to the rear of the
company. I found Blue Wiggins as he handed his reins to Toribio Treviño, who was not happy about being ordered back from the front line.
“Mucho,” he complained as I rode up. “Why must I hold the horses?”
“Because you're ordered to. Don't worry, you'll probably still get shot at anyway.”
“I want to make the attack.”
“Maybe you will. There's no way to tell how this is going to turn out. You just be ready to do your duty.”
He sighed and frowned. “Yes, sir,” he groaned.
“Kit's over yonder,” Blue said, pointing.
I saw Colonel Carson afoot in the middle of his line of troops, rubbing his left shoulder. We rode to him—I on his right, Blue on his left. Snow fell in larger flakes now and the air grew damper and colder. Blue and I dismounted and stood to horse.
And we waited. A few minutes seemed like half a day. As we stood in excruciating anticipation, I saw Lieutenant Colonel John S. Sutton's battalion from the Seventh Texas Cavalry come trailing down from the Confederate supply train on the bluffs.
“Wish we'd have attacked before Sutton got in,” Kit said, loud enough only for me and Blue to hear.
“What do you think Green will do, Kit?”
“Ain't no tellin'. What do
you
think?”
“He knows he's got to attack well before dark. I'd say within the next twenty minutes.”
“Yep. But where will he attack?”
“Our left flank. He'll go after McRae's battery.”
“He might. He might go after both batteries. Attack both our flanks.”
“I don't think he'll get Hall's battery on our side. We've got the bosque as cover, and Duncan's men seem ready for one last fight. I know we're ready. It's McRae's battery on the left that worries me. Did you notice, just after the Rebel lancers charged, that the whole line of battle shifted? Their right flank gained ground, but so did ours.”
“I seen it.”
“If that happens again, they'll push our left flank back into the river, with no cover.”
“I know. But you've got to understand, Kid. Colonel Canby's got to do more than fight this battle. He's got to protect the fort and all the supplies there. He's got to consider the possibility that he might lose this battle when the big charge comes. He's doing the right thing. By attacking with our right flank, he's pushing the enemy away from the fort. If we do get whipped, and have to retreat, at least we'll fall back between the enemy and our fort where we can defend the supplies and ammunition.”
I suddenly felt stupid for not considering what might happen beyond Valverde Ford. I had gotten so caught up in the chess match that I had failed to look at the larger picture. Kit was right. Canby was right. Perhaps I was a genius, but I had little experience in tactics of large-scale battles, and how those battles fit into the bigger picture of the war. These men were leaders. I was a pawn. I would always remember that, and try to know my place thereafter.
Kit looked at me and read the expression on my face. “That left side worries me, too, Kid. But our job is the right side, and we'll do our duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “Remember when I fell off that mountain?” He smiled up at me.
“I still have nightmares about it, and I wasn't even the one who fell.”
“This shoulder always tells me when a cold, snowy night is comin' on. It's right handy knowin' sometimes. Like one of them gypsies lookin' into that glass ball.”
I chuckled. “You're a tough old hunk of rawhide, Kit.”
“Too old for this.” He drew in a rasping breath and looked up and down our line of volunteers. “I've passed through this place from time to time for thirty-five years and nothin' real good ever happened here. Nothin' real bad, either, I reckon. Not as bad as today. But I never really liked this place after forty-six. Left a bad taste in my mouth.”
“What happened in forty-six?”
Kit caught himself rubbing his old injured shoulder absentmindedly, and made himself quit. “You remember those days. You was runnin' dispatches for General Kearny here in New Mexico. I was with Frémont in California. Well, after we seized California for the states, Frémont and Commodore Stockton sent me east with dispatches for Washington, D.C. I had Lucien and about a dozen other men with me. I was real happy about ridin' back East, because I aimed to stop over in Taos and stay with Josepha a few days. We'd hadn't been married but about a year and most of that time we'd been apart because of the war and all.
“Well, we passed through here with no trouble; then we ran into General Kearny just south of Socorro, headin' for California.” Kit chuckled. “He wasn't too happy that Frémont had beat him to claiming California. Anyway, Kearny had ol' Broken Hand Tom Fitzpatrick with him as a guide, but Tom had never been over the Gila Trail to California, so Kearny ordered me to turn around and guide him back to California and let Broken Hand carry the dispatches to Washington. Well, I didn't like the sound of that at all, and I told Kearny my orders were to carry those dispatches all the way to Washington myself. Of course, the real thing was that I wanted to see Josepha. There I was, just eight days away from my Chepita, and Kearny's orderin' me back to California.”
A shell exploded into a sandbank just a hundred yards ahead of us and sent shrapnel and dirt and driftwood flying every which way. One of Selden's men got hit in the face with something, and his comrades rushed to him to inspect his wound.
“That Captain Teel is homing in on us,” Kit said. “We'd better attack pretty soon, or he'll tear us asunder like a grizzly bear.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Lay low, boys! Hunker down until we hear the order to charge!” He watched as the men lay down on the ground, some of them using tree limbs and driftwood as breastworks. Kit and I, however, remained on our feet.
