L'Amour, Louis - Novel 011

by Last Stand At Papago Wells

"Whos with the horses?" Cates asked.

  "Kimbrough," Lugo said. "He watch horses."

  Logan Cates considered that but saw nothing in it that was dangerous. It was true that Kimbrough had always held a position in the rocks or in the brush along the edge of the arroyo, but there were no assigned positions, and a man could choose his own.

  "Is he alone?"

  "A soldier is with him."

  Lonnie Foreman was hunched in the shade talking to Junie. He was stripped to the waist and Junie was mending a rent in his shirt. Beaupre and Zimmerman were digging a grave for Styles in the lower arroyo not far from where the horses were. Webb paced restlessly; Kimbrough was busy with his own thoughts. Logan Cates picked up his Winchester, checked the load and then climbed up in the rocks, noting the water level as he went by. Although the water had fallen considerably since their arrival, there was still enough ... if they did not stay too long.

  Conley was on watch in the rocks. "Nothin," he said, "just nothin at all. I never seen so much of nothin."

  Heat waves shimmered and the buzzards, high against the brassy sky, described long, loose circles. Nothing else moved. Cates sat down on a rock and mopped the sweat from his face. His clothing smelled of stale sweat and dust and his eyes were tired of the endless glare of sun on sand and rock. He laid the Winchester across his knees and swore softly.

  "My sentiments," Conley said. "I cant figure why I ever come to this country. My folks had them a good farm back in Kentucky. Right nice place ... used to be parties or dances every Saturday night, and folks come from miles around. Now here I am stuck in a rocky desert with every chance Ill lose my hair. Why does a body come to this country?"

  Cates took out the makings and began to build a cigarette. Sweat got in his eyes and they smarted. "You got me, soldier, but you stay a while and it grows on you."

  "Not on me. If I get out of this fix Im takin off. Im goin to those gold fields and find myself a job. I know a fellow in Grass Valley ... Ever hear a nicer name? Grass Valley. Makes a man think of cool, green meadows an streams. Maybe it aint like that, but Id sure like to give it a try."

  Logan Cates lifted the cigarette to touch the edge of the paper to his tongue when he saw the movement. He dropped the cigarette and swung the Winchester. All he saw was a flickering movement and Conleys body jerked sharply. He turned half around as if to speak to Cates, then fell, tumbling over and over among the rocks as Catess own shot followed the sound of the shot that killed Conley.

  Cates fired and saw his bullet kick sand. He fired again, into the brush, then tried a shot at a shelf of rock hoping for a ricochet into the concealed position from which the Indian had fired.

  Ofl the instant, all were alert. Beaupre had run forward, lifting Conley from the rocks as if he were a child. It was no use; the soldier was dead. Two gone. Styles and Conley. How many were to go? Out there again the desert was a silent place, a haunted place.

  Zimmerman mopped his face and peered into the brush. When he lifted his hand to brush away the sweat it was trembling. The death of Conley had shocked them all. It had come so suddenly, and that attractive, pleasant young soldier was smashed suddenly from existence. It was proof enough, if proof was needed, that their every move was watched, that the Apaches had made a tight cordon around them, watching, waiting.

  Suddenly the desert had become a place of menace; its very silence was evil, its heat was a threat. The sinking level of the water was obvious to them all, their food was growing less, and the forage for the horses was all but a thing of the past. The horses had eaten the grass down to the roots, sparse as it had been, they had eaten the leaves and the mesquite beans.

  The faces of the men were taut, sullen, and frightened, as they waited in place, staring at the blinding glare of the sun-blasted sand and waiting for a target that never appeared.

  Even Sergeant Sheehan was feeling the pressure. He looked drawn and old now, and his square shoulders sagged a little. "Theyll get us all, Cates," he said. "Were whipped."

