McKinney narrowed his eyes and said, “How can I trust you?”
“You claimed to be a good judge of character. What does your gut tell you? Am I telling the truth or not?”
McKinney looked intently at him for a long moment and seemed to be pondering the question. He had finally opened his mouth to answer it when Luke suddenly left his feet and crashed into McKinney with a flying tackle that drove the outlaw to the ground.
A split second later, an arrow whipped through the space where the outlaw had just been. If Luke hadn’t knocked him down, the arrow would have lodged deep in McKinney’s side.
Thad hadn’t seen that, though. He yelled, “Son of a bitch!” and pulled the trigger.
The bullet went through the air above Luke’s head as he sprawled for a second on top of McKinney. Powering into a roll that carried him to the right, he drew one of the Remingtons and lifted it toward Thad. Flame spurted from the muzzle as he fired.
It was a close thing, mighty close. But the .44 slug from the Remington whipped past Thad and smacked into the chest of the Apache charging toward him from behind, holding a lance that he clearly intended to ram into Thad’s back.
Luke’s shot drove the attacking Indian backward off his feet. Blood welled from the wound on his bare chest as he dropped the lance and spilled onto the ground.
Luke came up on a knee and swiveled toward the Apache who had fired the arrow at McKinney. The warrior had a second arrow nocked and let it fly as Luke triggered a shot that ripped into him. The arrow sailed past Luke’s right shoulder. He heard McKinney curse behind him and hoped the shaft hadn’t hit the outlaw.
The Apaches seemingly had materialized from the ground, perfect examples of their uncanny ability to blend into the landscape and not be seen until they were ready to attack. Luke had barely caught a glimpse of the one aiming the arrow at McKinney. Another split second and it would have been too late.
Unfortunately, the two men Luke had shot weren’t the only warriors who had closed in. Several more leaped to their feet, howling war cries as they charged at Luke and his companions. Thad and Aaron, both of whom had been totally confused by Luke’s actions, realized they were in danger and whirled to open fire on the Apaches.
McKinney was up on one knee, too, blasting away at the renegades. One of his bullets smashed into an Apache’s shoulder and knocked the man spinning off his feet. An instant later, an arrow struck McKinney in the left arm, passing through it halfway between the elbow and the shoulder. He grunted in pain and fell back on his butt.
A few feet away, Luke had both Remingtons out and coolly fired them in turn, left, right, left, right, placing his shots with deadly accuracy. Each time one of the long-barreled revolvers boomed, an Apache either stumbled or fell.
Too many were coming from too many directions at once. One of the warriors wielding a long-bladed knife sailed at Luke from the left. Luke twisted in that direction and used the Remington in his left hand to parry the blade, but the Apache’s momentum carried him into Luke. The impact knocked Luke onto his back.
Suddenly, the Apache’s screeching face was within a few inches of Luke’s nose. He had to drop the Remington in his left hand to grab the Apache’s wrist and hold off the knife. With his right hand, he rammed the butt of that Remington into the man’s nose. Hot blood spurted across Luke’s face as the Apache went stiff. The insane scream choked off, and the wide, black, hate-filled eyes turned blank. The warrior went limp. Luke shoved him off, realizing that he had struck hard enough to shatter bone and send shards of it slicing up into the Apache’s brain.
Grabbing the revolver he had dropped, Luke rolled onto his belly and raised his head in time to see one of the Apaches kneeling on top of Aaron with a tomahawk raised high, ready to split the boy’s skull. Luke triggered both Remingtons at the same time. The two bullets hit the Apache’s head just above the right ear and blew the top of it off. He dropped the tomahawk and toppled to the side.
Thad was still on his feet to Luke’s left, but as he pulled the trigger on his Colt, the hammer fell on an empty chamber. With no time to reload, he reversed the gun and used it as a club as an Apache closed in on him.
