It was mid-afternoon when Brace Coburn saw the buzzards circling overhead, farther to the north and a half hour later when he found the body of Dewy Howe baking in the sun. The buzzards had already feasted on his flesh. His eyes had been picked at by the vultures and there was one giant bird still standing on the dead man’s chest. Bile rose up in Coburn’s throat and he felt sick and angry. Deliberately, he drew his pistol and shot the vulture; feathers flying and blood spurting out onto the corpse’s face.
He fired again into the air and another buzzard fell to earth. The others flew away for the present.
He stepped down from his saddle and retrieved a small entrenching shovel from his saddle pack and began to dig a shallow grave.
It was late afternoon when the Noonan’s rode into the little grassy meadow with a stream of sparkling spring water running through it. They rested here a bit. Bill and Sid were able to clean their wounds a bit and bandage them up. Bill Noonan’s wound was superficial but looked worse than it was. The marshal’s bullet had torn a chunk from the fleshy part of the upper arm and passed on through.
Sid, on the other hand, still carried a hunk of lead in the side of his left leg. Luckily, it had not struck a bone or any vital arteries, but the wound was already festering. The denim cloth pant leg had been drenched in blood and was now pasted in the dried area around the wound.
Tom and Julie had found a spot in the shade to rest. Tom offered her the canteen, he had just refilled and she drank thirstily. “I’m really sorry about this, Julie,” Tom said as she lowered the canteen and handed it back to him. “I had no intention of going ahead with the robbery, when I came in this morning. I really thought I’d convinced my Dad to call the job off.” She said nothing. He continued. “I swear, I didn’t know they were going ahead with it.”
“Lucky for you, they did,” she said. “Lee would have killed you.”
“What’s wrong with that guy, anyhow?”
“He’s crazy,” she said flatly. “Oh, he can convince people that he’s fine, noble and upstanding, but they don’t see him the way I do. He’s mean.”
“He’s done that before?” Tom nodded at the bruise beneath her eye.
She lowered her lashes and nodded as if ashamed.
“Why do you stay with him?”
“He’d kill me, if I tried to get away.” Her eyes lifted. There was a mixture of fear and pleading across her face. “I’m glad you brought me with you.”
Tom thought about the anger he had for his brother. “Still it was no reason for Little Bill to treat you as he did.”
“What else could he do? He had to make it look like I was unwilling.”
“Somehow, I don’t think he ever thought much about it.” Tom said.
“Lee will come after me, you know.”
Tom didn’t seem surprised. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
“That bullet’s got to come out, Sid,” Little Bill said, as he cut away the pant leg and washing the dried blood out of the wound.
“It’ll keep,” Sid said, wincing as the wound started to bleed some more. “Just bandage it up for now. You can dig it out when we hole up tonight.” He looked up at the sky. “We’d better be moving on, soon. Looks like a storm brewing.” Dark clouds were appearing above the mountain spires to the west.
Bill Noonan followed his gaze and nodded in agreement. He was already feeling the change in temperature.
The rains came at dusk. The heavy cloud cover blotted out most of what was left of daylight. Visibility had become poor and the occasional flash of lightning was a welcome aid. But it made the horses skittish and uneasy. Thunder rolled in an almost continuous drone in the distance.
The Cavalry Troop and the Apache prisoners had ridden steadily all afternoon. The storm had slowed their progress for the last hour and the riders were drenched with the pelting rain. Captain Stowe had wanted to cross the San Pedro River before camping for the night, but the river was now running high and its current had increased to a rapid flow.
Not wanting to risk his prisoners attempting a get-away while crossing the treacherous waters, Stowe had opted to detour a little farther west, beyond a bend in the river, where he knew he would find a bridge.
The sound of horses’ hooves clattering against the board slats of the bridge, blended in with the constant rumble of thunder. One by one, the horses and riders filed carefully, along the wooden bridge. There was only about enough room for them to pass single file and all that prevented them from sliding off the slippery slats of wood into the roiling waters below, was a low wooden rail on each side. Occasionally a rider’s leg would scrape up against it and force him to move his legs higher and closer to the horse’s withers.
Rain poured off Geronimo’s brow, filling his eyes and making him even more agitated at his incarceration. He brushed at them with his tied hands. A flash of lightning, silhouetted the procession momentarily and the great Apache warrior caught a glimpse of the flowing waters; almost bridge high, below. He waited for the next flash, turned to look behind him and nodded silently to Natchez. As if there was an unspoken telegraph among the Apache, Geronimo’s silent command passed from brave to brave.
Most of the prisoners were on the bridge now and when the next flash of lightning hit, with engulfing darkness following on it tail, Geronimo heaved his body upward and flung himself from his mount’s back, over the rail and plunged into the river below. Before the soldiers could react, Natches, Torrio and the others on the bridge followed him, letting out whoops of victory as they went splashing into the dark waters. Lightning flashed again and thunder roared. Horses reared and swirled into a frenzy; snorting with fear, at the suddenness of activity. The rail cracked simultaneously with the next bolt of lightning and a horse fell through into the river and as the lead troopers wheeled their mounts and tried to ride into the melee, another Indian pony fell from the bridge. Another rail broke and then the entire bridge collapsed beneath the pounding hooves of the terrified horses. Water splashed high, soaking the advancing soldiers and sending them back onto the bank.
The last three Apaches who had not yet started across the bridge felt their horses being pulled forward by the weight of the other horses and jumped free from their backs on to the ground and started to run, but the rear advance soldiers quickly rode them down and recaptured them.
Captain Stowe rode back to the bank on the near side and gazed into the darkness below. He could hear the roar of the water and the screaming snorts of struggling animals, but when the lightning flashed again he saw no trace of the escaping Geronimo and his six companions.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Apache Gunhawk Page 13
