Rope Burn

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the tumult in the bowl.

  “No, I . . . I don’t think so—”

  She screamed again as she looked over his shoulder. Ace whirled and knocked aside the knife being thrust at him. The tip raked a fiery line across his ribs. He slashed the broken rifle across the warrior’s face and sent him to the ground.

  Chance broke free of the struggle and raced to the side of Ace and Evelyn. He said, “Get back against the big rock. Ace and I will hold them off!”

  They were all doomed, Ace knew, but he and his brother would fight to the bitter end. As Jensens, they couldn’t do anything else. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Evelyn as she backed against one of the boulders.

  “Look!” Ace suddenly exclaimed. “It’s Ndolkah!”

  The Apache chief had entered the fray. He was wrestling with MacDonald, who was so covered with blood that his clothing appeared black rather than gray. MacDonald was taller and heavier than Ndolkah, but he was badly injured and rapidly losing his strength. He had his left hand locked around Ndolkah’s right wrist, trying to hold off the knife in the chief’s hand. MacDonald tried to get his right hand on Ndolkah’s throat, but the Apache fended it off.

  Then Ndolkah hooked a foot behind MacDonald’s left ankle and jerked that leg out from under him. MacDonald lost his grip on Ndolkah’s wrist and fell. Ndolkah’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace that was half savage grin, half hate-filled snarl. He raised the blade to strike . . .

  Then stumbled forward as a gun boomed once, twice, three times behind him. Ace saw the muzzle flashes in the gloom. The slugs crashed into Ndolkah’s back and hammered him forward into oblivion. Men poured over the top of the slope. Ace saw their wide-brimmed hats and knew they weren’t Apaches. Colt flame bloomed in the gathering darkness, and with each swift shot, another warrior fell.

  The reinforcements weren’t totally unexpected. Ace had hoped that a rescue party from Fort Gila would catch up to them, and it appeared that was what had happened. He heard more shots from down in the canyon and realized fighting was going on down there, too. He would have thought that most of the warriors were up here, trying to catch the escaping prisoners, but maybe . . .

  A thought struck him and made a chill go down his back. There were women and children down there in the Apache village, and despite everything that had happened, even the torture of Shoemaker and Barnes, he didn’t want them massacred.

  Right now, though, he turned to Evelyn, who had slumped to the ground next to the boulder, and said, “Looks like it’s going to be all right—”

  “Ace.” Chance’s voice was sharp with warning.

  Ace looked back around and saw a man in cavalry uniform striding toward them with a revolver thrust out in front of him. Lieutenant Frank Olsen smiled coldly at them and said, “You Jensen boys have led us on a merry chase, but it’s over now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Apache women had built cooking fires as evening approached, and those flames still leaped and crackled merrily. The scenes they illuminated were anything but merry, though. The massacre Ace had worried about had indeed taken place.

  The bloody, huddled corpses of women and children littered the ground all over the village, along with the bodies of the few warriors who had been down here when Olsen and the other men arrived, shooting and yelling, blasting some of the Apaches while riding down others and trampling them into something unrecognizable. Evelyn couldn’t bear to look at the carnage and kept her eyes downcast and almost closed as she stumbled along between Ace and Chance.

  MacDonald was behind them, staggering from weakness. All four survivors had their hands tied again, but their feet were loose so they could walk. Ace was a little surprised Olsen hadn’t gone ahead and shot him and his brother, along with MacDonald, and just taken Evelyn back to the fort.

  He supposed Olsen believed he could get some more work out of them on that road of his.

  The combined force of cavalry troopers and Eugene Howden-Smyth’s hired guns had lost three men during the fighting, all of them soldiers. Taking the Apaches by surprise as they had, they had wiped out Ndolkah and all his band. As they returned to their horses, Olsen said, “I want to make camp for the night somewhere else. The air here smells too much like freshly spilled blood.”

  “Reckon there’s a good reason for that,” a gaunt gunman said with a wolfish grin. “What do you want us to do with all them redskin bodies, Lieutenant?”

  “Why do anything with them?” Olsen snapped. “The scavengers will take care of that.”