Thad was no match for the wiry, seasoned warrior. He knocked Thad’s arm aside and jabbed a knife to sink it into his belly. Thad twisted aside just in time to avoid being gutted, but the blade raked along his side, causing him to scream in pain as a bloodstain bloomed on his shirt around the deep cut.
The Apache slashed backhanded at Thad’s throat. Thad tripped over his own feet and fell backward as he tried to get out of the way, but that misstep saved his life as the knife’s point barely missed him.
With Thad on the ground, Aaron had a clear shot at the Apache. With the Henry at his shoulder already, he squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet smashing through the Apache’s torso.
The warrior didn’t fall right away. He stayed on his feet somehow and leaned forward as he tried again to stab Thad. Aaron levered the Henry and fired a second time. The slug struck the Apache in the heart and dropped him.
Luke’s Remingtons were empty. He jammed them back in their holsters and yanked his bowie knife from its sheath behind the left-hand gun. As two Apaches charged him, he stooped and picked up the tomahawk one of the warriors had dropped when Luke blew his head off. With the tomahawk in his right hand and the bowie knife in his left, Luke met the attack head-on.
Although he was deadly with a knife, he didn’t have much experience using a tomahawk. But he allowed his instincts to guide him, and they had kept him alive for a long time in a dangerous profession. He whirled and lashed out with the weapons, parrying the Apaches’ blows and striking some of his own. The point of the blade raked a bloody trench across the chest of one warrior, while the tomahawk struck the other renegade on the forearm and broke bone with a sharp crack.
Those injuries didn’t stop either man. They crowded in. A knife ripped Luke’s black shirt over his ribs but didn’t find flesh. The Apache with the broken arm had deftly switched his tomahawk from one hand to the other, and Luke felt it stir his hair as it went by and narrowly missed braining him.
He kicked the tomahawk-wielder in the groin, slowing the man’s attack for a few seconds. That gave Luke time to concentrate on the Apache with the knife and block another thrust. In a continuation of the move, he swiped the tomahawk back against the renegade’s jaw, shattering bone and cleaving flesh. The lower half of the man’s face sagged grotesquely and seemed barely hanging on to his head. He gurgled in pain, a sound that was abruptly cut short when Luke whirled the tomahawk around and struck him in the forehead, penetrating all the way into his brain.
Already dead on his feet, the Apache’s knees buckled. As he fell, the tomahawk remained stuck in his skull, and that wrenched it out of Luke’s hand. He let it go, knowing that he couldn’t afford the time to pry it free.
He crouched and swung the knife as the man he had kicked in the groin tried to decapitate Luke with one mighty swing of his tomahawk. The miss left his belly open to attack. Luke rammed the bowie knife into it and heaved, causing a huge wound through which blood flooded and intestines spilled. Luke ripped the knife out and shouldered the screaming, dying man aside.
He looked around for another opponent but didn’t see any. The ground around the greasewood clump was littered with the renegades’ bodies.
McKinney and Thad were down, while Aaron stood there with the Henry held ready at his shoulder. He gazed around wide-eyed, jerking the rifle from side to side as he sought another target.
“Aaron,” Luke said, recognizing someone who was completely caught up in the heat of battle.
The boy’s nerves were drawn so tight, he needed only the slightest excuse to keep pulling the trigger.
Luke said it again. “Aaron. I think it’s all over. We won, Aaron. You don’t have to shoot anymore.”
He knew that Aaron’s rifle was what had turned the tide of battle. The Henry held fifteen rounds—sixteen if a cartridge was already i
n the chamber—and that firepower had taken a deadly toll on the band of renegades.
“The first time we met, you told me you were a good shot,” Luke went on. “You’ve sure proven that. You maybe saved us all, Aaron.”
The boy swallowed hard, then lowered the Henry a little. “They kept running at me, and I . . . I just kept shooting.” His shoulders started to tremble. “Why didn’t they stop?”
From where he sat on the ground with the arrow still through his arm, McKinney said, “Because they were too full of hate to stop, son. They wanted our blood too bad. But we stopped them. You did the right thing.” His face was pale and drawn. He had to be in a lot of pain from the arrow wound, and he had lost quite a bit of blood, too.
