Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  “Young warriors of the Mescalero people, hear me.” I shouted. “You have lost two of your number… I do not wish to kill more… I only wish to kill Scar Face and Coyote… Go home, or go south into Chiricahua land…. To stay with Scar Face is to die… I have given you the choice.”

  I stepped back from the edge and two arrows came overhead and into the cedars behind me. They had no hope of hitting me; those arrows were sent from anger and frustration.

  Scar Face made his wisest decision then. He moved his band out onto the open ground. It would be harder to travel, but it would take away my cover of the mountains. That would not give them complete safety, but it would make my task a little harder.

  When they had become only spots on the plain, I moved out from my cover and into the open. To call it open was to misname it. The plain was broken and rugged with great clumps of brush and scraggly trees. There were mesquite, sage, creosote, and many others. Some of them grew higher than a horse, so I would need to be alert and pay attention to tracks. If there were supposed to be six ponies, and I could see only five sets of tracks then I could expect a trap.

  With them now riding single file, instead of spread out, the tracks over lay one another and made it difficult to separate. I would have to keep a close watch for anything unusual, anything or anyone leaving the trail. If a man was able to leave the group without my notice, I would be an easy target for an ambush. My best chance was to lead my pony, so I could be closer to the ground and have a better look at anything that didn’t seem right.

  I didn’t have to walk far before I found where they had stopped and milled around. The group had bunched, and one of the horses had turned and faced them. That would most likely be Scar Face giving orders, which meant a trap was in the making.

  From there on I would need to be doubly cautious. About a hundred paces later I saw where one of the men had leaped to the ground off to the right side. He had tried to leave the trail without my notice. His pony stayed with the others, but he was in the brush. I tied my pony and moved in after him. Leaving my bow and lance with my pony, I knew this would be the work of knife and hatchet.

  I could see where he landed. The marks of two toes, a knee, and one hand scuffed up the sandy dirt. Then he moved parallel to the line they were traveling. From there on every step I took was well thought out and my eyes missed nothing. The warrior may be young and inexperienced, but his arrow could kill as easily as that of a warrior with many scalps and many songs sung in his honor.

  Following his tracks, I walked for another fifty or so paces until I saw where he had slightly changed his direction. He was looking for the right spot to spring his trap. Without moving my head, I let my eyes wander in the direction he had taken. They told me he had moved behind a bushy low growing juniper. The chance was good that he could see me, but he would have to step into the open to pull his bow, and I would see him. He would wait for me to pass and shoot from behind.

  With my head down, as if looking for tracks, I turned this way and that way trying to give the impression of having lost the trail. Then I turned and retraced my steps. I could almost see him behind the juniper, and he surely saw me. Now I would work a little trap of my own.

  My first move was to circle to the left where the brush was thicker and would conceal my movements better. I would move around and get behind him while he was watching for me to come out into the open.

  Moving with great caution, I came to about even with him and was ready to continue my circle. Moving one foot in front of the other I took a silent step…and then another. I sensed the movement behind me too late to protect myself. The next thing I knew, a strong brown arm was snaking around my neck threatening to cut off my air.

  Had I been wrong about the man being hidden behind the juniper…. No I was not wrong because I heard the “Yip! Yip!Yip!” as he came tearing around the juniper with his war club raised high and ready to crush my skull. I had been tricked, and I was in trouble. It never occurred to me that Scar Face would send another man as part of his trap. I should have known better.

  My left hand was pulling on the braves forearm trying to keep from being choked to death, while he was leaning back to give his companion a good target of my head. My right hand held my hatchet with which I would try to fend off the other braves war club.

  As the young man raised his club high over his head to bring it down with all his strength, I used the leverage of my left hand to swing my feet up into a ball. I kicked out as hard as I could, striking the on rushing brave in the face and chest. He flew backward and fell to the ground with his face splattered with blood from a broken nose and teeth.

  More important, the kicking of my legs was enough to unbalance and topple the man choking the life out of me. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him causing him to lose his hold on my throat. As I lunged forward, I could hardly see because the blackness from loss of air had almost taken me to the underworld. The man behind me on the ground was gasping for air as I spun and swung my hatchet. I wanted to hit him above the ear, but the retreating blackness made me light headed and poor of aim… I hit him in the side of his neck… he would not get up.

  As I was trying to get my mind and my eyes cleared, the other brave had gotten to his feet and was coming at me with his war club. He made a great overhead swing from right to left, which I was able to block with my hatchet and keep it from my head. The force of his blow carried his club to the ground.

  That blow would have broken my skull like a bird’s egg, but when I diverted it with my hatchet he maintained his grip and drove it to the earth and turned himself bent over facing the wrong way. The edges of my vision were clearing rapidly, and the balls of light had all but gone, when I made a backhand swing, I was only hoping to hit him enough to gain time to clear my mind. The steel blade clove the back of his skull like a ripe gourd. He had been coming up and moved right into my swing. He was suspended in mid air for an eye blink before he sprawled face first in the dirt.

