Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  The chief was looking at the four broken lances. He would know the owners by their markings and their adornments. One of the others picked up the buckskin drawing and started to clean the dirt from the locks of hair. They didn’t know what to do with them. They were relics of their loved ones, thrown in their faces by an enemy. But they had been part of a brother or an uncle or a son.

  Just when it seemed that there could be no more chaos, a shout arose from the pony herd. Two youths and a man came running up from the herd supporting another youth who was hobbling on numbed feet. The crowd opened and let them through. The boy clutched his headband, which had spent the night in his mouth, and tried to speak. Each time he started, he would grow weak and have to be supported by his mates.

  Finally, he told his story to the chief and those surrounding. The chief stepped back, as did many of the others. He must have been telling them about the half man and half wolf. The only one who was unfazed by the story was Scar Face… he knew the truth. He knew it was the hand of man that had done this… not a spirit.

  I would have to give Scar Face credit, he took charge of the gathering and started giving orders and men started running for their weapons and their ponies. Paint would be hastily applied and some chants would be sung, and within the time it would take to eat a meal, four or more small parties rode out of the canyon in as many directions. With so much activity around the village, finding a single set of tracks would be impossible, so those war parties were going out to find someone… anyone.

  I returned to my camp at the overhang.

  Chapter 15

  I had seen Scar Face and his followers lead a party out onto the plain and turn to the northwest. They looked to be going to the river crossing. He was the only one I was concerned about. The other parties were scattered to the wind. If he was to stumble onto my tracks, he would have a chance of tracking me to my ledge. The crossing was a very busy place, and I had crossed several days ago.

  It was time to leave my ledge. I thought to circle around to the far side of the mountain… to the south face. From that side I would have easier access to the village because of the forested slope on the other side of the steam. I planned to wage a war of the mind. I wanted to take the arrogance out of Scar Face and destroy all that was his before I killed him.

  I led my pony from our ledge, under lowering gray clouds. It was a good time to move. Rain would soon come and make the earth soft to hold our tracks, but to find a new place before the rain meant that our tracks would be gone. And if a man does not move, a man will leave no tracks.

  Working out a way around the shoulder of the mountain, I kept my eye open for a likely place to hole up. I found what I had been looking for late in the day. It was higher than my ledge had been, but it was well hidden and had plenty of cover. The only drawback was the rough terrain between the camp site and the village. It meant I would not be able to ride to the village. But I had been able to walk, run, and climb long before I was able to ride a horse, so it was not much of a problem.

  Leaving camp while the sun still shown, I went back to a hanging valley I had passed earlier in the day. It would be a nice place to live under different times, but at this time, there was no way to defend such a place. What it offered, at this time was a stream that would be visited by deer and big horned sheep, as well as plenty of grass for my pony.

  I came back with a young buck, which would supply enough meat for as long as I expected to be there. My plan was to become such a menace to the village that the elders would force Scar Face to draw me away.

  I had seen Scar Face enter his lodge and come back out with his bow and quiver, so I knew where he lived. I would be visiting his lodge soon. But first I needed to create a little chaos, and maybe more.

  When the sun went down, I left my camp on foot and worked my way down the mountainside until I was overlooking the Mescalero village. Many of the braves were out looking for the walking wolf, but Walking Wolf was walking down the slope to their village. The clouds were still low and the air felt like rain. Rain would be a blessing. It would keep the camp dogs under cover and keep the Apaches in their hovels.

  As I came down the slope, I looked for the lodge of Scar Face to see what I’d have to go through to reach it. I knew he would be gone, but I wanted to have my route to and from his lodge memorized so there would be no mistakes.

  My plan for this night was to put a torch to a few lodges and leave another patch of buckskin with the walking wolf drawing on it. I knew that few tribes could produce braver men than the Apaches, and I didn’t think I could create fear there. But if I could create doubt and worry, then I would be satisfied.

  As I stepped out of the cover of trees, I saw no one, so I moved the five strides to the first domed hut. With the clouds hiding the moon, there were no shadows only darkness and light from a few low burning fires. Moving among the lodges I was looking for two close together so I could burn two at once and get back up the slope.

  I found myself near the middle of the camp. The communal fires in the center were burning low, but they were being tended by a brave, who was probably standing guard duty as well. I was ready to step into the circle of light, when I heard a low growl behind me.

  A camp dog had discovered me, but I was ready for that and reached into my pouch for a scrap of deer meat. I let the dog sniff it and then threw it back among the lodges. The mongrel wheeled and raced after the meat, but was met by another mongrel. And a squabble started.

  The fire guard came my way to see why the dogs were acting up. He passed by me in the dark and walked a short way toward the noise. I heard scuffling and dogs yelping, and then the guard returned. He strode straight at the fire mumbling as he went. When he was within a few steps of me, I stepped out and blocked his path. The last thing he saw was the shadowed outline of a man with the head of a wolf standing in front of him.