  “My thinkin’ exactly,” the gunman agreed. He called to the other hired killers. “Mount up, boys.”

  “You’ll ride with me,” Olsen said to Evelyn. “I assure you, I have no lecherous motives. Eugene has his eye on you, and I wouldn’t interfere with that. But I intend to keep you safe until we get back and I put you in his hands.”

  Ace said, “Sergeant MacDonald needs a horse. As bad a shape as he’s in, he can’t walk very far.”

  “Speak for yourself,” MacDonald growled. “I’m fine.”

  He was far from fine, obviously, but he was too stubborn to admit that.

  “You’ll all be mounted, so as not to slow us down,” Olsen said. “A couple of my troopers can double up until we make camp. You Jensens can share one of the horses, and MacDonald can have the other. After we’ve buried the men we lost, well away from here, you can have their horses. Sergeant Cochran, see to that.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cochran said.

  MacDonald grinned at the man and said, “You’re a sergeant now, Cochran? Well, don’t let it go to your head. The only rank that really matters around here is Olsen’s, and he figures he might as well be king of the Arizona Territory!”

  “King of Arizona,” Olsen repeated with a smile. “You know, I rather like the sound of that, Vince. Perhaps I’ll work on that, one of these days. But until then, I want to get away from this slaughterhouse.”

  Ace couldn’t argue with that sentiment, no matter how despicable the man who had uttered it.

  Within minutes, the whole group was mounted and heading back down out of the canyon. Night had fallen, but the light from millions of stars that had winked into existence in the black heavens was enough for them to see where they were going.

  They rode for about half an hour before Olsen called a halt and declared that they would make camp. They were on a broad, grassy bench, and Ace recalled from the earlier trip as captives of the Apaches that at the far side of that level ground was a steep drop-off with a trail that zigzagged back and forth down it. Trying to navigate that path by starlight probably wasn’t a good idea. The drop-off wasn’t that high, but a misstep could still cause a fatal fall.

  “Build a good big fire,” Olsen ordered. “We don’t have to worry about those savages anymore.”

  He was probably right about that. Ndolkah’s band wasn’t the only one lurking in the mountains and foothills, but in all likelihood, there weren’t any others close by.

  The four prisoners sat on the ground with two troopers nearby to guard them. One of the hired guns, a stocky man with a shotgun tucked under his arm, sauntered over to join them.

  “No offense to you blue-bellies,” he said with a cocky grin that showed he didn’t care if he offended them or not, “but I’m gonna keep an eye on these prisoners, too. They’ve made a habit of gettin’ away from you soldier boys, and I know my boss don’t want that happenin’ again.”

  “Please,” Evelyn said, “Sergeant MacDonald needs medical attention—”

  “That’s none of my business,” the gunman interrupted her. “Anyway, we ain’t got a doc along, and from what I understand, the post surgeon from Fort Gila is one of the fellas who got killed up there in that fight with the Apaches. So you’re outta luck, MacDonald.”

  “It wasn’t me who asked for help,” MacDonald growled. “The whole bunch of you can go to blazes. I wouldn’t let any of you skunk
s touch me.”

  The gunman laughed. “Ain’t none of us wantin’ to!” He leered at Evelyn. “This little gal, on the other hand—”

  “Hush that kind of talk, mister,” one of the troopers snapped. “This is our commanding officer’s daughter, and she’s a lady.”

  “You don’t give me orders.” The shotgunner’s voice hardened. “You best remember that.”

  An uneasy silence fell over the group. After awhile, one of the troopers brought over plates of beans and bacon and cups of coffee. The prisoners’ hands were freed so they could eat and drink, but several of Howden-Smyth’s men stood by with drawn guns the whole time, so any attempt to get away was impossible. After supper, they were tied up again, except for Evelyn. It was Lieutenant Olsen’s order that she remain unbound, one of the soldiers explained.

  Olsen himself walked over a short time after that. He took off his hat, smiled at Evelyn, and said, “Miss Sughrue, there’s no need for you to spend any more time with these men. MacDonald kidnapped you, after all, and intended to use you as a hostage, so I’m sure you don’t want anything more to do with him. I apologize for having you restrained. It was more for simplicity’s sake than anything else, until we got well away from those Apaches.”

