by J. T. Edson
The other men listened, knowing old Walapai was not making wild guesses. He’d been out to make a scout and would have done just that. The scalp in his hand told a story. There’d been no shooting, so Walapai’s old bowie knife must have been in use.
The young miner looked up. He was a brash, cocky youngster in his first year as a miner and held his own ability in high esteem. ‘Did that brave tell you anything, Walapai?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ replied Walapai, contempt so thick it could almost be cut with a knife. ‘We sat us down and b’iled a cup of tea, then talked. Right out there with maybe a dozen of his friends round us. Then after we talked, I ses real perlite like: “Can I scalp ye?” and he ses, “Sure, but do it easy like and stick me fust, so I don’t feel it”.’
‘Allow ye speak a mite of Apache, Walapai,’ Zeke put in gently as the laugh at Dick’s expense died down.
‘L’arned it when I was living with Mangus Colorado, back afore the war. But them boys out there ain’t talking, not even to each other.’
‘You talked to that bownecked Yankee major, didn’t you?’ asked another man.
‘Sure, but he wouldn’t listen to us.’
‘So this’s how she lies to me,’ Ike took up from where Zeke ended. ‘We got two slim choices left. One, we heads for Fort Owen, and the pertection of the United States cavalry, what we pays taxes for. I reckon that might be just a leetle touch unhealthy as of what Senator Walapai just told us. Two, we stays on here, forts up the old church and does what we can to pertect ourselves.’
‘Then this here council decides we stays on here?’
‘Took and carried unanimous,’ agreed Ike.
‘Put it that Zeke’s in command,’ drawled Walapai. ‘All in favour?’
There was complete agreement with his words. The miners were as one in their vote on staying on, defending the church. Even one as hot-headed and inexperienced as young Dick knew the futility of trying to make a run for Fort Owen. They would be trapped by the encircling Apaches, or caught in the open and butchered. Here in the church, standing on the stone platform along the base of the wall, a man could fire over with little danger to himself. They would be able to make a fight of it in the church and possibly hold out until help came from Fort Owen.
The second business, electing Zeke as their leader, was a matter of form. He would be their leader only in as much as he would co-ordinate their efforts. The miners were like the Apaches in that they accepted a leader, yet would fight their own way. The leader could merely direct their efforts to the best and most useful end.
‘We could use some more food,’ Zeke said thoughtfully.
‘Shucks, we all got a week’s supply, damn near,’ Dick objected. ‘That ought to last us.’
‘Sure, it’ll last us,’ agreed Zeke. ‘But when the attack comes, there’s going to be a lot of folks in here besides us. They won’t be bringing any food with them.’
‘Where’d you reckon we could get food this time of the night?’ asked Walapai. ‘I saw Haslett taking his missus to stay with the Millets for the night. Anyways, I can’t see me paying out for food to give that bunch, and Haslett surely won’t give his stock to us, not even to help out his friends.’
‘I reckon he might let us have it,’ Zeke replied, looking piously at the dark skies above. ‘Was we to go to his place and ask real perlite like. ‘Special as he ain’t there right now.’
Walapai gave the harsh, coughing bark which served as a laugh in his book. ‘Ye wouldn’t be suggesting that all us honest gents steals food from the store, now would you, Zeke? And me allus thinking you was such a clean living, sober and upright pillar of the church.’
‘Wouldn’t call it stealing,’ said Zeke with a wide grin. ‘Not when he’s been overcharging and underweighing us for years. And it’ll be his friends who’s eating the food.’
The other men chuckled at the thought of Haslett’s face when he found his food stocks were being eaten by his friends. The good citizens of Baptist’s Hollow would be living on stolen food and would also be a good laugh.
‘I reckon a couple of us should stay here,’ Walapai remarked. ‘Lobo Colorado ain’t going to miss a chance to get a few of his boys inside the walls during the dark hours.’
‘Who’d you want with you?’ Zeke asked, knowing Walapai was calling the play right. ‘Don’t take too many, it’ll need most of us to get the food here.’
‘Take young Dick if you like. Both me’n him having a good name to lose and not wanting to be mixed up with the robbery and sich.’