Thad appeared to be hurt worse. He lay on his side with the knife slash. Blood soaked the shirt around it. Still conscious, he was shaking and staring straight ahead without actually seeming to see anything.
“Your brother and your pa need help, Aaron,” Luke said with a sharp tone in his voice.
Aaron lowered the rifle the rest of the way and turned his head to look at Luke. “What should we do?”
“Help Thad first,” McKinney said without waiting for Luke to answer. “I’ll be fine.”
Luke knew McKinney was right. McKinney might not be fine, but Thad was in even worse shape. Luke told Aaron, “Use your bandanna and put some pressure on that cut in his side. We need to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down.” He finished reloading his Remingtons and began to walk around the area with a gun in each hand. More than once in his life, he had seen an enemy feign death while waiting for a chance to strike again. In fact, it was a common tactic for wounded Apaches.
A few minutes of checking was all that was necessary to determine that all the renegades were really and truly dead. He was convinced that none of the war party had gotten away, only to return later with more allies.
As he holstered the revolvers, he walked to where Aaron was kneeling next to Thad and holding the folded bandanna on the knife wound. The thought occurred to him that they had been mighty lucky none of the warriors were armed with rifles or pistols. The fight might have had a different outcome if they had been.
Aaron looked up and said with no real conviction, “I think the bleeding is slowing down.”
“Let me take a look,” Luke said as he knelt on Thad’s other side. He leaned over and tore the bloody shirt away more as Aaron lifted the bandanna.
The deep, sharp-edged cut was about five inches long. Blood oozed from it, but it wasn’t running freely anymore.
“You’re right,” Luke told Aaron. “Put that bandanna back on there for now. I’m going to pull some leaves off this greasewood bush and crush them up. It would be better if we had some water to make a poultice out of them, but we’ll do the best we can. We can cut some strips off your shirttail, put those leaves on the wound, and tie it up good and tight. That ought to keep it from festering too much before we get to Stanton.”
“You think he’s going to be all right?” Aaron asked worriedly.
“I don’t see why not.”
Luke got busy, and within fifteen minutes, they had the wound dressed and bandaged. Thad was still pale and his breathing was ragged, but he looked a little more coherent now that he wasn’t losing so much blood so quickly.
“Stay here with him. I’ll go tend to your pa.”
Aaron nodded in acknowledgment of Luke’s words.
Luke walked over to McKinney and hunkered on his heels beside the outlaw.
“I heard what you told the boy,” McKinney said quietly. “How’s Thad really doing?”
“He lost a lot of blood and he’s mighty weak. He needs proper medical attention, a lot of rest, and plenty of water. If he can get those things—“Luke shrugged—“he’s got a pretty good chance, I’d say. The wound itself isn’t that bad; it’s just a matter of the blood he lost.”
“So we have to get him to Stanton.”
“The sooner the better. But we need to get that arrow out of your arm first.”
“I’m not gonna argue with you.” McKinney managed a faint smile. “It hurts like blazes.”
“It’s about to hurt more,” Luke warned him.
“Yeah . . . Damn, I wish I had a slug of whiskey about now.”
Luke grasped the bloody shaft where it stuck out from the back of McKinney’s arm and snapped it. With the arrowhead gone, he was able to pull the rest of the arrow back out of the wound. McKinney sucked in his breath sharply as Luke removed the arrow. The entrance and exit wounds bled, but not heavily.
Luke dressed the injury with crushed greasewood leaves as he had the one on Thad’s side and bound them against the wound to help with their medicinal properties.
“Can you walk on your own?” Luke asked.
“You’re damn right I can. You go ahead and help Thad.”
Luke went to the young man and lifted him to his feet. “If there were any trees around here, we could build a travois and pull you. Not much chance of that, though, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll be all right,” Thad rasped. “Let’s just get out of here.” He glanced at the corpses of the Apaches sprawled around and shuddered. “I don’t like bein’ around so many dead bodies.”