  “I thought all the Apaches were dead,” Evelyn said. A shudder ran through her. “From what I saw in the village, I can’t imagine that any of them survived.”

  “They didn’t,” Olsen said, his voice harder now. “We made certain of that. An unpleasant thing, but necessary. Now more than ever, though, any other savages in the vicinity ought to understand that they need to leave the army, and Mr. Howden-Smyth’s mine, alone in the future.” He smiled again, put his hat on, and held out a hand to her. “Please, come with me. I’ve had the men set up a shelter for you. It’s not an actual tent, it’s made out of blankets and some rope and poles, but it’ll afford you a bit of privacy, at least.”

  Evelyn hesitated. “I want medical attention for my friends.”

  “What friends?” Olsen asked, frowning. “These deserters?”

  “Ace and Chance aren’t deserters! They’re not even in the army.”

  “A matter still being worked out among the proper authorities. But in any event, they still face serious charges in Packsaddle, and since Marshal Glennon has accompanied our party, they’re his responsi-bilty.” Olsen looked at the Jensen brothers and shook his head. “Anyway, they don’t appear to be seriously injured. A few bumps and bruises and scrapes, that’s all.”

  “Sergeant MacDonald is seriously injured. He’s lost a great deal of blood—”

  “Blast it, stop tryin’ to look out for me, woman,” MacDonald said. “The lieutenant’s right. You were never anything but a hostage to me, a way to keep your crazy pa from comin’ after us.”

  Ace could tell that the harsh words hurt Evelyn, but she said stubbornly, “You’re still a human being and deserve decent treatment.”

  “I’ll have someone take a look at MacDonald’s injuries, if that will make you feel better,” Olsen said. He beckoned to Evelyn again. “Now, please, if you’ll come away from here . . .”

  She looked at Ace and Chance. Ace nodded, and Chance said, “Yeah, go with him, Evelyn. It’s all right. We’ll be fine.”

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  “We’re sure.”

  She sighed, took Olsen’s hand, and let him help her to her feet. She cast a glance over her shoulder as the lieutenant led her away, and Ace could tell that she hoped she wasn’t making a big mistake.

  “She’ll be better off with him,” Chance said quietly, so that the men guarding them wouldn’t overhear.

  “She’s important to him,” Ace said. “He’ll see to it that nothing happens to her.”

  MacDonald said coldly, “Yeah, she’s important to him, all right. Olsen’s gonna trade her to that Britisher when he gets back to the fort. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he made Howden-Smyth agree to cut him in for a bigger share of the mine’s profits before he hands over the girl.”

  “Evelyn doesn’t understand just how crooked Olsen is,” Chance said. “She still thinks that because he’s an officer, he must be honorable.”

  MacDonald scoffed. “That polecat wouldn’t know honor if it came up and bit him.”

  Ace said, “Do you really think he’s going to force Evelyn to marry Howden-Smyth?”

  “That’s what the Englishman wants. And he’s got the gold mine, so he’s got the leverage to get what he wants.” MacDonald made a face. “Actually, I reckon the gal will be lucky if there’s a preacher involved. Howden-Smyth could just take her and keep her locked up in that big house of his, up at the mine, and do whatever he wants with her.”

  “We can’t allow that,” Chance said.

  MacDonald laughed. “How are you plannin’ to stop it, kid?”

  “We have to get away,” Ace said. “If we could just get to Major Sughrue and make him see what’s actually going on . . .”

  His voice trailed off as MacDonald leaned forward and started breathing harder. “Sergeant?” Ace said. “What—”

  MacDonald toppled over on his side, apparently unconscious—or worse.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  With his hands tied behind his back, it wasn’t easy, but Ace scrambled over to MacDonald and leaned down toward him.

  “Sergeant! Sergeant, are you all right?” That was a stupid question under the circumstances, Ace knew, but it was what people said at times like this.

