by Jake Logan
Despite his urge to get away from the canyon, that last thought of Apache gave Slocum pause. He reined up just short of the last few paces and held a hand up for Julep to do the same. The devils might well be lying in wait just outside. That was what he’d do were he an Apache forced out of his home by Deke’s people.
This time he did slip down from the horse’s back. He touched his lips with a finger, indicating to Julep that she keep quiet. Then he crept, one slow step at a time, toward the opening in the rock. His boot heels crunched gravel and he paused, resting his back against stone. He glanced back once at Julep, half expecting to see her aiming the rifle at him. Or worse, to see Deke and his band of crazy rebels filling the stone passage behind her. But there was no sign of them—no noise, shadow, or otherwise. And of Julep, she had the rifle drawn, all right, but had the business end aimed at the cleft in the rock. He nodded, then shifted his attention back to the task at hand.
Crouching even lower, Slocum slipped his sweat-soaked bandanna off his forehead, balled it up in one hand, and tossed it through the opening. Almost immediately, another shadow, much like the fox’s but taller, shifted slightly.
He could just see one frayed red end of the unfurled kerchief where it lay in the sand, fluttering slightly in an unseen breeze. Now they knew he was there, and he intended to leave. He also knew they, or at least one person—Apache or white, that much was yet still a mystery—was out there. He also doubted whoever it was wanted to pat him on the back and hand him a cigar. But he’d play this hand and let them think he was satisfied that no one caught on to his weak attempt at “tricking” any ambushers.
He sucked in a quick breath, wishing like hell his battered body could take what he was about to dish up, and barreled through the stony cleft, low and spinning around as he made it through, hoping to see his attacker face-on. And he did.
12
Any surprise he had gained on the Apache had worn off in the time it took him to spin around. The Apache whose shadow he’d seen was almost on him, a tall, lean man with an angled face and body defined by bone and muscle, as much from the hard work of the frequent pursuit of game as it was from the lack of regular meals. But it was the man’s eyes that caught Slocum’s attention. They were blazing with an eager fury he’d seen earlier, when he’d fought Rufus. Here was a man whose hatred burned as bright as her own.
Slocum worked hard to step fast backward, but his muscles were weak and not limber enough to keep up with his momentum. He dug in his boot heels and pitched backward, landing on his ass with enough force to drive his teeth together hard. He shook his head and brought the pistol to bear just as the Apache lunged, a blade the equal of what Slocum had taken from Rufus held poised in a death grip, ready to chop down at Slocum’s chest and gut.
There was no time to reason with the man, no time to do anything but for the animal instinct always coiled within Slocum to recognize that this angry, lunging creature was about to kill him, so he must kill it first. He touched his finger to the Colt’s trigger and heard the sharp crack of a gun going off—but not the Colt Navy in his hand.
The air above him blossomed crimson, jetting fast and hot over him in a gout of Apache blood. The Indian dropped on him, already dead, his wound well placed.
Slocum jerked the hammer off the round in his gun, shoving the dead Apache off him with his other hand, and looked toward Julep. She was just lowering the smoking rifle from her shoulder when Slocum saw a leaping form dive straight at her and clean her off her horse. Another Apache!
“Nooo!” he heard Julep shout, then screams of rage from the woman echoed at him while he gained his feet. Slocum ran toward the struggling pair, a welter of flailing legs, dust, grunting, and screaming. They were too intertwined for him to shoot safely, so he jammed the Navy into his holster and dove onto what looked like the back of a young Apache.
Immediately the man bucked like a bronc and his sweaty skin proved tough to hang on to, but Slocum managed to slip an arm around the brute’s neck. Biting teeth and the clawing fingers of one hand lashed at him, stinging and drawing blood. Slocum felt it well on his skin and it ignited a dormant urge to shake off the binding wraps of infirmity that had tightened about him for weeks since his unexpected drop into the canyon.
With a mighty bellow of rage, Slocum yanked hard backward, felt things inside the young man’s neck tightening, then slowly giving way to his crushing choke hold.
