Ace knew MacDonald was right. He didn’t know where Olsen had been this morning, but as soon as the lieutenant found out what had happened, he would take up the pursuit.
After a few more minutes, Chance said quietly, “Have you noticed that we’re heading more to the north now, Ace? Looks like we’re angling up into the ruggedest part of the mountains.”
“Yeah, I saw that.”
“But MacDonald said he’d let Miss Sughrue go when we got to that settlement down close to the border. That’s southwest of here, not northwest.”
“He lied,” Ace said simply. “He was trying to throw anybody who comes after us off our trail.”
Chance thought about it and nodded. “I didn’t give him credit for being that clever.”
“He worked out this whole thing. Reckon he’s smarter than either of us took him for.”
“So where are we going?”
Ace studied the slopes rising in front of them and slowly shook his head. “I don’t know this part of the country well enough to say. Maybe headed up around Flagstaff? The country on the other side of there, all the way up into Utah, is supposed to be pretty empty. Lots of good places for a man to lose himself for a while. That might be what MacDonald has in mind.”
The terrain through which the group rode grew more rugged. They had to follow hogback ridges to avoid brush-choked gullies. Ace didn’t like that. They were too easy to spot while they were on higher ground like that. He could almost feel them being watched.
Everyone knew that bands of Apache renegades lived in the mountains. The question was whether any of them wanted to ambush a well-armed party such as this. Those bands often were small, with less than a dozen warriors to go along with a few dozen women and children.
Apaches were stubborn, though, and didn’t like intruders in territory they considered their own. They might strike no matter what the odds were.
Finally, MacDonald called a halt and told everyone to dismount. Chance was off his horse fast enough to reach Evelyn’s side before she could get down from the saddle. He said, “Let me help you, Miss Sughrue.”
She managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Mr. Jensen.”
“Please, call me Chance,” he said as he reached up to assist her.
There was no situation desperate enough to keep his brother from flirting with a pretty girl, Ace thought wryly. He swung down from his saddle and leaned against the cavalry horse for a second as weariness gripped him.
Chance had his hands under Evelyn’s arms as he helped her to the ground. When she was standing on her feet, Chance let go of her, but she immediately swayed and let out an alarmed, “Oh!”
Chance caught hold of her again to steady her. He turned his head and said to MacDonald, “This poor girl needs rest, and plenty of it, MacDonald. We have to stay here for a while.”
It wasn’t a bad place for that. They were in a canyon about a hundred yards wide, with steep, rocky walls rising on both sides. Rainwater had collected in a tank in some rocks, and half a dozen scrubby trees grew around it to provide a little shade. A few patches of hardy grass sprouted from the rocky ground here and there, as well.
Without waiting for MacDonald to respond to his suggestion, Chance started helping Evelyn over to the little pond.
“Let’s get you out of the sun,” he said. “You can have a drink, too. That should help you feel better.”
MacDonald began, “Blast it, I didn’t say that you could—” He stopped, blew out a breath, and went, “Oh, all right. We’ll let the horses drink and graze a little. Won’t do us any good if they get all done in. Parnell, you and a couple of men keep your eyes on those prisoners.”
“Sure, Vince,” Parnell said. He pointed his rifle in Ace’s general direction as Ace and Lieutenant Driscoll trudged over to the natural water tank to join Chance and Evelyn.
Evelyn sank down on a rock in the shade of one of the little trees and let out a deep sigh of exhaustion. “I don’t know if I can go on,” she said, keeping her voice low enough that MacDonald wouldn’t hear her.
Lieutenant Driscoll put both hands in the small of his back and stretched, then said, “I don’t believe any of us have any choice, Evelyn. These are desperate men, and they won’t hesitate to kill any of us if they think it will benefit them.”
“You’re right about that,” Ace said. “Miss Sughrue has some value to them, though.” He smiled at her. “I don’t think you have to worry too much. MacDonald wants to keep you alive.”
“Alive, maybe,” she said, “but what might happen to me in the meantime?”