  I sank to my knees and breathed deeply until I felt that I could do whatever my mind told me to, and that my mind was once again able to issue those orders. Then I went about finding their ponies because I imagined that the second man had brought the first man’s pony with him.

  The smell of horse led me to them tied in the brush not far away. Next, I took both scalps and tied each man over the back of a mount… I pointed them in the direction of the others and gave each a slap.

  I walked back to get my roan pony.

  Chapter 20

  I had lost ground by tracking them on foot, but there was no help for it. If I hadn’t, I would not have seen where the first brave left the trail, and I would have been a perfect target for the second man. Scar Face was finally taking charge of his band, now that there was barely a band left to be in charge of. The chance of them setting up another trap right away was slim, so I mounted the roan and made up ground.

  The ponies and their lifeless passengers would catch up with the rest of the party before they made camp for the night, so Scar Face would know his trap had failed. He wouldn’t care that two young men had died. It would be a bother only because he would have fewer hunters to bring in meat. He really didn’t feel the need for their protection. In his mind, there was nothing or no one who could defeat him. He feared no man.

  Moving along at a good pace allowed me to make up much of the time I’d lost. Late in the day, I found where the two ponies had caught the rest of the party. It looked as if Scar Face and Coyote had buried the bodies under a pile of rock and taken the ponies along with them. Before this was over, they would need the extra horses.

  Picking up their pace, they had left in a hurry. They rode for a good long time at a full gallop. I suspected that Scar Face was now carrying the little one. I couldn’t imagine Moon Woman being able to hold her in the saddle at that pace. Most likely she would be doing all she could to keep herself on her pony even without the child. Like most people of the desert, the women only rode when they w
ere moving the village or on a trade mission. At those times, the pace would be slow.

  They would travel long this day changing horses often. Tonight they would have no fire. I would have a fire. I would have a big bright fire. They would not forget that I was still there and still tracking.

  When the sun hid his face behind the western mountains, I led my pony on into the night. The trail was not easy to follow, but they had left bold and hurried tracks. When their pace had slowed, I took that as a sign of where darkness had caught them. I built my fire. It was a good fire and I had an antelope that I’d shot earlier. Cutting up as much of the antelope as I could cook and take with me, I put the pieces on sticks and moved into the shadows to rest.

  Waking up, I saw that half the night had passed. My fire had burned low, but that was not a problem, it had served its purpose. I had given them notice and it had cooked my meat. I ate and watered my pony. I still had two water bags, which would be enough for several more days. This land was not a barren desert as it had been to the west. There was green in this place, and that meant there was water if it could be found.

  Adding a few more chunks of wood to my fire, I stowed the rest of the meat in a piece of buckskin and led my pony out of the firelight. We walked for a good long time. It was easy to see that their pace had slowed to a stumbling walk. Changing ponies often, was a good idea, but even when not being ridden, the ponies were still running and would need some rest and… water.

  I found a place where someone had fallen from their pony. That would most likely be Moon Woman, she would be least used to long rides into the night. They would need to rest soon…. I went on.

  Knowing that the wind was at my back, I walked with caution. Their ponies would sense and smell my roan, and might alert them to the presence of a strange horse. When I heard a pony snort and blow, I stopped and turned around and walked back a ways. Tying the roan to a mesquite bush, I moved on ahead. The blowing pony was not more than several hundred paces ahead, and as I had thought, there was no fire.

  They were camped in a wash, but their ponies were feeding on a little sparse grass and antelope brush on the bank above the camp. At least someone had the good sense to know that their animals needed food… no matter how poor. They would be in dire trouble without them. I thought for a brief moment to run off their livestock, but that would hurt the woman and the little one worse than the men. I was not at war with them, but they could die because of me.

  The horse guard was nowhere in sight, I had to find him before I did anything. Who it was would be of major importance. If it was Coyote, I would kill him where he stood or lay. If it was the young brave with the broken arm, I would leave him alive but with a sore head. If it was Scar Face, I would take no action… the time was not right. He would be the last to fall.

  At last I spotted the night watch. It was the young brave, and he was standing in the midst of the horses. The snort and blow had no doubt alerted him. I moved into the small herd and crawled under several to get in position behind the one armed warrior. He carried only his war club and a knife was in its sheath. It would be several moons before he could use a bow or lance, but he could survive if he was smart.

  Standing less than an arm’s length behind him, I changed my mind about this young man. I had given all the young men a chance to leave Scar Face. As a group, they would not take it, but this injured boy would have another chance.

  My arm went around him and came to rest under his chin as the holy man’s knife came to the base of his throat. He stiffened and started to bring his war club up. He would have little chance of swing it with any accuracy using his left hand, before the knife could go into his throat… and he knew it.

  I whispered into his ear, “You have only one slim chance to see the sunrise… it’s up to you. If you call out, I will plunge the knife into your throat. If you fight me, I will plunge the knife into your throat.”