  Chapter Eleven

  Logan Cates searched the empty desert with his red-rimmed eyes. Nowhere was a sound or a movement. The sun seemed to have spread over the entire sky, and there was no shade. The parched leaves of the mesquite hung lifeless and still, and even the buzzards that hung in the brassy vault above them seemed motionless.

  The rocks were blistering to the touch, the jagged lava boulders lay like huge clinkers in the glowing ashes of a burned-down fire. The heat waves drew a veil across the distance. Cates opened his shirt another button and mopped his face with his bandanna. He shifted the rifle in his sweaty hands, and searched the desert for something at which to shoot.

  Lonnie Foreman crawled up in the rocks and seating himself, took a healthy pull at his canteen, then passed it to Cates. The water tasted flat and dull, lukewarm from the canteen.

  "Its awful down there." Foreman gestured toward the deeper arroyo where the horses were held. "Like an oven."

  "They can cover the horses from up higher. Tell Lonnie to come on up."

  Foreman slid off the rocks and when he stood up on the main level he walked slowly away, his boots grating on the rock. He walked past the narrow shelf of shade under which the three women sat. Nobody cared about the fire, nobody wanted coffee. Despite the shortage of food, nobody was even hungry.

  Cates watched the men retreat to the higher level. They could watch the horses as well from there, and the defensive position was better. He was afraid of that corral now ... he could not say why, but it seemed the most vulnerable, and the Apaches would want what horses they could get, either to ride or eat. Pulling the defenders back meant his line of defense was tighter, more compact, better sheltered.

  Nothing stirred out there. Now that the men had been pulled back he could hear their conversation. Cates sat quietly among the rocks, ready for anything. Evidently the Apaches had observed the construction of the corral when it was first built, for no attempt had been made to stampede the horses, nor for some time had any effort been made to kill them, so evidently they believed they would have them all before many days had passed.

  Nothing moved. From down by the waterhole someone was swearing in a heavy, monotonous voice. A fly buzzed near and lighted on Catess face. He brushed it with an irritable hand and a bullet spat fragments of granite in his face as the sound went echoing down the hills.

  He hunched lower, and, peering between the rocks, tried to find a target. He glanced down to see Zimmerman squatting near Big Maria, whispering. The big womans face was lowered and Cates could not discern what effect the words were having, if any. They had drawn apart from the others. It was very hot, and very still.

  Sheehan found a place in the thin shade and stretched out, trying to rest before the night watch. Kimbrough and Webb sat side by side in the rocks, talking as they kept a lookout.

  Logan Cates tried to think of an escape. There had to be a way to get out of here, there was always a way. No matter how he squinted his eyes over the desert and tried to think of some way out, none came to him. By this time, however, the Army knew its patrol was lost or in trouble, and they would know the sheriffs posse was in the same situation. The fact that two well-armed parties had vanished in the same area at the same time was sufficient warning of what must be happening out there. Also, there could have been little or no desert travel in the meantime which would be evidence enough of an Indian outbreak. By this time there would be speculation and undoubtedly a search party was being organized.

  In Tucson, Jim Fair would have given up the search or would by this time have started west, and being the man he was, Cates was quite sure that if Fair realized his daughter had run into trouble, he would be heading west without delay. Nor would they take too long in finding them at Papago Wells. There was, therefore, a double reason for alertness. They must be prepared to warn any search parties of a trap.

  Cates began considering a smoke signal ... yet there was little fuel, and what there was must be conserved until there was absolute nec
essity.

  It was beyond reason that Churupati and his renegades could exist out in those blistering rocks, but they were doing it, and the fact that the slightest incautious movement by the defenders brought a well-aimed shot was evidence enough.

  Zimmerman got up suddenly. "To hell with this!" he said suddenly. "Im gettin out of here!"

  Nobody replied. Lonnie Foreman got up and walked over to the rocks to climb up and relieve Cates. Kimbrough spat into the sand at his feet. His coat had long since been discarded and his shirt was torn and dirty. There was a thick stubble of beard on his jaws and his eyes seemed to have thinned and grown mean. They studied Zimmerman now, but he offered no comment.

