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“Might all think it a goddamn fu
“Well, let’s say they don’t,” Chastain said. “And like you, I doubt they’d still be tramping around in uniforms, so how the hell will we know these men?”
Virgil pointed to Eddie.
“Eddie knows the faces of the two of them,” Virgil said. “The Cotters.”
Eddie nodded.
“I damn sure do,” he said.
“I know one of them,” I said. “When I saw them ride by Hal’s on their way into town. I won’t forget that face. Not ever. I suspect he was one of the Cotters.”
“And Ballard’s a cock hound,” Virgil said. “Tall, handsome man, longhorn mustache. Got a good idea we’ll know him.”
I nodded.
“They all had Union saddles,” I said. “McClellans. They didn’t bother to take our men’s saddles when they killed their horses, so unless they had some other saddles someplace or bought some saddles, we’ll have that to look for.”
“That leaves four more,” Chastain said. “How will we know them?”
“Don’t suppose we’ll know,” Virgil said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find that Ballard and the Cotters strung them up like the others they’ve left in their wake.”
We left Ski
The snow had stopped falling and the clouds looked to be separating some, but the roads were snow-covered and the ride was slow going.
The brakes were a good five miles of high, thick brush with passages through them that led to a central camp where the tents were pitched next to the creek.
There were other holdout camps like the Yaqui Brakes, and this one was not unlike the others we’d seen. Holdout camps consisted of mostly nonconforming southern miscreants and rabble-rousers who thought the war was still going on, or at least thought it should be going on. They were uncomfortable being around anyone who wasn’t as crossways as they were or thought the way they thought.
The bad news about the Yaqui Brakes was there were at least ten ways in and ten ways out.
As we neared the brakes the snow was not as deep as it was back in the Appaloosa direction, and the riding became increasingly easier.
Late in the afternoon, when we came upon a low section of land where the rail and the road next to the rail turned to the west, I stopped and looked back to the others trailing behind me.
“This is it,” I said, pointing to the lowland to our left.
Virgil nodded and looked around.
“It is,” Virgil said.
“How far, in there?” Chastain said.
“Five miles, maybe,” I said.
“How do you want to go about this?” Chastain said.
“Want to wait till dark,” Virgil said.
— 61 —
It’s damn near dark now,” I said.
“It is,” Virgil said.
“We go in the dark and see them,” Chastain said, “in their camp light and they don’t see us?”
“That’d be the idea,” Virgil said.
“It’s a long walk in there,” I said, “but that’s the only way, I’d say. Don’t you think, Virgil?”
“I do,” Virgil said.
“So we go in on foot?” Chastain said.
“We do,” Virgil said. “Taking horses in there would be like wearing cowbells.”
We rode down into the low section and followed the rail for a while until we came to a truss bridge where the rails crossed over a wash.
It was damn near dark when we dismounted under the bridge and got our horses secured and readied our weapons.
“How we go
“Holdouts for the most part are blowhards,” Virgil said.
“They are,” I said.
“Yep,” Virgil said. “That’s why they bunch together like they do.”
“You don’t think they’ll have bigger balls the more they are?” Chastain said.
“There is no way of knowing for sure just how this will go down,” Virgil said. “But they will not know how many we are.”
Chastain nodded and pulled his carbine from its scabbard.
“If the situation calls for it,” Virgil said, “we’ll let them all know they are surrounded.”
“What situation would that be?” Chastain said.
“Don’t know all the particulars,” Virgil said. “I suspect we’ll know if and when that sort of declaration needs to be made.”
“Weather’s in our favor,” I said.
“It is,” Virgil said.
Chastain nodded.
“Not exactly the kind of weather for lying on a blanket and watching the stars,” Chastain said.
“Not,” Virgil said. “The lot will be hunkered inside where it’s warm.”
Chastain cocked his carbine.
“We go?” Chastain said.
“We do,” Virgil said.
“What do you want me to do?” Eddie said to Virgil.
“Keep that Winchester at ready,” Virgil said. “We’ll all move together, slowly, quietly. When we get close we’ll see what we can see and we’ll go from there.”
We made certain before it was too dark that we found an entrance into the brakes. We followed the path down toward the creek and in no time it was so dark we couldn’t see a foot in front of our face. We relied on the brush on either side of the path to guide us as we moved through the darkness.
We walked and walked for more than an hour and it seemed we were moving in circles, but then we heard some distant laughter and we knew we were near.
After walking a little while longer and as we got closer we smelled smoke and heard more sounds of the holdouts in front of us.
Virgil pulled us close together and whispered, “Let’s keep moving toward them. The very first sign of light we see, we stop.”
We moved on, doing as Virgil said, until we saw through the thickets some light ahead of us and we stopped.
“Everett, you and Chastain stay put,” Virgil said. “Eddie, you come with me. We’ll get a little closer and have a look-see, maybe you can spot one of them?”
Virgil and Eddie moved off and we waited.
After a while we saw the vague outlines of Virgil and Eddie as they made their way back to us.
“What’d ya see?” I said.
“I didn’t see them,” Eddie said.
“We’re on the end of the camp here. Everything is spread out that direction,” Virgil said with a point to his right.
“What do you figure?” Chastain said.
“Let’s move off this way,” Virgil said, pointing to his left. “We’ll cross the creek and move down the bank on the other side. Have a better view.”
We did as Virgil said. We walked to our left until we were in complete darkness again, then we crossed the creek and moved down the bank on the opposite side.
We stayed out of the camp’s spilling light as we moved slowly and cautiously.
We could hear voices, muffled conversations coming from inside tents, but like we figured, as cold as it was, there were only a few people moving about.
We passed by one man chopping wood beside a tent and two others drinking beer as they watched him.
A little farther down the way from them, two men sat next to a spit, turning what looked to be a goat.
Virgil led the way; Chastain was behind him, then Eddie, and then me. Eddie stopped, grabbed my arm.
He was looking at the two men over the spit.
“That’s him,” Eddie said.
— 62 —
Virgil,” I said softly.
Virgil stopped and looked back. He moved closer to Eddie. He followed Eddie’s look to the two men and the goat.
“The one on the right,” Eddie said. “I think that’s him.”
“You think?” Virgil said.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the younger one,” Eddie said. “Hard to tell from here, what with him all bundled up and all, but I think that’s him. Could tell for sure if we got closer.”
“The good news is,” I said, “there aren’t many others moving about.”
Virgil leaned forward, looking to his left, then looked to his right. Then he looked to the two men at the spit.