Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  We worked our way over the next ridge and down the other side. Reaching the floor again I turned to the right and rode a ways, then taking a wide circle, I rode back to where I’d come off the ridge and went the other way. I was hoping they would split up and follow each trail. That way, I would only have to face one at a time.

  I was looking for the right place to hole up in. If I could, I would stash my ponies in a canyon or even a crack, and then come back and cover my tracks. I found a water course that had washed out a big gouge in the slope and thrown down a lot of rock as it spread out and watered the entire area. But it left a lot of smooth stones scattered around the mouth of that wash.

  Hoping that I had left enough tangled sign to slow them down, I took the ponies as far back into the wash as I could to keep them out of sight. Then I went back to the opening to hide our tracks.

  As I walked along the boulder strewn red clay walls of the wash, I was about to step out of cover into the open, when I heard the click of hoof on stone. Then I heard a man utter something to his pony as he jumped to the ground. I froze.

  I was armed only with the holy man’s knife and ax… I pulled the knife and backed against a clay streaked boulder. These would be Mogollon Apaches, and I knew nothing about them. That they were unfriendly was obvious in that they came after a man alone in such a hurry.

  Hearing his moccasin brush a stone, very nearby caused me freeze again. Only this time I closed my eyes to mere cracks, so as not to attract attention by eye movement. The rest of me was standing still but relaxed. Movement is the first thing to give away a position, and something too straight and stiff would be the next.

  The brave appeared in the mouth of the wash and crept in. He carried his bow with a notched arrow ready to be pulled. Taking a false step on the uneven smooth stones, he moved his left foot to keep from falling and nearly stepped on mine. He recovered and moved on past me. His attention focused on what might be beyond the turn in the water course.

  As he stepped past me, I moved. He sensed the movement and tried to turn, but my left forearm was under his chin and lifting it. My right arm was swinging in a narrow arc and bringing the tip of my knife into the base of his throat. It only took the smallest bit of force to drive it to the hilt. The brave stiffened, and then melted to the ground at my feet.

  I quickly took his scalp. Taking scalps was still foreign to me, but I was committed to it by the acts of Scar Face.

  Chapter 12

  Dragging the brave out of the water course, I draped him over his pony and went back to get my own animals. I took them out into the darkening forest and tied them. Then I went back and built a small fire. I used the holy man’s ax to cut some pine branches and threw them on the fire. They sent up a thick white smoke. I added more and disappeared into the woods.

  I waited until the light had almost gone before I heard the approaching pony. Moving to the sound, I saw the brave approaching the fire with great caution. He could see his friend lying across his pony, but he didn’t know what to make of the scene. Wisely, he dismounted and took cover behind his pony.

  His bow was in his hand and ready to use. Mine was also ready to use, and it was drawn about halfway back.

  “Your companion was unwise. He thought that only an Apache could hide in plain sight.”

  He was immediately alert and crouched low. “You are free to take your friend.” I told him. “Leave your bow on your pony; you have my word as a warrior that I will not harm you while you are unarmed. Step to the fire so that I might see you… I will send a message to your people.”

  “Who are you? And why have you come to our land?” He asked without moving.

  “This land belongs to the Tonto people… Mogollon land is up above. You are intruders here the same as I am…. Now step to the fire, and I will explain.”

  He stepped forward, still carrying his bow, but I didn’t push it. He stood there in a defiant posture. I could sense that he was expecting an arrow in his heart. I stepped into the fire light opposite him, with my bow at my side. We stood looking at each other for a few heartbeats.

  “I am Rubio… also known as Walking Wolf of the Diné Wolf clan… we are called Navajo by some. I have no war with the Mogollon people. If your companion had not been looking so hard for a scalp to take, he would still be alive.”

  “My friend was young and unready for a warrior’s trail.” He said, not taking his eyes off my wolf cloak. I could tell it bothered him… he was still not sure that I was not a spirit, which had come to haunt him… I did nothing to convince him that he was wrong.

  “I will be moving away from Mogollon land.” I told him, “I seek the land of the Mescaleros. I ride the blood trail that will lead me to Scar Face the Red Hand. Then I will kill him and return to my people…. Tell your people that I will not ride on Mogollon land.”

  He stood watching me for a short time and said, “The Mescalero are many, and you are but one. How will you be able to find Scar Face? They will surely kill you and sing songs about the one who does it… Red Hand is well known among the Apache people. He is revered by many and feared by many more… You will find no friends there.”

  “I don’t expect any help or friendship there. I will do what I need to do. If I die, I will leave bodies scattered like leaves on the ground…Take your friend back to your people for a proper burial… and don’t look back.” With that I stepped back into the darkness and became one with the forest again.

  Watching him tie his comrade to the back of the pony, I felt only regret that I had to kill one, but I was pleased that the other was wise enough to live. The moon was up and we traveled through the speckled shadows until we reached the next ridge before I looked for a place to rest.

