Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  The club came up and started its arc toward my head. At the last instant I turned and his club crashed into the boulder smashing the deadly chert spike that was imbedded in it. If he had continued slashing with the club and knife he would have had me in real trouble with his longer reach. But he wanted to kill with one smashing blow, which gave me the opening to spin out of his reach.

  As I turned, I swung back around and took a hack at him with my hatchet. The blade cut a gash in his side just above his left hip bone. Blood was streaming from it, and he pressed his elbow to his side, as if to keep the blood from flowing. He backed off with an awkward tilt to his upper body. His eyes were burning holes into me, and his right arm still brandished that oaken war club.

  The club swooshed past my face and each time it did, I would instinctively draw my head back. His next move came as fast as his first attack. He lunged and swung his club from right to left. But he was still tilted holding his side, and his balance wasn’t what it could have been. I warded off the blow by raising my left arm and taking the hit on the back of the big arm muscle. The pain shot up my arm and temporarily numbed it, but I had to take advantage of his awkward position.

  I put everything I had into a chop to his ribs with my hatchet. The blade was sideways like chopping a tree. He tried to turn away only to expose his chest. The heavy blade went through rib bones like they were brittle sticks and into his lungs. He tried to gasp a breath, but only choked and dropped to his knees. The only thing holding him up was my hand on the hatchet handle.

  As I pulled the hatchet from his chest, blood from his mouth streamed over the blade. He dropped face down in the grass. I wiped the blood and gore on his saddle blanket and collected my lance and my pony. Then I took his scalp.

  Leaning against my pony, I stood exhausted and drenched with sweat on shaky legs. The back of my arm hurt, and it felt as if a thousand hornets were attacking my hand and fingers. I knew that would go away.

  Chapter 21

  I left Coyote in a wash and crumbled the bank over him. The Coyotes would find him soon and he would go home to his kin…. A fitting end.

  Now was the time to end my journey. Scar Face was alone, except for Moon Woman and the child, but they were no concern of mine… They were but two Apache females. By rights, I could kill them both and give them no more than a backward glance.

  There had been so much killing… so much blood that I felt empty inside. I had killed thirteen Apaches, but my heart still ached for Soft Breeze and the babies. I had taken thirteen Apache scalps. Nine scalps were hanging from my lance, and four had been returned to the families of those who had fallen. I returned them not to bring comfort for the families, but to show my contempt for the Apache warriors…. I felt no better about the loss of my family.

  A small narrow canyon with a waterhole was my night’s resting place. I had picked up the pace, but not enough to make use of the extra pony that I now had on a lead line. My reason for not hurrying was that, Scar Face was not hurrying. He was probably waiting for Coyote to catch up, and they would continue to the Kiowa country together.

  The sun was barely over the peaks to the east when I found their camp. There had been a small fire. I guessed it had been there to guide Coyote. When he hadn’t shown, Scar Face and Moon Woman had left in a hurry. Riding Coyote’s pony, I was about to dig my heels into his sides, when something seemed out of place.

  I had become used to the prints in their camps. I knew which belonged to Scar Face and which belonged to Coyote, as well as those of Moon Woman and of course the child. It took me only a brief span of time to figure out what was wrong. Moon Woman was not on her horse. She was walking behind.

  I stopped and dismounted to look closer. She had run for about a hundred paces. I could see where her moccasin prints were overlaying the pony tracks. When she had run as far as she could, she seemed to give up and drop to her knees. She must have stayed that way for a long time because toes of her moccasins had dug into the sandy soil. Her feet had moved of their own will, as she knelt.

  The signs were easy to read. Scar Face had taken her pony and left her afoot and stranded. She had run after him and then knelt there weeping, as women are prone to do. When Coyote had not returned, Scar Face needed her pony more than he needed her, so he took what was more valuable to him.

  No doubt, he had taken the child with him. The Apaches, like the Diné and others of our language, set a great value on children. It’s not uncommon to kill the parent and take the child to raise as our own. Many Diné, Pima, or Apache have adopted Spanish children after killing the parents. If the child shows certain qualities, the child will survive.

  To her credit, Moon Woman got up and followed the galloping ponies. I would have expected nothing less of the daughter of a chief. Some would have knelt there until they died. Others would have left crazy tracks running here and there, or they would have turned and walked toward home… But this one put one foot in front of another and followed her child.

  By late morning her trail was beginning to weave a little. She probably had no water or food with her. I wouldn’t expect Scar Face to be that considerate. My guess would be that he already considered her a part of another life… she was dead to him now. But that strong woman was tracking him. He had greater problem than a spirit wolf on his trail… he had a determined mother following him.

  The sun was at its highest point when I saw her up ahead. She was struggling, but she was still putting one foot in front of the other. And she was still walking on the pony tracks. She must have sensed my presence or heard the pony’s hooves on the soft earth because she turned and looked over her shoulder.

  I could almost feel the panic run through her, as she broke into a frantic run. It was a futile move because I easily ran her down. Leaning to the right, I reached down and scooped her off the ground and brought my pony to a halt. Then I lifted her over and in front of me, to set her back down on the other side and slid to the ground beside her.