Ace couldn’t answer that. Not anything that Evelyn would want to hear, anyway.
The deserters gathered around the tank and drank their fill, then let the horses drink—but not too much. They would be in trouble if their mounts foundered. The horses didn’t want to leave the water, but the men led them away and picketed them where they could graze.
Ace and Chance stood to one side. Chance said quietly, “You know, I bet we could jump a couple of these fellas and grab those handguns they’re wearing.”
“And even if we made every shot count, we’d still be outnumbered,” Ace pointed out. “Besides, you know how things go in a gunfight. Bullets fly around every which way, and some of them usually hit things they’re not supposed to.”
He looked meaningfully at Evelyn Sughrue.
“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Chance admitted. “I don’t guess we can risk it. But what are we going to do?”
Lieutenant Driscoll had drifted closer while the Jensen brothers were talking. He overheard Chance’s question and asked with a frown, “Are you talking about trying to get away from these men?”
“They don’t have anything good in mind for us, Doctor,” Ace said.
“That’s true, but you don’t know MacDonald as well as I do. He’s a vicious brute. If you give him any excuse, he’ll—”
MacDonald’s rumble came from behind Driscoll, interrupting him. “What’ll I do, Doc?” he asked. MacDonald chuckled, but the sound didn’t hold any genuine humor. “You go ahead and tell me, why don’t you?”
Driscoll had jerked around as soon as MacDonald spoke. He swallowed nervously and said, “I was just trying to convince these two young men that we need to cooperate with you—”
“Yeah, by talkin’ about what a vicious brute I am. You know, maybe you’re right about that.”
With no more warning than that, MacDonald’s left arm came up and around and the back of his hand smashed against Driscoll’s jaw. The unexpected blow snapped Driscoll’s head to the side and made him stagger back several steps. A few yards away, Evelyn let out a cry of surprise and fear.
MacDonald handed the rifle in his right hand to one of the other deserters. “I told you I’d let you go tomorrow if nobody came after us,” he said as he stalked toward Driscoll, flexing his hands. “I never said nothin’ about what kind of shape you’d be in, Doc. You know, you always got on my nerves, actin’ so high and mighty the way you did, tellin’ us what we ought to do.”
“I’m a doctor,” Driscoll cried shakily. The side of his face where MacDonald had struck him was bright red now. “It’s my job to tell my patients how to take care of themselves.”
“You ain’t a real doctor,” MacDonald sneered. “You’re just a pill-roller and bandage-wrapper. If you’d been a real doc, you would’ve been practicin’ in some town, instead of bein’ the post surgeon at a place in the middle of nowhere like Fort Gila.”
Driscoll held out a trembling hand as MacDonald crowded in at him. “Leave me alone!” he said.
MacDonald ignored the plea and hit him in the belly. Ace winced as the powerful blow sunk MacDonald’s right fist in Driscoll’s midsection and doubled him over. MacDonald hooked a left against Driscoll’s jaw that sent the doctor rolling on the ground.
Ace and Chance both stepped forward, unable to control the reaction. They had to stop, though, when Parnell and one of the other deserters swung their rifles up and trained the
weapons on them. At this range, the men couldn’t miss, and MacDonald had already made it clear he didn’t care that much whether the Jensen brothers lived or died.
“I ought’a stomp your guts out, Driscoll,” MacDonald said as he loomed over the fallen lieutenant. “I won’t, though. You know why? Because a pathetic excuse for a man like you just ain’t worth that much effort.”
Shaking his head contemptuously, MacDonald turned away. Behind him, Driscoll struggled to get up. He put his hands on the rocky ground and pushed, lifting his head and glaring after MacDonald as he did so.
Ace saw something in Driscoll’s eyes that he hadn’t expected. The light of temporary madness blazed there. In most men, deep-seated instinct made them want to strike back when they were physically attacked. In addition, MacDonald had humiliated Driscoll. The man had to have at least some pride, or he never would have become an officer.
Put simply, MacDonald had just pushed the lieutenant too far.