  He made no effort to fight or reply. He was waiting to see what I would say next… he wasn’t ready to die here among these weary horses.

  There were seven horses in the group and I told him, “Take four of these animals and ride home or to the Chiricahua villages. You will have three extra ponies… that might afford you an ugly woman. Or wait until you have more ponies and get a pretty woman. But if you stay here, there will be no woman for you… ever.”

  He didn’t argue… he didn’t say anything; he just went about his business of selecting four ponies. He was surely expecting a bloodbath here tonight. I told him, “Lead them until the sun peeks over the mountains. Then ride south west into the mountains. The Chiricahua will find you and take you in.”

  He whispered, “What will I tell them?”

  “Tell them that Scar Face the Red Hand and Coyote were killed by a spirit wolf… Moon Woman and the child are gone forever… tell them the spirit wolf sent you to warn all Apaches that the price of raiding the Diné Navajo is high.”

  He walked off into the darkness leading four ponies. The stories he will tell will make him a big man in whatever village eventually became his home. I turned and walked back the way I had come. The night was at its darkest. The sky would be turning gray soon, and I was hungry again.

  I ate and prepared to move on when the sky was gray. There was no hurry. Scar Face no longer had ponies to change… no longer a fresh horse to jump on and ride. He would be held to what his horse could carry for how far the same as I was. Soon I would get rid of Coyote, and then it would be just him and me.

  By the time I reached their camp, I found them gone. I had expected that, but I would have liked to have been there to see his anger and frustration when he found that most of his ponies were gone. Not only did the young brave take four of his horses, but he took his best four horses.

  Good thinking would have told him to run the boy down and take his horses back, but that would mean going into Chiricahua land and possibly having to explain why he was running from one man, when they had started out seven strong. His pride would not permit that. He was thinking with the part of his brain where the pride lives, and in some men, that is the strongest and the most destructive part.

  It was still a long way before the land spread out and the mountains were only tall hills. We were still a long way from the river that runs south and on to the great lake that has no end…the river that runs through the homeland of my mother’s people.

  I followed for two more days. I could see that his horses were wearing down, as was my own. He was edging to the mountains looming on the northern edge of the plain. The only reason I could see to do that was to try and find water. They must be running low. I had enough for two days if I was careful. But there would be water in the mountains, and I would have better cover to move around and find a way to get rid of Coyote.

  My journey was almost completed. Once Coyote was out of the way, I could force the fight with Scar Face. Pride does many things to a man. It sucks the reason out of his thinking. When there were seven men against one man, it would have been no trouble to stop and wait for me. And with seven arrows aimed at my chest, I would have been dead many days past.

  But Scar Face could not let it be said that he needed six men to help him kill me. He had no shame in sending four of his men to track me. Nor did he hesitate sending two of his followers to ambush me. Those decisions he would put down to a leader sending his followers to fix a problem…. The problem was still there, and his followers were few.

  As we came to the foot hills of the mountains, the land changed. It was still rugged and mostly amounted to rocky sandy soil, but the hills and mountains behind them were much greener than the plain. Grass and brush were abundant in places, and those places meant there was water close by. I found a canyon that was choked with cedar and tall grass. It was as if the grass was flowing from the canyon onto the open land. There would be water in the canyon. It was coming from the mountains and losing itself in the sandy soil. All I had to do was find the source or dig for it.

  I found where it wa
s dripping from a crack in the back wall of the canyon and scooped out a small depression so it could fill. My pony didn’t seem to mind that the water was muddy. He was ready for a drink. I let him drink, and let him feast on the lush grass in the canyon while the water hole refilled and cleared. I drank and refilled the water bags.

  The sun was greeting a new day when we left the next morning. Both the roan and I were refreshed and ready to move on. As we got higher along the edge of the foot hills the trail became harder to follow. They were riding on a slope that was broken by canyons and from time to time a low bluff would mark the space between canyons. It was like the land had dropped and the hill stayed where it was leaving a wall of stone.

  I was riding and thinking of how those bluffs happened to come into existence. My mind was not where it should have been because an arrow flew past me and buried itself in the ground ahead of me. I turned in time to see Coyote riding hard at me from behind with his bow pulled and ready to shoot.

  All I could do was kick the roan and lean low to the right hoping to leave a small target. The second arrow was also lost in the grass. I was in no position to turn and shoot, so I wheeled the roan and charged straight at him with my lance ready to throw. We closed quickly and I threw, but I threw too soon and the blade had passed his body when the shaft slapped him in the face causing him to lose balance. He was still off balance when we collided with a glancing blow.

  I had pulled my left leg up and was hanging on the side of my pony, but Coyote was thrown to the ground. I had my hatchet in my hand and was on the ground by the time he was finding his feet. He had a war club in one hand and his flint knife in the other as we circled on the uneven ground.

  Coyote was taller than me with longer arms, but he was not well muscled like Scar Face. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in agility and quickness. He sprang like a flash of lightning with blade and club seeming to cross each other in the air between us over and over. I was driven back against a boulder.