  Her first move was to bolt and try to run again. I took hold of her sleeve and pulled her back. She turned back with a knife in her right hand and would have done some damage if I hadn’t seen it in time. Holding her knife hand with my left, I reached to take her knife and she started kicking me… I was beginning to wonder why I cared if she was out her alone without food and water.

  I stood and let her get it all out of her heart. She was doing the only thing she knew to do under the circumstances, and that was to fight. Her blows were mostly to my arms and shoulders, and although they had a bit of sting to them, they didn’t do any harm, and she felt better for having done them. She was a fighter…. I respected that.

  The events of the day and the long march she had made had taken its toll on the wife of Scar Face, for her anger and fear soon waned and she slumped to the ground. She sat on her feet with her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed, as she waited for me to deliver the death blow.

  Walking back to the roan, I took one of the water bags and carried it back to her. She seemed to be surprised when I told her to drink. She opened her eyes and turned her tear streaked face toward me and took the water bag. She was a practical woman, if she was going to die here in the dirt, at least she would die with her thirst quenched.

  When she had finished, she handed the water bag back to me, and then she took her former position waiting to die. I took her under her arm and lifted her to her feet, and then I set her on Coyote’s pony. Then I mounted the roan and took her rein.

  “You are not going to kill me?” she asked.

  “That was part of my plan,” I told her, “but killing you would serve no purpose.”

  We rode off at a good pace and in silence. There would be days ahead of us before we caught up with Scar Face. There would be time to speak. I had lost time following Moon Woman. We would be a full day behind him by the time we made camp this night. The land was empty, and we would not be likely to see any others here. We were in the land between… If we saw anyone they could be Ap
ache, Kiowa, Diné, or maybe Spanish.

  I pulled some jerky from my pouch and handed it to her; she took it eagerly and thanked me with a nod. She had only said a few words by the time the sun started to make the shadows long. I looked for a place to make camp. I wanted to find a place with grass for the ponies and water… a place to have a fire and not fear that it would be seen. There were two jackrabbits hanging from my waist by a thong.

  I had a feeling that Moon Woman had not been eating well, and that was mostly because of me. I had harassed them to the point that there was no time to hunt since their forces began to dwindle.

  We found water in one place and moved on to find a place to spend the night. I noted that Scar Face had not stopped for water but raced on ahead.

  “Does he have much water?” I asked.

  She thought for a few heart beats and said, “No… only a little and Small Dove will be thirsty.” Her eyes grew wet, and she looked as if she would start to weep.

  “The way he’s running his ponies, he will lose one soon if he doesn’t find water. I believe he is saving his water for himself and the child. He can go a long time with little water, so he is likely saving the water for the child.”

  She tried to smile at that, but I could still see the worry on her face. Moon Woman was not a beautiful woman. She would have been worth no more than three or four ponies, and would have gone to a low ranking brave, had her father not been chief. A warrior of Scar Face’s status would never have taken her had her father not held power.

  There was something comfortable about her features. For what she lacked in beauty, she made up for in her will to find and protect her child. I had the notion that she would endure any abuse or hardship to recover her baby… she was a fighter.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  Late in the afternoon, we saw that he had slowed his pace. His animals were spent and one was lagging well behind. He could no longer keep up. Still Scar Face was passing potential water holes without searching or even stopping to look.

  Scar Face was a powerful man and a renowned warrior. He would have more than an even chance of victory if he were to turn and face me in single combat. True, I had bested him once, but I had been blessed by the spirits. The spirits showed me an opening and I plunged through it.

  Perhaps he believes my medicine is too strong for him. I do not believe my medicine is any more powerful than any other warrior; I am only driven to avenge the loss of my family. All I wanted was to grow corn, herd sheep, hunt for meat, and grow old with my Soft Breeze.

  The next morning we saw the black birds of death circling over head. Moon Woman gasped at the sight of them, I’m sure she feared they were circling her daughter. I told her they were likely there for the lagging pony. But I could see that she still worried. It is no easy matter to be a father, but it must be tenfold harder to be a mother.

  The pony had started wandering away from the trail and coming back since the early morning, so we left the track to make sure the bird were actually circling a pony and not a person…. We found the pony dead in the brush. The birds hadn’t started on him yet, so I cut some steaks, and we left.

  I feared that Scar Face may be starting to leave his senses. This was not a barren desert. There was water here and he was in no real immediate danger from me, but he let a perfectly good pony die from a forced run and no water. If he didn’t find water soon, he would be left afoot and with a small child to care for…. I didn’t say anything to Moon Woman, but I was beginning to worry about the little one.

  I could see that his pony no longer had any run left. It was moving at a walk and only occasionally could it be prodded into a stumbling trot, which lasted only a short time. We were gaining time on Scar Face and the child… we were less than a half a day behind. Moon Woman urged me to hurry, but the last thing I wanted, was to race into a trap. We moved on at a good steady pace.