Driscoll surged up off the ground, let out an incoherent cry, and lunged after MacDonald, who was several inches taller and fifty or sixty pounds heavier. Driscoll stood no chance, but he wasn’t thinking about that at this moment.
Hearing Driscoll charging him, MacDonald wheeled around sharply. As he did, something flicked past him. Ace barely caught a glimpse of it, but the next instant, he saw the arrow that appeared in Driscoll’s left shoulder, bringing the doctor to a staggering stop as he pawed at the shaft and howled in pain.
That howl blended with the bloodcurdling cries that suddenly filled the canyon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Apaches!” MacDonald bellowed.
Driscoll dropped to his knees and continued fumbling with the arrow lodged in his shoulder. His wail trailed off into a whimper.
Rifle shots began sounding from the rimrock on both sides of the canyon. One man pitched forward as a bullet struck him in the back of the head, killing him instantly. Another of the deserters spun off his feet as a slug ripped along his ribs.
The Jensen brothers acted instinctively. Chance sprang toward Evelyn Sughrue, grabbed her, and bore her to the round behind some of the rocks surrounding the water tank. The rocks were low enough that they didn’t provide great cover, but they were better than nothing.
At the same time, Ace raced over to the trooper who’d been shot in the head and grabbed the man’s fallen Springfield. An arrow whipped past him, missing by scant inches. As he lifted the rifle, he whirled and spotted the Apache warrior who had fired the arrow. The man was drawing back his bowstring to launch another flint-tipped missile.
Ace fired from the hip. There was no time to aim. But luck and skill guided his shot, and the Apache flew backward as the .45-70 round slammed into his chest. He managed to loose the arrow, but being hit threw off his aim, and the shaft sailed harmlessly over Ace’s head.
A few feet away, MacDonald’s rifle blasted. Ace didn’t see what happened, but he heard MacDonald exclaim, “Got the red devil!” so he assumed the sergeant had hit his target.
Another Apache charged at Ace and launched with one foot off a rock into a leap that carried him toward the young man. The warrior’s raised right hand clutched a knife, ready to drive the blade into Ace’s chest.
Ace thrust the empty rifle up and caught the Apache in the belly with the Springfield’s barrel. He fell back and heaved, and the move propelled the warrior through the air. The man cried out in alarm as his arms and legs flailed helplessly now. He smashed down on some rocks and then lay there unmoving.
Hearing a rush of footsteps nearby, Ace rolled over and scrambled up in time to use the Springfield to knock aside the barrel of a Winchester just as the Apache wielding it was about to fire point-blank at him. Ace stepped in and swung the Springfield’s stock against the warrior’s jaw. Bone crunched under the impact. The Apache fell to the side, and Ace leaned down to strike again with the rifle butt, crushing the man’s skull.
He had been lucky so far, but the Springfield was empty and with Apaches dashing around the canyon floor bent on killing the white interlopers, Ace knew he wouldn’t have time to reload even if he could get his hands on some ammunition. He dropped the rifle and dived toward the trooper who had been killed in the first volley. He unsnapped the man’s holster and dragged out the .45 revolver.
As he did, an arrow thudded into the man’s body. Ace thrust the Colt across the corpse’s back and triggered a round at the warrior who had fired the arrow. The bullet punched into the Apache’s guts and doubled him over.
Part of the way around the tank, Chance had had the same idea as his brother. He told Evelyn, “Keep your head down!” and scrambled on hands and knees toward the man who’d been wounded in the side. The man was rolling around and using his hands to try to stop the bleeding, without much luck.
Chance picked up the man’s rifle and aimed at the rimrock where several Apaches had stood up now to get better shots at the group in the canyon. The Springfield roared and bucked against Chance’s shoulder. Through the haze of smoke from the shot, he saw one of the warriors drop his Winchester, clutch at his belly, and pitch forward off the rim, turning over completely in midair as he plummeted toward the canyon floor.
Chance tossed the empty rifle aside and said to the wounded deserter, “Give me your pistol!”
“Wh-what?”
“Your Colt! Let me use it!”
