L'Amour, Louis - Novel 011

by Last Stand At Papago Wells

  "Dont find too many out here."

  They sat together, watching the desert. The glare was terrible, although the afternoon was now almost gone, and in the last hours the sun seemed to shine with redoubled intensity. Cates took the glasses and searched the skyline toward Yuma, then that to the east.

  Nothing ... nothing at all.

  A bullet clipped rock near his glasses, then another. An arrow, apparently fired at random, came over the rocks and brush and landed near the fire. A third bullet clipped a neat hole in Lonnie Foremans hatbrim, and another harmless arrow dropped over the rocks.

  Cates steadied his rifle and waited. He saw sand slip near the crest of a dune ridge and fired, holding a little low. A hand flew up, seen a moment as it shot high, then slowly lowered. The fingers dug into the sand, clutching a handful, then slowly spreading out as the hand slipped from sight.

  "One down," Lonnie said. "That was a good shot."

  "It was a lucky shot. I just guessed he might be there."

  "Wonder what theyre planning out there?"

  Cates shrugged. "Who knows? I think Churupati is restless now. He has been expecting us to break and run for it. I think all his planning was for that ... to get us into the open. Weve held them here, they cant have much water, and no Indian wants to leave the rifles and horses theyd get if we ran for it."

  Down below in the rocks, Grant Kimbrough got to his feet. "Tonight then?" Webb asked. "Tonight," Kimbrough replied.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grant Kimbrough had made his decision. The party was doomed, and he did not intend to be a part of that doom. For several nights he had been studying a route among the rocks, and he had decided it allowed a safe passage, relatively free of observation, and one over which no sound would be made because of the sand.

  Webb could get the horses saddled, and when all was quiet during their watch, they would mount up and slip out. Give them a few miles start and no Indian pony was going to catch his thoroughbred. They could make it north and then west and they were sure to reach Yuma. On the river as it was, there was no way they could miss, for the Colorado made a moat across the whole west border of Arizona.

  Let Logan Cates play his game of sitting tight. He could have it. They would die here, of starvation if not of Indian arrows or bullets. Nobody would come, nobody knew where they were. Zimmerman wanted to come and Zimmerman had some idea of his own ... all right, let him. Three targets were better than two, and Zimmerman was a big man. In the darkness he was sure to attract most of the gunfire, if there was any, and Kimbrough was sure there would be none.

  He walked to where Jennifer was roasting some strips of mutton. She brushed a wisp of hair back from her face and smiled at him. She had changed in some way he could not define, she seemed more mature, more sure of herself. It was a change that disturbed him, why he could not have said.

  "No job for you," he said.

  "Somebody has to do it, and Junie does more than her share."

  "Well be out of it soon."

  She glanced at him. "Im glad to hear you say so. I thought you were beginning to think like the others, the ones who believe well never get out."

  "They may not, but you will."

  Her eyes searched his face. "What do you mean by that?"

  "That Im taking care of you, Jen, as I promised I would. I am going to see that you get out of here."

  Her eyes softened and she put her hand on his sleeve. "Of course, Grant. I never doubted that you were thinking of me."

  "Get some rest," he said; "youll need it."

  He walked away and she saw him go to his horse. He had been rustling extra feed for the thoroughbred these past two days, bringing it to the horse, and picking his hat full of mesquite beans as he lay in the brush.

  She made coffee and one by one they came to the fire to eat. Grant was in the best mood she had seen him since their arrival, and she was pleased. Yet when she glanced at Cates she was vaguely uneasy.

  Night was drawing near, and the first shadows were creeping out from the rocks, gathering in the hollow spaces, pointing long fingers from the cacti and the ocotillo, but it was a haunted evening. Each in his or her own way was feeling the sudden apprehension, and the Indians who had before seemed closed out now seemed desperately near. The burning of the brush walling the corral had opened a way into their fortress, had deprived them of at least a third of their remaining water, had left them feeling exposed to the dangers of the creeping night.

  Nobody talked, and yet nobody slept. All were restless, silent, alert for danger. Fear was a living thing among them. Webb mopped his slack-jawed face with a nervous hand. Taylors tough assurance was no longer stolid, he moved quickly at the slightest sound, on edge and jittery. Even Jim Beaupre was feeling it. He moved from place to place, studying the desert, eager for a shot at something. Only Tony Lugo seemed the same, and even the Pima was alert. His eyes, which were quiet as a rule, now seemed larger.

  They avoided each others eyes, each haunted by a knowledge they could no longer avoid, that death was near, that before another day was gone some of them here might not be alive. The burning of the brush had indicated a change, for it was something the Apaches might have done at any time. If they had not done it until now there had to be a reason.

  Grant Kimbrough felt relieved. The very fact that he had made a decision was a relief, and he had no doubt of success. Sure, they were taking a chance, but nothing was going to happen to him, and flight was the only way out now. He would get Jennifer out of this, and they could be married in Yuma.