  His eyes flared wide and he started to yell, so I popped him above and between those frightened eyes with the back of my hatchet. He fell against me, and I hoisted him over my shoulder. I had seen the headman’s lodge not far away. It was larger than the rest because of his status.

  I laid the brave across the doorway, where whoever came out first would likely trip over him. I quickly placed the drawing of the wolf on his slow moving chest. I melted into the dark and was soon going up the slope. I had first thought to kill the sentry, but on second thought, I could stir much more discomfort by leaving him alive to give proof to the pony herder’s claim of a wolf man on the prowl.

  I slipped through the sleeping village and was soon scrambling up the slope and into the dense pine and fir forest. Before reaching the upper end of the canyon, where it was no more than a washed out gully feeding a small stream of water down through the village, I stopped.

  Lying on the wet grass, I moved my head over the canyon rim. I took a deep breath and did my best impression of a howling wolf. The sound went down the canyon and echoed through its walls only to come out into the village as a frightening wail.

  Door flaps were flung open and men poured out. The headman’s flap was flung open and whoever came out fell to the ground. It was like a hornet’s nest had been broken and hornets were flying in all directions. Some of the hornets had the good sense to add brush to the fires to give some light to a mad scene.

  The chief appeared at the fire, and others were dragging the limp figure of the night guard. They laid him near the fire and poured water on him. One of the men handed the headman what looked like my drawing. He studied it and threw it into the fire.

  About that time they got the guard to his feet and everyone started talking at once. I could see his head going from one to another. Finally the chief silenced them all and addressed the brave. His story caused many of them to draw back, and it caused others to look around, as if they expected to see the demon standing behind them. The camp was deathly quiet. There was only a murmur coming from the throng.

  The chief took charge and started giving orders. Men ran for the
ir lodges. Some collected their weapons and ran toward the pony herd, while others made torches and with great hesitation, started for the tail end of the canyon. Two braves carried torches while four others walked with arrows notched.

  I watched them come, with their puny torches. They were frightened. These were some of the finest warriors in the land, who would stand against ten times their numbers. But they were afraid of what they didn’t know, and I was going to use that fear.

  Working my way down toward the village, I let them move on ahead of my position. Gathering up a hand full of small pebbles, I waited until they were well ahead of me. When they had made a turn in the narrow canyon, I threw my gravel toward the feet of the last men.

  When the gravel hit their legs and bounced around them, those men yelped and danced. That caused the others to turn and become tangled with each other. For a few heartbeats, the six men were in complete confusion. Finally they came together in a tight knot, with each man facing outward. They stayed like that long enough for me to get past them.

  I took my former position just below the washed out water fall, and waited for them to advance. Shortly they came forward. Their torches were casting long shadows along the canyon walls. Looking down on them creeping along as they were, I could not imagine what horrible monsters were wreaking havoc in their minds.

  The wind had picked up and it was beginning to feel more and more like the rain I had been expecting for the last two days was finally going to start. I decided to give them one more taste of the unknown before I went back to my camp.

  Lying on the grass again, I gave them an even better wolf call than before. It was so good that it even frightened me a little. The men below me, scrambled among some boulders to make their last stand. One the torch bearers, out of fear and frustration, stood and flung his torch into the darkness at the tail end of the canyon.

  It was a well made torch, which didn’t go out during its fight. It kept its fire going even after it landed in the brush. A bush flared and then another one went up. The six braves on the canyon floor must have felt better with the sudden light because they came out from their hiding place. But their new confidence was short lived as the wind plucked burning leaves and twigs into other dried bushes.

  Suddenly the entire tail end of the canyon was ablaze and the mighty wolf chasers were being chased down the canyon toward the village. I stood and watched them run as the blazes ate away at the brush choked canyon behind them. I wondered what tale they would tell to explain the fire in the canyon… no doubt one of a fire breathing monster.

  As the rain started falling, I was retreating up the mountain toward my camp.

  Chapter 16

  The air was heavy with smoky drizzling rain as I climbed over the last few boulders protecting my camp. The sun was up, but it was well hidden behind thick gray clouds. The roan was happy to see me, and I led him out into the open where he could get water. There were many freshets flowing down the mountainside and splashing into puddles or shooting off into space from a rock face.

  My camp was in a crack that had probably been the result of ice or some long ago settling of the mountain. It was an old crack by the absence of broken pieces of rock and gravel nearby. The rain was kept from the crack by a thick growth of juniper growing from soil that had been trapped in the cracks. Some of those junipers were older than I was, so their roots would run deep into the fractured rock.

  I would have liked to have taken the roan to the hanging valley and let it graze the lush grass there, but as tired as I was, I feared sleeping too deeply. A pony can be as good as a camp dog for letting you know when an intruder was near.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  When I awoke, the clouds were still heavy, and the rain had changed to a fine mist. A heavy fog was covering the lower ground. I couldn’t see the desert at all. By my reckoning it would be early afternoon. I led the roan to the hanging valley and staked him so that he could get to water grass and shelter under the trees.