  The answer took him completely by surprise. MacDonald opened his eyes just a slit and whispered, “Act like I’m dead, you idiot.”

  “Sergeant—”

  “Raise a ruckus, and then when everybody’s looking at me, you and your brother back off and make a break for it.” MacDonald had his face turned away from the guards, and his lips were barely moving anyway. “I got my hands just about loose—those troopers never could tie a blasted knot to save their lives—and I’ll keep ’em occupied while you and Chance get outta here.”

  “But you—”

  “I’m done for, kid, and I know it. I’m startin’ to feel empty inside, like I been hollowed out. Let me go out makin’ things worse for that snake Olsen. And you two . . . do what you can for . . . the girl . . .”

  Ace could tell now that MacDonald really was on the verge of dying. And what the sergeant said made sense. He was hurt too badly, had lost too much blood to last. There was a very good chance he wouldn’t make it until morning. So if he wanted to give the Jensen brothers one last chance to save themselves and Evelyn . . .

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Ace said.

  “Shut up . . . and make it . . . look good . . .”

  “What’s going on over there?” one of the guards demanded.

  Ace looked up and said loudly, “It’s Sergeant MacDonald. I think he’s dying!”

  He didn’t know if any of the soldiers would care about that. Howden-Smyth’s hired guns surely wouldn’t. But he called loudly enough that Evelyn ought to hear, and since Olsen had already promised her that someone would see about MacDonald’s wounds, that ought to get some action.

  It did. A few moments later, Olsen himself strode toward the prisoners, trailed by several troopers. Ace scooted back over next to Chance as the lieutenant approached.

  “Is MacDonald—” Chance began.

  “He’s going to provide a distraction for us,” Ace said. “Get ready to make a run for it down that trail.”

  Chance didn’t have time to ask anything else. Olsen stalked angrily up to MacDonald and demanded, “Well, is he dead?”

  MacDonald moaned and seemed to be trying to say something. Frowning, Olsen leaned closer.

  “So you’re not dead. That’s a shame. What are you trying to say?”

  Instead of answering, MacDonald must have summoned every bit of strength he had left. He suddenly rolled toward Olsen. His big hands shot up and caught hold of the lieutenant’s leg. MacDonald heaved, and the startled Olsen flew up into the air, yelling
and waving his arms.

  In a continuation of that movement, MacDonald surged to his feet and lunged at the closest trooper. He got his hands on the man’s rifle and rammed the butt into the soldier’s stomach.

  Olsen landed on his back with the wind knocked out of him, too stunned and breathless to shout any orders.

  At the same time, Ace and Chance leaped to their feet and sprinted toward the steep trail leading down to the lower elevations. One of the hired gunmen yelled, “Hey! Stop those two!” and shots blasted.

  Once they were out of the circle of firelight, though, Ace and Chance weren’t very good targets, especially moving as fast as they were. Bullets whipped and whined around them, too close for comfort, but none of them found the Jensen brothers.

  The landscape fell away in a sweeping black gulf as Ace and Chance reached the top of the trail. They paused and glanced back toward the camp. A big knot of struggling men marked MacDonald’s location. MacDonald flailed around with a rifle he had grabbed from one of the men, but as they fell back, space opened up around him and Olsen and several of the hired guns blasted away at him.

  The multitude of orange muzzle flashes split the night. Bullets pounded into MacDonald’s burly form, driving into his chest and making him jitter backward in a macabre dance. As much blood as he had lost in the past couple of days, it almost seemed impossible that he had more to lose, but dark crimson welled from the wounds.

  That was the last Ace and Chance saw of him, because pursuers were running after them, and Colt flame still spurted in their direction, too. Time for them to light a shuck out of here.

  Ace bounded down the trail, taking as much of it as he could with each leap. Chance was right behind him. With their hands tied, keeping their balance was difficult, and Ace was all too aware that it would be easy to slip and fall and tumble out of control down the slope.

  More shots sounded from the top of the trail. Firing downhill in the dark made accuracy impossible, but if their pursuers sent enough lead in their direction, some of the flying slugs might find their mark. A lucky bullet could kill just like a well-aimed one.