Slocum dragged backward on the young man’s body with all his strength—even while doing it, he was struck by how good it felt to work his sore muscles once again. He was only vaguely aware that Julep had stopped struggling under the man.
In his blind anger, Slocum was fully unaware of his own strength. He’d lifted the weakening Apache off the ground by the man’s neck, bucking his body against his own before dropping to one knee and slamming the man’s spine down on his raised knee. A cracking sound, like a muffled gunshot, yanked Slocum from his blood rage.
The Indian expelled a long, ragged sigh and sagged backward over Slocum’s knee, the Apache’s rough-spun cloth shirt slipping apart to reveal a thin belly arched skyward at an awkward angle. Slocum looked down at the slack-featured dead Apache, more boy than man, cradled in his arms, and shifted the body from him, lowering him to the sandy earth.
Julep! He jerked his gaze toward her and saw her lying as she had been just after the Indian had jumped at her, on her back, propped up on an elbow. She stared at him with wide eyes, her face drawn long and mouth parted, as if she were about to deny what she’d just seen. But she didn’t. She merely shook her head and the horrified gaze passed from her face and settled into a mask of acceptance, as if she’d seen but another in a long lifetime’s worth of horrible sights.
Slocum gained his feet and walked to her, offering a hand to help her up. But she waved him away and walked to her horse, which had come to a stop a few yards away. “You were right to kill him.”
“And you, him,” said Slocum, nodding toward the bloodied mess behind him. The man’s blood had sprayed across Slocum’s chest and the left side of his face. He looked back inside the hidden entryway to the canyon, half guessing he’d find no old mare waiting for him, that she’d returned back to the safety of the canyon and its lush grasses. But no, there she was, saddled, hipshot, and looking bored in a shaft of sunlight.
“Come on, old girl,” he said, catching her reins in a bloodied hand and leading her out. He felt the numbness that always followed a killing. Even though they had had to kill or be killed, even though it was the Apache who’d put them in that position, it didn’t make it any easier.
He glanced at Julep and saw she was probably feeling the same way, stunned by the moment. He knew she didn’t have as much experience with killing as he did, and the thought momentarily turned his guts sour and forced a grim set to his mouth. He quelled it with thoughts of what he needed to do—which was get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. And then a second thought dogged the first—what if they were to bring the two dead Apache to the tribe? Sure, it could mean instant death, but might it also show that they were honorable, that they valued life, even if they were the ones who had taken it? The thought made sense at some deep, inner level, and yet a snort of a laugh bubbled up out of him.
“I hardly think this is an appropriate time to make wisecracks, Mr. Slocum.”
He looked at her, suddenly somber. “Oh, it’s ‘Mr. Slocum’ now, is it? Well, for your information, dearie, I was just thinking on the ethics of stealing from thieves.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, I’ve taken a horse that doesn’t belong to me, right? Not to mention this knife, the saddle, all of it. Not to mention you. Hell, I’m probably likely to be accused of kidnapping, too.”
“I’m a big girl . . . John.” With that, she blushed. “And there’s no way I’d be here if I didn’t want to be. You couldn’t kidnap me if you tried.”<
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He squinted one eye shut from the sunlight, and as he did so, he felt the Apache’s blood tightening and drying on his face. “I stand corrected, Julep. Now, I’ll mull over the ethics of this situation later. Right now, I have to load up these Apache on their horses.”
“What horses?” said Julep. “And what did you say? Load up the Apaches?” Her eyes widened bigger than before.
“Yep.” And he told her his meager plan, ending with, “So I think it’s a shot at getting in their good graces. At least enough to get them to talk with me.”
She pursed her lips, her eyes squinted this time, but in concentration. Finally she said, “You never actually told me what it was that you did to anger the Apaches so much that they just up and ran you off a cliff.” She crossed her arms and stared at him, a mother asking a schoolchild where all the cookies had disappeared to . . .