“I . . . I can’t. MacDonald would—”
Chance saw one of the Apaches who’d been hidden in the canyon running toward the rocks where Evelyn lay. He didn’t waste any time arguing with the wounded man. He threw a punch that crashed into the man’s jaw and stretched him out, stunning him. That allowed Chance to snatch the revolver out of the man’s holster.
He thumbed back the Colt’s hammer as he whirled back toward the rocks. The Apache had almost reached Evelyn, who had her head buried in her arms and probably didn’t even know the renegade was there. The Apache swung his Winchester toward her, but before he could fire, Chance shot him in the head. The warrior jerked and collapsed, but his momentum carried him forward. He sprawled across Evelyn, on top of her.
The unexpected weight made her shriek in terror and writhe around frantically on the ground in an attempt to escape from it. Chance ran toward her and called, “Evelyn! Evelyn, it’s all right! He’s dead!”
Chance reached down with his free hand, caught hold of the back of the Apache’s shirt, and hauled him off the panic-stricken young woman. Evelyn continued screaming as Chance bent toward her and started trying to reassure her.
Then he saw that she was staring wide-eyed past him, and instinct warned him. He spun around and snapped a shot at the Apache looming over him, about to plunge a knife into his back. The bullet caught the warrior under the chin and jolted his head back as it bored on into his brain. The man stumbled and went down on top of Chance, who shoved the body aside.
He knelt there beside Evelyn, the gun in his right hand, his left hand now on her shoulder to hold her down and try to calm her at the same time, as the battle continued swirling around them.
Ace spotted them there and was relieved to see that his brother was all right, at least for the moment. He raced toward them, firing as he ran, and two more Apaches fell before the Colt’s hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
Vince MacDonald was close to the tank in the rocks, too, swinging his empty rifle like a club at the Apaches surrounding him. They could have shot him, but grim-faced and determined with hate, they darted in at him and tried to gut him with knife thrusts. It seemed to be cruel sport for them.
MacDonald drove them back each time, but dark stains on his gray shirt showed that he had suffered several gashes from the blades.
Ace dropped the empty revolver as he nearly tripped over a rock. He caught his balance and reached down to grasp the stone slab. With a grunt of effort, he lifted it, raised it as much as he could, and ran toward the Apaches who were attacking MacDonald. They didn’t see him coming, so he was able to throw the h
eavy rock into their midst without warning. It crashed into one man’s head and knocked him sprawling into two more.
That gave MacDonald an opening to take the fight to the enemy instead of staying on the defensive. He bulled forward, whirling the empty Springfield, and two more warriors went down as the stock smashed their skulls.
But one of the remaining Apaches lunged in and buried his knife in MacDonald’s side. The sergeant roared in pain and twisted to drive the rifle’s stock into the man’s face, turning it into a red, misshapen ruin. MacDonald staggered, plucked the knife out of his flesh, and thrust it into the throat of another warrior. Then his strength deserted him and he fell to his knees.
One of the Apaches was about to ram his knife into MacDonald’s back when Ace tackled him. They sprawled on the ground. The warrior jabbed the blade at Ace, who grabbed the man’s wrist to stop the thrust. He twisted hard and threw his weight against the Apache. The knife, turned now so that it pointed the other way, went cleanly into the man’s chest. The warrior bucked up once from the ground, then sagged back as his face turned slack and lifeless.
A big hand closed hard around Ace’s upper right arm. He jerked his head around, ready to fight some more, then saw it was MacDonald who had hold of him. Wounded or not, the burly noncom still had plenty of strength. He hauled Ace to his feet and shoved him toward the rocks where Chance and Evelyn were.
The wounded Lieutenant Driscoll had crawled over there, too, and four more of the deserters were close by, including Corporal Parnell. Some of the men still held rifles or revolvers, but evidently the weapons were out of ammunition, because no one was firing anymore.
Ace and MacDonald joined the little group. The Apaches had backed off a ways, but they still ringed the rocks. Another rush would overrun the whites, now that they didn’t have any firepower.
Rope Burn Page 16