Zeke gave his consent and the men prepared to take action. The fire was doused for a start. Then Zeke led all but Walapai and Dick out into the night, making for the Haslett store.
Walapai rose, making no attempt to pick up his rifle, and Dick followed him, leaving the Winchester which was his pride and joy behind. They went to the rear wall and Walapai grunted in satisfaction.
‘Ain’t none over yet. So we’ll just settle down and listen a piece,’ he said.
‘Sure,’ agreed Dick and dropped his hand to his side, loosening the Colt in his holster.
‘Naw, Dick boy!’ Walapai hissed. His hand caught Dick’s wrist. ‘No guns. You got a knife with you?’
“Course I have!’ Dick grunted and drew the eight-inch-bladed knife from the sheath at his right side.
‘That thing? It’ll have to do I reckon.’
Dick looked down and could just make out the shape in Walapai’s hand. It was the eleven-and-a-half-inch-long blade of the old timer’s bowie knife. Walapai always carried his weapon with him, and Dick was inclined to scoff at it as being a piece of useless decoration. Now the scoffing was not in evidence, for Dick’s own knife, sharp though it was, did not appear to be anything like the weapon a man would care to trust his life to.
The night was dark, the moon a mere sliver, and even the stars faded into almost nothing. There was nothing to be seen by the two men as they sat with their backs to the wall. Dick would much rather have been standing on the stone ramp and looking over the wall for some sign of the approaching, expected Apaches. He sat for a time without moving, the knife in his hand, eyes on the dull bulk of the church which loomed before him.
‘I can’t hear a thing for them damned crickets,’ he hissed after a time.
‘Yeah, lovely sound, ain’t it?’ Walapai answered, holding his voice down as low as Dick’s whisper. Then his hand tightened on Dick’s sleeve, ‘Listen!’
Dick strained his ears to catch the sound which attracted Walapai’s attention and brought the urgent hissed warning. He could hear nothing, not a sound of any kind. Even the crickets no longer chirped. By his side he sensed Walapai was standing and came to his feet, facing the wall. He did not know what to make of things and opened his mouth to whisper an inquiry. It was too late, Walapai had faded off into the blackness.
Some instinct made Dick look up. The wall rose black above him, the top of it making a darker slash against the dull sky. Straight and level the wall top ran. Dick gulped down something, his mouth suddenly going dry. The wall top above him was no longer straight and level. There was a bulge on it, a lump which was not there a few seconds before. Something was on top of the wall and swinging over.
A feeling of panic hit Dick, but he held his nerves in control. He realised what that shape was, even before it began to slide down the wall towards him. There were two other shapes on the wall top even as Dick lunged forward. He drove his knife forward and into the shape, feeling the point bite home and sink in. There was a gasping cry from the yielding thing as the knife sank home. At the same moment Dick heard a muffled rush of steps and a soggy thud. Then he felt a weight of the Apache coming down on him, falling backwards. His hand slipped from the sticky, wet hilt of his knife, and he staggered to fall. The hot, half-naked, sweaty body of the Apache landed on top of him.
Grappling with the Apache Dick struggled desperately throwing his arm around the bare throat, while his other hand struck wildly. Then he heard a sound which almost caused him
to let go. It was a sound which would scare any man who heard it, a sound Dick knew well. Deep and harsh it rolled out in the darkness, the coughing, roaring snarl of an enraged grizzly bear. In desperation Dick rolled the Apache from him and was about to attack again when he saw the man was still. It struck Dick then that the Apache was dead, had been within a couple of seconds of the knife going home.
Dick came to his feet, hand fanning to his side, and found an empty holster; he had forgotten to re-fasten it. He was unarmed and there were Apaches in the church grounds. More, there was, or appeared to be, a mean old silvertip grizzly near at hand. He looked up. The top of the wall was suddenly straight and clear again. On the other side he thought he heard the gentle swish of fast-running feet. Then after a few minutes of silence, the crickets started their chirping again.
A hand gripped Dick’s arm. He gave a yell and swung a wild fist, the yell came again as his knuckles hit the wall. The yelp of pain brought a low chuckle, and he made out that it was Walapai standing by his side.