  However, and the thought came to him suddenly, it might not be wise to leave Arizona just yet. If Jim Fair had tried to follow them he might now be dead, killed by the very Indians who lay out there in the rocks. And if that had happened Jennifer might now own all those vast acres and cattle. Yes, it would be wise to marry Jennifer as soon as they reached Yuma.

  The plans he had evolved were few and simple. He was soldier enough to know the more complicated the plan the less chance of its working. The horses were close to them; there was a way out into the boulders. Webb, Zimmerman and he would manage to get their horses to that side and under cover of darkness they would ride out and escape. It might be hours before the others realized they were gone. If he considered the fact that they would leave the rocks unguarded it was not for long. In this world one did what was best for one, and what happened to others could not be helped.

  Logan Cates, rolling a smoke near the coals of the fire, considered the situation that faced them. Actually, they were better situated for defense now than before, as their lines were tighter. They had almost no food for the horses, and the water was low; there were but eight horses to mount twelve people; and knowing the desert that lay ahead of them, Cates knew that at least one horse must be used to pack water. Otherwise they would never make it at all.

  He returned to his thoughts of attacking the Apaches. It had remained in the back of his mind ever since they had been cornered here, but the time must be carefully chosen, and now, he was sure, was the time. At first the Indians would have been too wary, too careful, yet now they would be sure of themselves, they would have settled into a routine, and they would not be expecting the whites to attack.

  Too large a party would make too much noise. It might be best if he did it alone, yet such an attack would be less effective. He decided, finally, that it must be three or four men. The selection of Lugo for one of them was immediate. He would be the best of them all on such an attack, and he would refuse to be left behind, anyway, Lonnie would want to go, and the remaining man must be one of the others. He considered Kimbrough, then passed over him. The man had been a horse soldier, no doubt brave enough, but not a man to crawl on his belly in the sand or lie still for what might be hours.

  Sheehan must be left behind because if anything happened while they were gone, he was the man to handle it. He wanted no part of Zimmerman or Webb, for he had faith in neither man. It boiled down to Taylor or Beaupre.

 
When the sun had gone the evening turned the desert into an enchanted place. A soft wind cooled the sands and took away the last of the heat, but it was a wind that just stirred the leaves and was not bold enough to brush branches aside or lift dust. Somewhere far out over the sand a quail called, and the mountains in the west, abandoned by the sun, grew dark with shadow and only the eastern ridges were bright.

  Taylor brought fuel to the fire and built it brighter, and Cates strolled to where Lugo sat watching the desert. He squatted on his heels beside the Pima. "Three, four hours from now," he said, "a few of us are going to hit the Apache where it hurts."

  "I come," Lugo said. "It is time."

  Cates remained, talking quietly with the Pima, telling him what he planned, anxious to get the Indians reactions. The man was a fighter and he knew the Apache; he would know if the plan was a wise one. But Lugo had no protests, he accepted the suggested route and had only a few comments to make on the probable placing of Apache sentries.

  Lonnie was next. The boy was talking to Junie, who was working over the fire, but when she left for a few minutes, Cates explained his purpose. He poked at the fire a bit, then lifted a burning stick to light his cigarette, talking around the cigarette. "You, Lugo and me," he said. "I think one more man."

  "Youre going to hit their camp?"

  "And get a couple of horses, if we can. Maybe four or five."

  "Thatll be tough."

  "Most of all I want to slow them down, make them sick of their job. By now they think were whipped."

  "All right ... whenever youre ready."

  "At eleven, then."

  In the last minutes of daylight a sudden smashing volley hit the camp. A bullet knocked the old pot off the fire, another scattered coals. Lonnie hit the ground hard and fired at the brush beyond the margin, and everyone scattered for shelter and firing positions. For a few minutes the fire came thick and fast. One of the horses screamed and reared but miraculously it was only a burn. Beaupre rolled into shelter behind a rock, then scrambled up and raced for a better firing position, and as suddenly the attack was over.

  The cooking pot was gone. One of the horses had been creased on the shoulder and Lonnie had had the top of his ear burned, yet they were badly shaken. It seemed unreasonable that the Indians could have been so close and no more serious injuries were sustained.

  "Maybe they want us alive," Beaupre said,

  Taylor lifted his head slowly and peered at Beaupre. "Thats fool talk. Why would they want us alive?"

  "Weve women here," Beaupre said grimly, "and an Apache can have a sight of fun with a living prisoner."

  Taylors features seemed to alter, his grimness left him, and some of his certainty. He looked from Jim Beaupre to Cates. "Theyd never do a thing like that," he said. "Why, thats crazy!"

  Yet it was apparent he believed they would. Every person in the southwest had heard stories of what an Apache could do with a living prisoner, and for the first time Taylor seemed to consider that possibility. He lowered his eyes and began trailing sand through his fingers. Nobody else said anything. Junie worked on Lonnie Foremans ear and Beaupre ran a ramrod through his rifle.

  The fire had burned low.

  Lugo was rubbing grease in the bullet burn on the horse, and several minutes passed without comment. Kimbrough was thinking of San Francisco ... once away from here hed never come back. If Fair was dead, and the ranch was theirs, theyd sell out and go back East. This was no country for a sensible man.