  The big man stood in the center of the open space and glared around him. "Im ridin out of here tonight, and anybody who wants to come is welcome!"

  Cates reached the ground near him. He turned slowly. "Zimmerman, forget it. Well all be out of here before long. Just sit tight."

  Zimmerman turned sharply around. "When I need advice from you, Ill ask it. Im ridin out of here at daylight."

  "If you want to leave, just go ahead. But youre not riding."

  "No?" Zimmerman measured him with insulting eyes. "Youre stoppin me, I suppose?"

  Sheehan was suddenly awake. "Zimmerman! His voice rang in the space between the walls. "Sit down and shut up!"

  Zimmerman did not even turn to glance at Sheehan. He simply ignored the command, his eyes on Cates. "I dont like you, Cates. I never have. All youve done is say sit tight. Well, Im tired of it, and when I want to ride, Im ridin, and when I ride, Im ridin your horse. What do you think of that?"

  Zimmerman took a step nearer. Cates held his ground, his face expressionless. Beaupre was watching him with a kind of fascinated attention, and Grant Kimbrough sat up, curious.

  "Sit down, Zimmerman, and forget it. The heats getting to us all." Logan Cates was cool. "By this time the search parties are preparing. Well be out of here soon."

  "Ill be out when I want to go," Zimmerman said, "but theres something Im going to do before I leave. Im going to take that little pistol away from you and"

  Cates struck, and swiftly as he struck, Zimmerman slapped down Catess left hand with his left, leaving his chin open. Catess right was a flickering instant behind the left and it struck the bigger mans jaw as the butt of an ax strikes a log. Everybody in the clearing heard the thud of the blow and saw Zimmermans knees buckle, but the left and right followed so swiftly that Zimmerman hit ground from the force of all blows. He sat stunned and shaken for an instant, while Cates coolly drew back to let him get up. Suddenly, realization seemed to reach Zimmerman and he came off the ground with a lunge and began to close in; his arms were widespread for grasping.

  Cates stood very still and let him come and then as Zimmerman lunged, Cates stepped in with a smashing left to the mouth. His lips split, Zimmerman followed through, grabbing at Cates, who turned swiftly inside of the enveloping arms and threw Zimmerman with a rolling hiplock. The big man hit the ground hard. Zimmerman started to rise, and Cates told him, "Dont get up, Zimmerman, or Ill take you apart."

  Zimmerman stayed where he was, on his hands and knees, and after a minute Cates walked away to steady himself. He was shaken by the fight. Zimmerman, for all his bulk, knew little of fighting and to have continued would have meant a needless slaughter. Yet he knew with such a man there was never an end. Zimmerman would not forget.

  Nobody said anything, and after a while Zimmerman got slowly to his feet and walked to the far end of the arroyo.

  "What did you prove?" Taylor asked, looking up at Cates.

  Cates ignored the question. "Weve got to stay here. Its our only chance. Out in the open, with several of us walking, and women to think of, we wouldnt have a chance. And believe me, that stretch of country from here to Yuma is one of the worst in the world." He turned to Taylor. "You know it is."

  "Ive been over it before," Taylor declared, "and I can do it again."

  "You didnt have women to think of," Cates said, "and you probably had water."

  Taylor got up and stalked away to the far side of their area, ignoring the comment. He sat down with Webb and Kimbrough. Big Maria after a moment got up and walked after him. For a moment Logan Cates looked at them, then glanced away.

  Lonnie called down from above. "Logan. Somethin stirrin up out there!"

  He scrambled quickly into the rocks, but the desert showed nothing at all, nothing but the same rocks, the same brush, the same shimmering heat waves, the same

  The arrow came out of the desert from the rocks down near the arroyo, from the rocks out of sight behind the brush that lined it at that place. It came over and it trailed a dark trail of smoke.