  After rounding the point of the ridge, I found a place to spend the night. I staked my ponies on some grass and rolled into my blanket. When I woke, the sun was still below the rim, but it was already chasing the shadows. I made a small fire and went to a small stream nearby where I speared a fish with a sharpened stick. Living in dry country, fish were not common in our diet, but the Diné ate them when we could. I am told that the Apache consider fish unfit to eat.

  I moved on toward my goal. Between what I was able to learn from the Tonto trader and the Mogollon brave, I had a good idea where to find Scar Face’s village. If I could get close enough to find some sign without leaving my own, I would be able to find my man.

  Many days I rode without seeing another human or sign of a human, but I didn’t expect to see any. Staying close to the sparse trees below the rim, made myself invisible to those above and nearly invisible to any who would come from the open country. It would be dangerous to be seen by unfriendly eyes, but it would be far more dangerous if those eyes saw me before I saw them.

  Both my ponies were kept fresh by changing mounts often. That way I could always count on getting the most out of both horses when I needed it. I found a long time ago, that when a man spends time alone with no one to talk to but his animals, he becomes bonded with them. I tried to make sure that my horses were cared for before I took food or drink. Survival in wild country is never easy, but it is easier with animals that can be depended on.

  After his animals are cared for, a warrior needs to see to his weapons next. That took more work and was sometimes much harder than caring for ponies. I wasn’t a flint knapper, although I could make an arrowhead as well as most. I was hard pressed to create a good spear point. The tip of a lance should be thin, strong and sharp. If it isn’t strong the point is likely to break, when it hit a bone or a stone. I’ve seen them split with the grain of the obsidian. It is always best to let a good stone worker choose the stone and do the work.

  My lance was in good shape, and I had plenty of arrows… both my own and those taken from the quivers of my enemies. I wanted to improve on the holy man’s ax. The handle was clumsy, thick, and short. It made a good war club, but it could be much more.

  The ax had a blade that was like half the length of my hand with my fi
ngers spread. Where the blade ended there was an steel circle that the handle went through. It fit very tight; I would have to burn it out. The handle was only the length of my bent forearm from elbow to wrist.

  Keeping my eyes open for a suitable handle, I found a broken scrub oak limb of the right thickness. It was dry and well cured. Using the holy man’s knife I trimmed the branch to fit through the circle. When the old handle was burnt enough to remove, I put the ax head into my fire and heated it. As a boy, I had seen a Spanish worker do that with a spear and force the shaft into the hot iron. I hoped it would work with an ax.

  The handle smoked and burned when I pounded it into the circle. It fit tight when it was cooled. I lashed it with wet rawhide, which would shrink when dried. Next, I shaped the handle to be slim and fit my hand. It was by then the length of my hand longer than before. I worked a long time with a piece of smooth stone to make the blade much sharper. I no longer thought of it as the holy man’s ax, it had become Rubio’s hatchet. It had become a weapon instead of a tool.

  I chose a tree about five leaping strides away, and threw my hatchet. The hatchet sank deep into the pine. The balance was good, although it was heavier than a war club, I would be able to swing it in battle much easier… with deadlier results. I only wished to do battle with one person, but I knew in my heart that I would have to fight others before I could get to Scar Face the Red Hand.

  The weather continued to feel warmer. Water ways were filling with snow melt from the mountains. There were places in the forested areas where water could be found standing in pools. The trees would drink deeply and store as much as they could against the dry moon ahead. The rains came and travel was slow. I would often have to find a place out of the wind and rain. I could see the lightning and hear the rolling thunder like so many drums beating out of rhythm.

  The storms up on the rim were more violent than those on lower ground. But the rush of flooding waters was more to be feared on lower ground. There was no safe place to hide from the spirits of the sky.

  There came a day, when my better counsel told me to stay put because the ground was soft and muddy. I would leave sign. But my lower counsel told me to go ahead and travel because I had lost too much time already. My lower counsel also told me that I hadn’t seen another human for many days… there was no one to see my tracks.

  I was in such a hurry to kill a man that I ignored my better counsel and moved on. I wanted to locate Scar Face before he left the village for the warrior’s path. Then I would set upon him along the trail. That was what was on my mind as I rode over the crest of a ridge to save some time. It was normal for me to check my back trail often, but my mind was not working at its best at the time.

  The buckskin was carrying me over the ridge with the roan was following close behind. Suddenly the pony stopped and refused to go any farther. My urgings were useless. It was like I had come out of a deep sleep and opened my eyes to a new day.

  If that pony didn’t want to go any farther, there would be a good reason. Some horses were notional and easily spooked by many odd things, but both my horses had good horse sense. So I got down and took a look into the brush. Using my lance, pushed into the bushes but found only a long drop to the rock strewn valley floor far below.

  I thanked my pony for being smarter than I was and turned to backtrack and look for another way down. When I turned I saw three braves urging their ponies up the other side of the ridge. They were following my trail and coming hard.

  Quickly, I pulled my ponies into the brush off to the side and went about getting rid of any tracks that didn’t lead directly to lip of the bluff. The last thing I did before ducking into undercover was to toss dead leaves and pine needles around the area.

