Bacho #3

Just then several soldiers with Bacho trailing behind them quickly rode into the post with some at a full gallop. One of the soldiers sprung from his horse and bolted into Captain Thompson's office as if being pursued by a swarm of yellow jackets. Mrs. Thompson squeezed my hand and told me to follow her while Bacho remained on his pony. “We got troubles” I heard one of the soldiers say, “and it's all because of him”, pointing at Bacho and spitting toward him at the same time. Captain Thompson emerged from his office with a message in hand, “ Wilson”, he said, “ deliver this dispatch to Fort Marida and take Jones with you and get back here as fast as you can”. He then turned toward the men and ordered an inventory on all supplies, weapons and ammunition. “What is it Dear”, asked Mrs. Thomspon who appeared visibly concerned. “Mary”, replied the Captain, “ have young William moved in with us for the next few days, and William could you have your father report to me”.  I ran past Bacho on my way to our quarters who was now standing next to his pony looking north into the distant chaparrals. I've lived on this post for almost five years and never had I seen such concern on the faces of the soldiers before, but as I reached the door to our quarters out stormed my father cross eyed drunk and waving a colt dragoon over his head. 

Before anyone could react he lower the pistol and fired at Bacho and missed but not before trying again. Bacho's pony turned and faced my father who pulled back the hammer and took aim once more but this time out of nowhere that female mogul dog bit down hard on my fathers leg. Bacho yelled out something in Apache but it was too late for now she lay dead at my fathers feet shot through the heart. “Well at least I got one of them”, bragged my father while at the same time the butt of Captain Thompson's revolver clocked my father in unconsciousness. Bacho transformed into a fury of hailstorm rage and pulled a thin bladed knife from his waistband and charged my fallen father but was quickly subdued by the surrounding men. “Throw that drunken coward into the brig”, ordered Captain Thompson, “ before I let Bacho have his way with him”. And as I watched them drag my father off I looked down toward  the dog  and then Bacho but both he and his pony had disappeared like a ghost. My world was now completely upside down with my father in jail and a dog dead at my feet and her pup, what will become of that pup.

I wrapped the dog's body in an old flour sack and asked Captain Thompson permission if I could bury her just outside of the outpost. “William”, he said, “ it seems our Indian interpreter is a wanted man but not by us but by his own people”. Captain Thompson continued, “ whatever he did or didn't do the Apache's have declared war on us just for associating with him”. Captain Thompson gave me permission to bury the dog and assigned two men to accompany me just outside of the fort. The desert floor was just too hard to dig no matter how I tried so a pile of rocks would have to do. One of the men asked me if I knew the dog's name but I told them I didn't but she had a pup and it's somewhere out there. “Well”, said one of the men, “it wont last long out here without a mother, that's a sure deal”. Those words jarred my thoughts of my own mother and her name was Catherine. I fashioned a small cross from two flattened pieces of mesquite and scratched the name Catherine across it. She was brave like my mother and she tried to help her family like my mother but the sun was starting to set now and the soldiers said it was time to leave.