‘See you got one, boy,’ Walapai said, and his voice was the sweetest sound Dick ever remembered hearing. ‘Good, I got me another. Rest’s gone now and they ain’t likely to be back.’
Dick sank to the ground, for suddenly his knees would no longer support his weight. Then he realised Walapai was talking in a normal voice and gasped. ‘What the hell was that growl? It sounded like a silvertip.’
‘Did, huh?’ Walapai sounded just a little mite pleased. ‘I’ll bet them Apaches thought it war, too.’
‘You did it?’
‘Why sure. See Apaches think the silvertip’s bad medicine. Allow the spirits of the bad folks go into silvertips when they die. Won’t go within a country mile of a silver-tip, won’t any Apache. Good thing to remember, boy. Lost something?’
Dick was trying to find his revolver without Walapai noticing his folly. He heard a rasping sound, and the flickering light of a match showed him his gun. He went to pick up the Colt, and heard Walapai grunt. The old timer was bending over Dick’s victim, and pulling out the knife.
‘Waal I swan, boy,’ Walapai grunted as he came to Dick’s side. ‘I wronged you and that little bitty knife of your’n. I never thought you could kill a man with it, I surely didn’t.’
Dick was pleased the darkness prevented Walapai seeing the flush of embarrassment which came to his face. All the time he’d been looking down on Walapai, thinking the big, wicked looking old bowie knife was a thing long out of date. At the same time Walapai must have been laughing at Dick’s own knife as a toy unfit for the doing of any kind of man’s work.
‘Maybe they’ll be back,’ remarked Dick, as he sheathed his knife and holstered the Colt.
‘Tain’t likely, boy. They’ll allow their medicine’s bad, us waiting for them and hearing a silvertip. They was only a small bunch. Knowed we was inside the church and snuck in the back way. Didn’t aim to stay on here, we was too many for ‘em.’
‘What’d they want then?’
‘Kill one of our look-outs if they could. And leave his body down the well.’
Dick gulped. A body down the well would ruin it, pollute the water. That was why the small bunch of Apaches came, not to take and hold the church until the other Apaches wiped out the town. It was a devilish plan and one well in keeping with the way the Apache fought.
‘Maybe they’ll be back, Walapai.’
‘Sure, but it ain’t likely. We’ll bide here just the same, until dawn. You can go fetch our rifles when the boys come back.’
Dick was still straining his ears, trying to catch any slight sound from the other side of the wall, ‘Damn those crickets I can’t hear a thing for them.’
‘When you don’t hear them it’s time to start worrying,’ replied Walapai. ‘It means there’s somebody coming when they stops singing out. Now me, I could stop here and listen to them singing all night.’
‘Tell you something, Walapai,’ Dick replied, sounding very sincere. ‘So could I. It’s the sweetest sound I ever did near.’
The other miners made for the Haslett store. They did not know what was happening in the church, but all knew Walapai could take care of himself. Their own business was of more importance at the moment. Church Street was dark and deserted. Not a light showed. The rest of the town was not brightly lit either, but there were enough lights showing through curtained windows to indicate how few people were sleeping in Baptist’s Hollow.
Zeke worked fast. He sent his men to keep watch, then went to the side window of the store and looked in. The building was dark and there was no sign of any life in it. With the Hasletts spending the night with the Millet family and their hired help having left that morning, there would be no one in the building. That was all to the good for Haslett would not take kindly to what the miners planned on doing. Even if he and his friends were the ones who would benefit by it.
Carefully Zeke put his old hat over his palm and began to push on the pane of glass. For a moment it held, the snapped and fell in with a slight tinkle. Inserting his hand, Zeke unfastened the window catch and lifted the protesting sash. He was about to slip in when one of the other men whispered:
‘You done this sort of thing afore, Zeke. Sure the Pinkertons aren’t looking for you?’