He couldn’t take more of this questioning, so he turned his attention to the two dead Apache. He dragged them side by side, laid them out in rough fashion, searched them quickly for their valuables, primarily to see if they had anything on them that might help identify them or give him some clue as to who they were, why they would attack, though he already knew the answer to that.
He was disappointed that neither of them carried anything more, weapon-wise, than a knife. He found a small, cheap steel-head ax on the ground near where the second had sprung on Julep. It must have fallen from his belt when he jumped. Slocum glanced around for hoofprints; unshod ponies would be the best they would offer. But he only saw the footprints of the bottoms of the men’s bare, worn buckskin moccasins.
He glanced at Julep. Still she stared at him. He’d been biding his time, but Julep was damn persistent.
Finally he sighed. “What can I tell you, Julep? It was indeed over a young woman.” He was annoyed more than anything. He’d not asked her to nurse him back to health, he’d not asked her to climb all over him when he was so weak and exhausted and probably in a stupor because of one of her homemade herbal tinctures. Hell, she was the one who ought to feel guilty, not him. And yet that blond-haired woman, those dusky eyes, the fine nose, and firm, square jaw, all atop a stunning frame, even begrimed with dirt and soiled blood, her arms, folded . . . yes, he was the one who felt the guilt.
Women, he thought to himself. Every single time I will fall for such a creature. And one day it will be the final fall, rest assured of that, Slocum old boy. He sighed, smiling to himself, and began hoisting the bloodiest Apache on the back of the old mare.
“Where are we goin’?”
He turned looked back at her, and said, “Considering you have a dead Apache draped over your horse, and so do I, well . . . how can I put this?” He smoothed the reins between his bloodied hands. “We’re still going to visit your friends and mine, the Apache.”
“What? After this? You saw what they’re like. They’ll kill us just as soon as we get in rifle shot of them.”
“I’m hoping that won’t happen. I have a friend among the tribe. At least I think I do. Might be she . . .”
“She?”
Slocum saw Julep’s eyes narrow, watched her lead her horse right on by him. “Yep,” he said. “And she’s a corker, too. About so high.” He held up a hand chest height, but Julep didn’t look back. “Dark eyes, not a tooth in her head, and the loveliest leathery skin you ever have seen.”
Julep stopped, fixed him with those narrowed eyes. “Are you telling me your so-called friend is a little old lady?”
“Could well be.” Got half of it right, he thought. She’s on the small side, but she’s no lady, and she’s not old. Just right, in fact.
“I don’t believe you. In fact, I think you’ve lied to me about most everything since we met.”
“Believe what you need to. I find it’s not a bad way to make it through the day sometimes.”
“John Slocum, you are a peculiar bird.”
He smiled, kept walking. “I’ve been called worse.”
They resumed their walk northward, slowly following the edge of the canyon, marked with jags of raw stone, some spiring dozens of feet into the air, much of the perimeter lined with various rock formations making it difficult to see down into the vast canyon. He suspected they were roughly equidistant to the midpoint of the canyon. So that meant that somewhere down below them, through great depths of solid rock, sat an arsenal of stolen weaponry and ammunition that would make the U.S. Army furious and not a little frightened at the same time. Any citizen with that much firepower squirreled away couldn’t be up to too much good.
It would be dark in two or three hours. Slocum had hoped to make it to the Apache camp before then. Not that he knew exactly where it was, but he figured the Apache would find them soon enough. He didn’t relish a night of cold camping with a woman whose loyalty he wasn’t wholly sure of. Might still be that she was a ringer for her brother.
There didn’t seem to be much reason or logic behind that, but it wouldn’t do to let his guard down just yet. Still, she had given him his Colt Navy back. That went a far piece in convincing him that her intentions were not clouded by her crazy brother’s plans.
Slocum slowly took the lead and they trudged on in silence, neither of them looking at their dead traveling companions, save to check that they weren’t slowly sliding off the saddles. The horses had fidgeted for a few minutes when they’d first lashed the Apache atop them, but soon settled and grew accustomed to the pungent burdens.