Luke got on Thad’s left side and slid an arm around his waist, being careful to avoid the injury. “I’ll help you walk. Aaron, it’s going to be up to you to go ahead of us a little and keep an eye out for trouble. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” the boy replied. “I can.”
“You reload that rifle?”
“Yes, sir. It’s got sixteen rounds in it.”
“Good,” Luke said, hoping they wouldn’t need those rounds. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 33
“I’m thirsty.” Thad’s voice was thin and strained, not much more than a whisper.
“I know,” Luke told him. “I thought maybe we’d come across a waterhole, but no luck on that yet.”
They had been walking for an hour since leaving the site of the battle with the Apaches. Luke knew that far behind them, the buzzards were having themselves a feast. He couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about that since he knew the renegades would have been only too happy to leave him and his companions to the same grisly fate.
Several times during that hour, they had stopped to let Thad rest for a few minutes. He had no strength left, and judging by the dull, disoriented look in his eyes, he might not even know where they were or where they were going. But with Luke’s help, he continued putting one foot in front of the other, so that was all that really mattered.
To Luke’s left, Three-fingered Jack McKinney trudged along, keeping the arrow-skewered arm in the crude sling Luke had rigged with the outlaw’s belt. He still wore the bandage around his head where Creager’s bullet had grazed him. They really were the walking wounded, Luke thought with grim amusement.
Aaron was the only one who had somehow come through unscathed. He walked about twenty feet in front of the others, the Henry rifle held ready for instant use if he needed it. He slowed suddenly, looked back over his shoulder, and raised one hand to point. “Pa, I see something up ahead. Isn’t that those hills that lie just this side of the settlement?”
“Glory be, I think you’re right, son,” McKinney said. “They’re still pretty far away, but it’s good that we can see where we’re going, anyway.”
The sight of the hills lifted their spirits, even Thad’s. McKinney was right. Having a goal in sight made their ordeal easier. The sun beat down on them, draining the moisture from their bodies and along with it their strength, but on the other side of those hills lay shade and water.
Luke felt like he wouldn’t mind lying down in the Colorado River and just staying there for a while. However, he knew there wasn’t time for that. Creager and the other outlaws had too big a head start. Already, it was going to be impossible to catch up to them before they reached Singletary.
One shred of hope remained. It would be late in the day
before the gang could make it to the town. Creager might decide to wait until the next day to hit the bank. At the very least, he would probably wait until the county seat was asleep. If Luke and McKinney rode hard, they might get there in time to prevent the raid.
But if Creager decided to pay a visit to the McKinney spread first, there was no way in the world for the outlaw and Luke to stop what would happen there.
Best not to get ahead of himself, he thought. They still had to make it to Stanton, get help for Thad, and find some horses. He had a little money in his pockets, maybe enough to rent a couple of mounts and saddle rigs.
They trudged on, and it seemed as if the hills that were their destination stayed just as far away as they had been when Aaron first sighted them. Familiar with that phenomenon, Luke didn’t let it get him down.
After a while, Thad groaned and said, “Are we ever going to get there?”
“We will,” Luke promised. “Just keep going a while longer.”
“You can do it, son,” McKinney urged. “Don’t give up.”
Through gritted teeth, Thad said, “I’m not . . . givin’ up. But it sure would be nice . . . to get somewhere we could . . . sit down and get something to drink.”
Luke sure as blazes couldn’t argue with that sentiment.
They drew closer to the hills with every step, and eventually that became evident. Aaron led them toward a gap that would allow them to reach Stanton. The sun was almost directly overhead when they stumbled into sight of the settlement lying on the eastern bank of the Colorado River.
“I know we’re not there yet,” McKinney croaked through dry lips, “but that sure is a pretty sight anyway.”
“Amen to that,” Luke said. “Come on, Thad. We’ll be there soon.”
Burning Daylight Page 23