“So, what did you do back in forty-six?”
“Didn't have much choice. I turned around and went back
down the same trail I'd rid up. First night's camp was right here at this ford.” He turned and pointed to the west bank of the river. “Right about up there where Hall's battery was a while ago, on that flat ground. I was so down, Kid, I couldn't hardly stand it, and I told Lucien that I was gonna desert and ride to see my wife. He talked me out of it. Said they'd know just where to find me, and probably drag me out of Josepha's bed and shoot me in the yard. Funny, ain't it? It's usually me talkin' Lucien out of some hotheaded foolishness, but it was him cooled me off that time. He made me write a letter to Josepha right then and there. Well, it was him that wrote it, but I told him what to say, and he flowered it all up. Best we could do.”
“A place like this remembers things like that for you—good or bad. It all comes back to you when you set foot on familiar ground.”
Kit grunted. “Maybe you got somethin' there. I sure do miss my wife right now, just like I did in forty-six. That woman has put up with a lot of nonsense married to me all these years. I wonder what she's doin' right now. And the children.”
“I know what you mean. I worry about Westerly.”
Kit put his hand on my shoulder and shook me like an eagle snatching a fawn up from the ground. “I regret stickin' my nose in your business about that Cheyenne girl,” he said. “I'm glad you did what you knew was right, and didn't listen to me. You and Westerly make a fine couple. And don't you worry, we'll see our families again when we get this done.”
I smiled and nodded. We stood there in silence for a long minute as the artillery rumbled and random rifle shots cracked. Finally, Kit looked back toward Canby's command post, which had crossed the river to our side, and said, “Come on, Colonel, let's
get it done.

A few seconds later, as if by Kit's command, Hall's twenty-four-pounder roared, and a bugle signaled our advance.
“Jump up, boys!” Kit yelled. “Go steady, and don't get ahead of the men on our right.”
I exchanged looks with Kit briefly, mounted, and rode to my right to translate the orders to the Mexican troops in Duncan's outfit, riding behind the ranks as I shouted. We picked our way
through the light timber of the cottonwood bosque that had been blasted for hours, stepping over branches and avoiding an occasional corpse. We saw a few forward skirmishers among the Texans withdraw to better cover as they saw us advance.
“Hold your fire!” Kit insisted.
We had walked steadily ahead for about two hundred yards, when a distant cheer rose up from the Texas ranks, and five companies of Confederate cavalry appeared over the brink of the old riverbed, four hundred yards away to our left, charging directly toward us.
“They're coming for Hall's battery, boys,” Kit said. “Be damned if we'll let them have it. Steady, now, hold your fire!”
Looking back through the cottonwoods, I saw a courier riding at a full gallop toward McRae's battery, and I knew Canby must be sending the order to fire among the Texas cavalry charge. The minute that rider would take getting to the battery would seem like a week at hard labor. Two hundred screaming Texas horsemen galloping headlong toward us as we stood there waiting did little to bolster our morale.
“Company, halt!” Kit yelled. “Prepare to fire by ranks!”
I rode right and repeated Kit's order in Spanish to Duncan's Mexican troops, my voice cracking as I yelled. Our pivoting maneuver had stopped as we fell into a defensive mode, waiting to greet the Confederate cavalry charge. I could feel the ground rumbling as it came on.
“Steady,” Kit ordered. “Hold your fire, boys …”
Now a round from Teel's battery whistled overhead and exploded in a whir of canister behind Duncan's troops. I saw three men fall, wounded or dead. As cavalry, infantry, and artillery fire closed together like gnashing teeth, I felt the dreadful thrill of war charging my limbs with energy just waiting to erupt. It seemed Colonel Green of the Texas brigade had chosen to focus his attack on Kit's command—on
me.
The thick of the struggle was about to close down on us like a bear trap.
“Hold your fire!” Kit repeated. “Form up, boys! Take aim. Wait … Wait …”
The Texas cavalry was coming at Selden's men to our left, but angling toward our regiment of volunteers. They seemed to be somewhat uncertain as to the exact location of Hall's battery,
if indeed that was their goal, for the cannon were partially concealed by the timber of the bosque, and hard to locate at a full gallop. Another shot from Teel tore through the branches of the cottonwoods to our right.
“Wait …” Kit said. “Pick yourself a target, boys …”
I could see the faces of the Texans now. I could see unshorn locks streaming out from under their dirty hats. I could hear their horses snort as they leapt sand hills and came on. I could see fists gripping pistols pointed skyward. The moment those pistols began to angle down toward our boys, Kit gave the order.
“Ready … Aim … Fire!” he yelled, in the same calm, commanding tone of voice he had used dozens of times on the training fields.
The first volley sent horses and riders tumbling, and the charge veered more to our right. I drew my pistol and found a human target. My pony was prancing and the Texans were riding by fast, but I was an instinctive pistol shot, and I killed a man I never met, and whose identity I never knew, with a bullet that tore into his heart and sent him sprawling—a man who probably believed he was fighting for his homeland, the great state of Texas.

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