The raw edge of the canyon never really revealed itself beyond the ragged tumble of boulders loosely marking it. He was tempted to climb it here and there to see if he could discern any movement down below, but decided it would gain him little knowing if Deke was rallying his troops. Of course he was. The only question now was when would they attack? The thought quickened his pace. He pushed on, picking up their dwindled pace. “We have to get at least to that rock pile at the north end of the canyon by dark.”
Julep nodded, said, “Okay, then,” and kept walking.
“I don’t have much in the way of supplies,” said Slocum with a snort. “I didn’t think that far ahead. Just tried to get on out of Deke’s line of fire. Do you have anything to eat in those saddlebags of yours?”
This time she did smile. “I did think of that, actually. Unlike some people, I am rarely unprepared. Especially when it comes to food. I do love to cook.”
“I know you do.” Slocum patted his belly. “Unfortunately there won’t be any fires tonight.”
“The Apaches?”
“Sort of, but mostly I was thinking that if Deke sent up a small crew to find us, well, we don’t have to make it simple for them.”
Julep nodded. “And then there’s the big group he’s expecting to return from their latest job.”
“Yeah, good point. Tell me about Deke’s operation, would you? What’s he hope to accomplish with all this?”
There was a long silence that stretched and stretched, the edges of it taking on a decidedly frosty tone. He had just about decided she wasn’t inclined to divulge her brother’s secrets when she spoke.
“Deke’s a complicated man, John. He’s not nearly as crazy as I bet you think he is.”
Slocum didn’t know quite what to say to that. He did, in fact, think Deke had traveled a bit farther around the bend than most folks do. But how far, he wasn’t sure.
They trudged on for a while more, each lost in their respective thoughts. Then the rocky knob that formed the north end of the canyon’s rim came slowly into view like a shimmering wraith. With each step they walked, it grew larger, more impressive, until finally they were close enough that from his angle he could make out parts of the rock face where he’d emerged, after climbing up from the other side, the spots where he’d fought the snake and the lion. And then the Apache. There were a few spots along the rim where he could glimpse down into the canyon, and it looked like a long way down. No
wonder he still had a headache.
They made it to the base of the rock pile just as the sun touched the ragged mountain peaks far to the west. Maybe this was all a mistake; maybe they should have ridden south or west, just kept going until they hit Mexico or California and the ocean. But what Deke had in mind for the Apache and the Bluebellies had to be stopped.
If he could convince the Apache to send him and a couple of men back into the canyon to blow up the arsenal, they might well avoid all such trouble, rendering Deke and his men toothless and unable to do much more than stamp their feet. It was a long shot, but it was all he had to try.
After a cold but tasty meal of flaky biscuits and bacon—Julep had cooked up a mess of it that morning—they agreed to take turns keeping watch. Slocum insisted Julep sleep first, though he had a hard enough time doing so. She was a feisty woman, no doubt, and one that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how beaten down he still felt, could still spark something inside him.
He’d watched her retrieving the tasty grub from her bags, bent over and swaying unintentionally before him as though humming to herself or considering some deep reason or other why she was doing what she was doing. And it was a fine sight.
But that had been more than two hours before. Given all they had been through in the past little while, he had no intention of bothering her once her head hit the rocky pillow. She was, if possible, even more attractive in sleep. Even with no soft bed and nobody for company but a couple of dead Apache who had wanted nothing but to kill her mere hours before. And she was escorted by a man still recovering from serious injuries. He wasn’t afraid of dozing off, knowing she had placed her trust in him. He had to make sure he earned it.
He sat there in the dark, the two dead Apache stiffening up a few yards away, the horses picketed as close as he dared, both of them standing hipshot and almost leaning against each other. Julep made a few light breathing noises—the only women he’d ever heard offer up mouth-wide snores were prostitutes. Not all of them, just a few of the lustier, more hard-drinking gals he’d come across.