  Watching from my hiding place, I saw them scrambling over the crest of the ridge. They were painted and ready for battle. All three carried their lances ready to plunge them into a body…. Any body. They were too eager, just as I was. All they wanted was my scalp, but they were going to have to fight for it.

  Once on top the leader could see where my trail led. He kicked his pony’s sides and it leaped toward the brush on the other side of the clearing. The other two riders were close behind. Each could already imagine my scalp hanging from his lance. At worst they could count coup.

  The leader shot into space with a scream, which was drowned out by the scream of his horse. The two behind him were able to hold up just in time to keep from joining their friend at the bottom. I jumped from cover and jabbed the rear of the nearest pony with my lance.

  Both man and beast went over the edge with the pony pawing at the air, trying to find footing that didn’t exist. The brave on his back, was trying to keep his place on the mustangs, as if that would save him.

  The third brave, at least had enough intelligence to turn his horse away from the drop off. The second man had just sat there staring into nothingness while I jabbed his mount with my lance. Third man was ready to run me down. His lance was pointed straight at my chest when he kicked his horse and came bounding at me.

  My lance was in my left hand and my hatchet in my right. The distance was short, and I was hoping to have the strength to ward off his lance. He was crouched low on his mount with his lance poised as if to throw it. At the last fraction of time, I dropped the hatchet and used both hands to deflect the spearhead away from my chest. Sliding my shaft along the inside of his and forcing it up into his armpit. The spearhead missed him, but he was forced too far to the other side and came unseated.

  To his credit, he came off the ground ready to fight. I didn’t give him time to get any kind of advantage. I went right at him with my hatchet. Both lances were out of reach, but he had a murderous war club at hand. His looked to be a large oak knot mounted on a shaft with shards of obsidian imbedded in it. It looked to be a cruel and evil weapon, but it was so heavy that it took two hands to swing it with any power. Swinging with two hands makes for power but doesn’t lend to agility.

  He was a powerfully built man with wide shoulders and thick chest. And I had no doubt that one stroke from his war club would break bones or worse. He was not as tall as me, but his weight was considerably more than mine. We circled and made false moves at one another. Then he came with a rush, swinging that murderous club left to right. He had me backing up step by step until I stepped on one of the lances, and it rolled under my foot.

  I landed on my back, and he came in for the kill. But I wasn’t ready for the kill on his terms. I had plans, which didn’t include getting my skull crushed by an oak knot. He stood astraddle of me and drew his club over his head and started it down. My head was the target, but once he started the arc down, I was rolling away to my right. He had already committed to the target, and the weight and force of the swing wouldn’t allow a change.

  My legs were still between his feet, but he was changing his position to take another swing at me. With my feet free, I scrambled far to his left and while he was turning to take another swing, I took a chop at his left knee with my hatchet. He was moving, and I hit him below the knee.

  I heard bone break and his bellow close behind it. Dropping to his knee, and using his left hand to keep him falling over, he tried an ineffective one handed swing with his club. I easily dodged the club, and while he was out of position, I sunk my hatchet at the point where the back of the head meets the neck. He dropped down with his face turned in an awkward way.

  I had taken four scalps, but it was still not something I liked. The sucking sound when it is pulled free from the skull was sickening. But I was at war, and my enemies were scalp takers. I could be no less savage, if I hoped to survive.

  Chapter 13

  His horse had run into the brush and had stopped when it found my two ponies. I collected mine and brought his along. Breaking his lance, I tied it to the blankets he used for a saddle. Then we worked our way down the other side of the ridge and found the other bodies. There were two twisted and broken ponies and two mangled warriors scattered on the rocks at the bas
e of the bluff.

  I broke their lances and lashed them with the other broken shaft. There was no plan behind keeping the lances, but I wanted to use them to send a message. I knew the men to be Mescalero by their blankets and their moccasins. I would think of a way to send fear and worry into their village. To let them know that no one would be safe from Walking Wolf. If they took me for a spirit, that would be so much the better.

  For many days, I rode with three ponies, but I never rode the Apache pony with the broken lances. That pony was reserved for something special. Slowly, I started to develop a plan. I would have to wait to get a good feel for the land and location before I would be able to work out the details.

  Finally, I came to the big river flowing west. It was not as large or as wild as the big south flowing river from the days of my youth. But it was the largest and wildest river I had seen in many moons. It was coming from the east and flowing to the west. The land was changing. The rim was becoming a green, broken, and mountainous land.

  The river was running full, due to snow melt and recent rains. I would need to cross when the river came from the north. Where the river made a large loop north and then back south, I should see a large mountain to the south. The mountain sat in the middle of the loop standing alone in the desert.

  The Mescalero village was supposed to be in the broken canyon land on the southwest flank of the mountain. I would have to go all the way around and come in from the opposite side. It was a long way around, but my best chance was to stay invisible.

  It took several more days before I reached the point where the river changed directions. Standing on a low bluff overlooking the churning river, I could see the mountain in the desert. It looked like a green lump in a vast plain of brown and gray. I would have to stay close to the river after crossing because there was little cover out on the plain. But first I had to cross the river.