Zeke grinned and slipped in through the window, followed by Ike. They struck matches and went to work fast. A pile of sacks was found first. Then they began to fill each sack with food. They worked fast and took only the essential foods, for there was not much time. At midnight the guards at the rifle pits would be changed, and this must be done before that happened. There was a chance Haslett might come to the store on his way to the pits, but it was not likely. Zeke wanted to be finished before that happened.
With each sack filled it was passed out of the window and a miner would make a fast trip to the church with it. They used a small room at the rear of the building as a store, leaving one man on watch there and not disturbing Walapai.
Zeke and Ike took all they needed, enough food to keep the town supplied, on short rations, for almost a week. There was little left of Haslett’s stock by the time they finished. A raid on the Haslett kitchen brought a limited supply of cooking utensils. Then the men left.
Back at the church they re-lit the small fire and settled down. Walapai joined them with word of the raid and praise for the way Dick handled himself. Then plans were made for the following morning. After that the miners settled down to sleep, stretching out on the hard ground. They took turns in watching and, as the first distant streaks of light showed in the east, rose.
‘Soon be coming,’ Ike remarked.
Zeke nodded, it would soon be time. The attack would begin and all hell would break loose on the town of Baptist’s Hollow.
CHAPTER NINE
DAWN AT BAPTIST’S HOLLOW
The sky was just faintly tinged with a fine, first red glow in the east. It was that first glow which, while not affecting surrounding darkness, brought a warning that dawn was on hand.
Resting his rifle on the earth in front of his rifle pit, Major Ellwood tried to see through the blackness of the night around him. It appeared to him, as he strained to see something in the darkness, that the night was blacker now. In his pit he heard Haslett and Millet stirring and knew they were as awake and alert as only badly scared men could be. The other pits were manned ready, although it had been no easy task to stir the men out to relieve their friends. Ellwood did it in the end, making enemies of many people. Somehow he did not mind that. His time in the town was limited. The Town Council would never forgive him his action in making them take their fair share of the defence of the town and would have him out of his office as soon as they could. That did not worry him, he meant to leave Baptist’s Hollow and make a fresh start in some other town.
Looking around him, even in the blackness, Ellwood could feel the tension and nervousness of the other men. Soon they would know if Lobo Colorado planned to make his attack. It would be the moment of truth for many of t
hem. Lobo Colorado was going to get the surprise of his Life when he ran up against the rifle pits.
That was where Ellwood made his biggest mistake.
Lobo Colorado knew all about the rifle pits, had known almost as soon as they were begun. His men were watching the town and had been ever since Ramon went under. They moved in ready the day after the treacherous attack on their village, for this was to be the first town in Lobo Colorado’s plan to sweep the white-eyes from the Apache lands for ever.
The chief did not know what those rifle pits were; the Army had never been foolish enough to use such things against a fast-moving, agile and vindictive fighter like the Apache, having learned their lesson against lesser tribes further east; he did know the tremendous disadvantage being in the pits was for the white-eyes. He made no move to stop their being dug or manned. They would be graves for the men who sat in them.
Even now his brave-heart warriors were moving in on the pits. Men slid forward along the ground, inching silently ever nearer, in the Apache way. With weapons held ready, they were closing in on those foolish white-eyes and by the time there was light to see by would be ready for their final rush. It would be a sudden, violent and spectacular move. The white-eyes would find themselves faced with a mass of yelling, shooting Apaches, would be smashed under, swarmed over in one wild rush. At the same moment smaller parties of men would be rushing on foot down the slopes on the other three sides of the town. Then, while panic and pandemonium reigned among the white-eyes, the main body of the Apache force, mounted and ready, would hurl themselves in through the open end of the Hollow.
It was a well-laid plan, one worthy of a great leader. It was a war plan such as the other Apache greats, Mangus Colorado, Cochise, Geronimo or Victorio made and put into operation with success.
So it was a pity that all Lobo Colorado’s men were not veterans, battle-tried and found true in such a situation. One of the advancing party was a mere boy, a stripling fresh from horse-herding and newly initiated into his father’s war lodge. The boy was wriggling forward with the older men, his old single-shot rifle held across his arms as he advanced. His eyes picked out the shape of the rifle pit ahead of him, making out the shape through the darkness.