  I would give him that pleasure until just before sundown and then bring him back. He was a good horse, maybe the best I’ve ever had. The Diné value our horses, but we do not make pets of them as the Spanish men do. I’ve seen Spanish men talking to their horses like they were children. They also fussed over them and brushed them.

  The Apaches on the other hand knew the value of horses, but valued them not at all. A horse was property to an Apache. It was put here to be used up and discarded. If there was no replacement for a horse that had been run to death the brave would walk or run until he could steal another one. More was the pity, since the Apache was born to ride. They were as good or better than any horsemen in the land.

  I ate and rested some more because I would return to the Mescalero village this night. They would not be expecting another visit from the man wolf so soon. Riders had gone out to bring the war parties back in. They would be returning anyway because the rain would wash away any tracks they might have found. But they would be returning to camp by tomorrow or the next day.

  As the shadows were growing deep and gloomy, I brought the roan back to camp. During my search for lodges to burn last night, I located the lodge of Scar Face. I planned to go directly to it and do what needed to be done and then retreat back up the mountain. Going back into the village so soon was a risk I was willing to take. If I could get in and out of the camp on this night, Scar Face would have to come after me. His pride would demand it.

  There would be no moon this night, there would only be a gray fog and mist. I would have to use every sense to find my way and keep from being caught. The fires would be much larger and more guards would be posted. But those larger fires would also help me find my way. And the guards would be nervous.

  I had spared two lives in the village, and I would spare more, if I could. But I will not let myself be killed to spare another Apache life. I did not kill for the sake of killing. I did not kill Apaches because I hated them. I killed because they stood between me and the man I hated. Had any of those whose life I had taken not been a threat to me, they would still be alive.

  As I came down the slope, the night was already half over. I could see the fires in the common area, and they were much larger than the night before. But they were merely an orange glow in the night. The fog was laying close to the ground and very thick. I had brought along cuts of deer meat to feed to camp dogs that I might disturb. Camp dogs are always starved and looking for food.

  Slipping into the camp, I could see two men tending the fires. I saw another outlined between me and the fires. He was nervously looking from side to side, doing his best to see through the fog. It was dark and damp. I had worn a buckskin tunic and it felt good. My hatchet was in my right hand, but I hoped I would not have to use it.

  Crouching low to stay below the curve of the domed lodges, I moved toward my destination. I had to stop dead still several times when someone in a lodge would make a sound in their sleep, or a baby would cry for a late night nursing. I knew it would be slow going, so I kept my patience in check. The ground was soft and grassy so there was a chance making a sucking or splashing noises, if I moved too fast.

  I heard the sound of a woman moaning and a man grunting in one of the lodges, I could only smile and wish them well, knowing that they would not notice that I was passing by. Once, a guard stepped in front of me. He stood looking at the glow of the fires some distance away. I imagined that he was wishing he had been given the job of a fire guard where it was warm and well lit, instead of walking around in the cold and wet. He was close enough that I could have reached out and pulled his loinclout, if I’d had a mind to. He moved on, and I did not have to kill him.

  I waited for him to move along and keep his mind on how warm and safe he would be tending the fire before I continued. I was only a few lodges away, and I didn’t want to fail when I was so close to my goal.

  Moving with great caution, I slipped between two lodges and found myself in front of Scar Face’s home. I had to be sure, so I looked around a
nd found the headman’s lodge. Scar Face had gone into the one directly three lodges behind the headman’s. Then I saw the red hand print on the door flap. I was at the right place.

  I waited longer than was needed, but I wanted to make sure I would not be seen. I looked the front over carefully, trying to find a place to attach the patch of buckskin with the walking wolf figure on it, but nothing looked suitable. I wanted it to be easily found. So I lifted the flap and slipped through the opening.

  In the center of the room was a fire pit that gave off only a glow of soft light. I could hear someone breathing soft and evenly. That would be his wife; it was too heavy and slow for a child. I couldn’t hear the girls breathing, but that did not bother me because children sometime sleep very quietly.

  Letting my eyes get adjusted to the dim light, I looked for the perfect place to leave the drawing. I was just about to leave it near the woman’s hand, when I saw two large black eyes and a round face looking at me. The orange light from the coals showed highlights of cheeks, nose, chin, and of course those eyes. The child sat in the midst of a bear skin, which was draped around her shoulders. There was no fear in her eyes… only wonder.

  I moved toward her, ready to clamp a hand over her mouth if she started to cry out. She had no intention of crying out. She was entranced. I simply gave her the drawing and whispered for her to give it to her papa. She smiled and took it and clutched it to her breast. Then she reached up and stroked the wolf fur on my shoulder and whispered a word I translated to mean, “Puppy.” How could a devil like Scar Face have such a sweet child?

  Smiling at her, I touched her hair, and then I slipped out. I was thinking of my own little ones as I moved through the darkness. I was careless and nearly stepped on one of the camp dogs sleeping near a lodge. It was probably trying to gain a little warmth from the fire inside. The dog scampered away and then skulked back to its warmth. I reached into my pouch for a bit of deer meat, but decided to take it all.