  The stars came out, the night wind stilled, somewhere a coyote called. The faint glow from the coals showed on Beaupres seamed face and glinted from the rifle barrel as he worked. One of the horses stamped and blew. Leaning his head back against a rock, Sergeant Sheehan sang Theyre Tenting Tonight On The Old Camp Ground in a fair Irish tenor. The mournful sound of the song lifted above the little circle among the rocks, and as he sang, Jennifer put sticks on the coals and a little flame began to rise.

  The firelight played on their faces and when the song died there was silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It lacked two hours of midnight and the camp was asleep when Webb finished saddling the horses. He had worked carefully and not a sound had disturbed the sleeping people. Grant Kimbrough was up on the rocks and Zimmerman was somewhere in camp.

  Webb had filled Catess two canteens and a couple of others and they were strapped on one of the horses. He got his own rifle and carried it to Catess dun horse, which he had selected to ride. The zebra dun had the look of a good horse and it was all he wanted ... he knew nothing about the duns nature or that he possessed the disposition of a fiend and the cunning of a Missouri mule.

  When he was through he went up into the rocks to Kimbrough. "Hows it look?" he whispered.

  "Couldnt be better. Not a move down there; still as a grave."

  Webb shivered a little, but it might have been the cool air. "Then were ready, any time." he said.

  For a moment longer Kimbrough hesitated. There was in him a queer reluctance to leave his post. He had been a soldier and he knew what it could mean to have a sentry absent from his post; a man who has the lives of others in his trust has no right to sleep, no right to leave that post. Yet this was not the Army, and there had been no trouble at night.

  "Wheres Zimmerman?"

  "Around. He slipped off somewhere."

  "All right," Kimbrough had made up his mind. "Ill get Miss Fair."

  Webb hesitated. He had said nothing but the idea of taking Jennifer Fair did not appeal to him. She was a responsibility and he shirked such things by nature. "Think we oughtta?" he asked. "Look, Colonel, I think"

  "Shes going," Kimbrough said flatly. "Get on down there now."

  Webb left, swearing to himself. "Think he was my bloody commandin officer!" he muttered.

  Zimmerman was ready ... almost. There was one thing he wanted, and one thing he intended to have. He wanted the saddlebags Big Maria had brought into camp. Right now he was out in the rocks at the edge of the area, working around to the place where those bags must have been cached. Like Logan Cates, he had seen Maria slip away from the camp and hide them, and he had his own idea where they were. What was more, he was quite sure where they had come from.

  For the past years Zimmerman had been thinking about that gold himself. A prisoner at Fort Yuma had whispered to him the story about the gold at the mines at Quitovac and had told him how easy it would be to get. The whispered information had been a bribe to escape, and Zimmerman let him go ... and then shot him dead.

  The mine was not far south of the border. There was one American there and four or five peons. A tough man or couple of men could handle it alone if nobody had an idea what they came for, and Zimmerman had been planning just that. Now he was quite sure that it was just this gold Big Maria had, and he wanted it.

  Grant Kimbrough stooped over Jennifer and touched her shoulder. Almost at once, her eyes opened. "Jen," he whispered, "come on. Were going!"

  She sat bolt upright. "Going? Where?" She swept the sleeping camp. "Oh? Youre going with Cates?"

  "Cates?" he was puzzled. Jennifer had overheard a few words about the planned foray, and she had immediately surmised this was what he planned. "He has nothing to do with this! Come on, were riding to Yuma!"

  "Grant! You dont mean it! Youd leave ... youd desert them all?" Then she remembered. "Grant, arent you supposed to be on guard?"

  "Are you going to argue?" He was growing angry. "Let Cates hold these people if he wants to! I tell you, Jen, theyll all be killed, and we will too if we dont get out! Come on, your horse is saddled."

  She got out from under her blanket and stood up. She thought of Yuma, of a town, houses, people, safety. Then she said something she would never have believed she could say. "Im not going, Grant. Im staying here."

  He stared at her, coldly furious. What fool idea was this? "Jen," he began patiently, "you dont understand. Cates hasnt a chance of getting these people out of here alive; theyre trapped, and he knows it. Bu
t all of us arent so foolish as to stay; were going out, and in a few hours well be safe in Yuma."

  She hesitated. The camp around her was still. She could not see Cates, but he could be no more than a few yards away. It would be so easy ... a swift ride over the darkening desert and they would be free, away from this and riding toward Yuma, marriage, and the world of cities, of ladies and gentlemen, of afternoon teas and pleasant, idle chatter.

  It was what she wanted, and after all, what did these people mean to her? What could they mean? Logan Cates was a footloose cowhandor worse, a man as like her father as another man could be. And who were the others? Such people as she had occasionally passed in the street, but nobody she would ever have known but for this.

  "Youll have to hurry, Jennifer," he said, "were all ready. Webb and Zimmerman are going with us."

  She started forward, then stopped. "You go ahead, Grant, Ill stay here."