  The next morning we found where the pony had stopped and would go no farther. The tracks showed that Scar Face and the little one moved ahead slowly, but the pony stood where it was for a good long time before it moved. It moved ahead and finally turned into a canyon. We followed and found it standing in a small pool of muddy water. The animal was gaunt and lifeless. The water hole was small and no deeper than the pony’s hooves, but it should be enough to save the poor beast.

  “We are very close.” I told her. “You wait here, and I’ll go finish this.”

  She looked at me like I had slapped her and said, “No… I’ll not wait anywhere. My baby needs me. You do what you need to with Red Hand… I don’t care. I only care about Small Dove, and she will need her mother.”

  I knew there was no arguing with her, and I couldn’t blame her so I said, “I will try to separate him from the child. If she can come to you, put her on your pony and wait for me.” I handed her my bow and a few arrows. “If he kills me, shoot him… shoot him anywhere. If you don’t kill him you may be able to slow him down. Then take both ponies and go back to the last place we took water, and fill the bags. From there, you must ride to the southwest… to the Chiricahua. It is your only chance.”

  We left the pony standing in muddy water and led our animals as we followed the trail of Scar Face and the little one.

  Chapter 22

  We walked until Moon Woman began to fall behind, so I put her on her pony, and then we went on. Scar Face would carry the child for a while, and then he would put her down to walk some more. She was near collapse, but she was game and she kept going until he picked her up again.

  Up ahead, I could see a cut running back into the hillside. It was no more than a ragged wash, where water had removed a section of soil from the rocky hill side. It wasn’t deep, but the walls were high, and I could see the tops of cottonwoods rising above the walls… there would be water there.

  It would be a perfect place to stop and rest up. I didn’t know how Scar Face was thinking or even if he was. But I knew he didn’t have a pony and he would want mine, so I was doubly cautious as I approached the cut with Moon Woman crowding me from behind. I was trying to keep her from moving ahead and running into the open, where she would be easily killed. I held out my arm to block her, but she went under and around me. She ran a few steps and stopped as she saw Small Dove sitting in the sand playing with a stick.

  The child saw the movement and looked up. She was on her feet and running to her mother crying out her name. They were about thirty paces apart running to each other. The bow and three arrows were dropped in the dust as mother and daughter came together. Moon Woman swooped the girl into her arms and ran back toward the entrance.

  Scar Face was instantly on his feet in an attempt to catch them, when he saw me. He turned, snatched up his lance, and threw it. The distance was long for a good throw, and I was able to lean back and avoid the weapon. Before the lance skidded along the sandy soil beyond me, he had armed himself with knife and war club.

  His was not a club with pieces of sharp rock embedded in a ball of oak. It was a huge flint ax, the like and size of which I’d never seen. The weight of it must have been awesome. It was a terrible weapon, and it would take a powerful man to wield it. He handled it with ease… with a flick of his wrist he could make the ax dance to his will.

  I had forgotten how big and strong he was, but I remembered how I had bested him before with speed and agility. I couldn’t match his strength, but I had to kill him, both for my sake and the sakes of mother and daughter waiting beyond the entrance. She had forgotten everything I had told her. She only knew she had her Small Dove back.

  He stood there with a knife in one hand and that terrible ax in the other with an evil smile on his face. His eyes showed a light that was not of this earth. He had gone beyond his own control. A demon had crawled into the skin of Scar Face and I would have to do battle with it. I would need those spirits. If they were anywhere near, I prayed they would lend a helping hand.

  We cautiously circled, each man taking the measure of the other. He flicked that terrible ax at my hea
d, and I drew back causing him to miss. Then he took a full swing, but I was able to block it with my hatchet. The instant the two weapons collided I felt the jolt all the way up my arm, but an amazing thing happened. As the flint met steel, a great shower of sparks erupted. We both jumped back in surprise.

  I had seen the Spanish men start fires that way on trading trips to their settlements. Scar Face must have thought he had created magic because he roared with a demonic laugh. He became excited and started swinging the ax with an awful force. Some strokes I was able to avoid completely, while others I met with a jolt and flying sparks. He kept pushing me back, and I kept retreating looking for my chance.

  He would try to pin me against the rocks and boulders. I was able to maneuver my way out of his traps, but always backing away, I had to be careful of my footing… a trip would mean certain death. He had pushed me up against the stone wall of this washed out cut, and he measured me for a killing blow.

  As that skull crushing ax came down, I ducked under his arm and slipped outside his swing. He tried to stop me with his knee, but I was past it by the time it moved. As I slipped by, I gave him a back handed blow to his shoulder blade. I expected the blade to sink into muscle and bone, but it only left torn flesh. The punishing blows the steel had taken from his stone ax must have dulled the cutting edge, but it was still a deadly weapon in its own right… and it was the best I had.

  I could tell I’d hurt him with the blow to his back, by the way he arched his back and the grunt he uttered. He came around and any question I may have had about his sanity was answered by the rage in his eyes the intensity of his rush to maim me. He had dropped his knife and was using both hands to swing his war ax. My only hope was to keep out of his reach and take any opportunity I had to inflict damage. I thought if I could get to his fallen lance, maybe I could ward him off with it and maybe get a good thrust to the belly.