  "Lugo! Jim! Grab the horses! Fire !"

  Everyone was on their feet in an instant. The arrow dropped into the brush that formed the corral. There was a brief silence, then a crackle of flame.

  Lugo had been quick. He had glimpsed the arrow even as it fell and he made a running dive and scooped sand into the brush and he was lucky. His first scooped double handful lit right on the tiny blaze, and then a second arrow came, and a third. The second was a clean miss, landing in the sand somewhere back of the brush, but the third lit. Beaupre was there now, and Taylor, all desperately throwing sand.

  Yet Cates could see from his vantage point that there was no hope. They might extinguish one or a dozen, but the Apaches would keep trying and they would get one arrow where they wanted it. That dry brush would go up like tinder and nothing would be left of the corral.

  "Sheehan!" he shouted. "Get the horses up here! Fast!" Sheehan was moving even as Cates yelled and Cates turned swiftly. "Pay no attention to the fire, Lonnie. They may try to attack now!"

  Kimbrough had reached the same conclusion and hurriedly got into the rocks to face south toward the lava, his rifle ready. Zimmerman was in the rocks facing north. Suddenly he fired, and then Lonnie fired.

  "Missed!" Lonnie said bitterly. "If I could get in just one good shot!"

  Cates glanced around at the fire. Another arrow had hit further back, out of reach, and suddenly the wall of brush was swept by roaring, crackling flame. "Back!" he yelled. "Back to the rocks!"

  Sheehan, working swiftly with Webb and Jennifer, was already bringing the horses into the rocks, and the others retreated swiftly and fell down in firing positions. The flames roared and the stifling heat beat against their faces, yet they lay still, watching.

  The lower tank was lost to them now. With the brush gone the Indians could cover it effectively and there would be no chance to get water from there. And that was the one where the horses had watered. It was low now, little water remained, but enough to have lasted another day, at least. And they must share their water with the horses.

  Their position was tighter, and it was still strong. It was still a formidable position to attack by any charge, but the net was drawn closer, and there was less room, less water, less food.

  For half an hour the brush blazed, then settled down to smoldering, blackened heaps. And overhead the sun blazed from horizon to horizon, and the heat shimmered, and the patient buzzards soared and waited.

  Nobody spoke. Their brief efforts in the heat of the sun had left Beaupre and Lugo exhausted. Taylor looked pale, and for once had nothing to say. Each one was impressed with the seriousness of their position, and each realized all the implications.

  It was Kimbrough who voiced their feeling. "Now what do we do, Cates? Do we sit tight?"

  "We do."

  Taylor glared at him; Zimmerman looked his disgust. But it was Beaupre who said, "Hes playin with us, Churupati is; hes playin with us like a cat plays with a bird. He knows hes got us, he knows we cant get away. Hes just havin himself some fun."

  It was hot. There were only thin strips of shade where the rocks cast a slight shadow. The lava caught the blasting heat and reflected it into their faces, for the shade the brush below had offered was gone now. They sat around, stupid with the shock of what had hap
pened, empty of thought.

  Without waiting for help, Cates began shifting stones to provide added protection and after a minute or two, Lugo joined him, then Beaupre. Jennifer glanced at Kimbrough but he huddled in deep conference with Webb and Zimmerman and offered no help.

  They had water for two, perhaps three days longer; even that meant half rations. Their food was sufficient for three slight meals.

  When he climbed back up the rocks, Lonnie glanced at him. "What do we do now?" he asked.

  Cates shrugged and tried to huddle into the shade that was gathering behind a boulder as the sun moved westward. "All we can do is wait. You can bet they arent having it easy, either." He studied the back of his hand thoughtfully. "I think we might try an attack tonight."

  "I want to go."

  "Wellmaybe." Cates looked up at him. "How are you and Junie making it?"

  Lonnie flushed. "Shes a mighty nice girl."