Desert Crossing

by Short, Luke;

  Why had he let himself be annoyed? Thornton was merely a soft, undoubtedly sharp trader who lived in a world of ledgers that had no appeal to Dave. Or did his annoyance stem from the fact that Juliana Frost seemed to like Thornton, maybe with a fondness that could be called love? In plainer words, was he jealous of Thornton?

  The thought was sobering. If he was jealous of Thornton, maybe that also explained his impatience with Juliana, who seemed to favor Thornton over himself.

  For the first time in months Dave made a close examination of himself, and unconsciously raised his gloved hand to touch his eyepatch. Since his accident in the closing days of the war he had accepted the fact that he was something of a freak. Given the choice of two personable men, one with one eye, the other with two, a normal girl would choose the latter, Dave thought. And, believing this, he had not sought out attractive women, nor had he avoided them. He had merely accepted the fact that to an attractive woman, as to the Army, he was somehow flawed. In sum then, he was forced to admit to himself that he was attracted to Juliana Frost, that she was attracted to John Thornton, and that in consequence he was jealous of Thornton and impatient with Juliana. Now I know, he thought wryly. It took me three days to figure it out, but now I know.

  It was late afternoon when the train could see ahead a slight change both in color and shape of the flat horizon. It became irregular, not quite hilly. Instead of the sand-to-gray color of the country they were passing through, there was a shimmering thin line of black which puzzled Lieutenant Overman. He checked his flankers, who were barely in sight, then dropped back from the side of the ambulance and let Harmon’s wagon pull abreast of him. Over the noise of the creaking, jolting freight wagon he pulled up to Harmon’s mule. “What’s ahead of us?” he asked.

  Dave yanked down his neckerchief and said, “Malpais. A mile-long stretch of it.”

  Lieutenant Overman nodded his acknowledgment of this information and then moved on ahead, passed the supply wagon and the ambulance and went on toward Sergeant Noonan in the point position. When he reached Noonan, he reined in to match the pace of the sergeant’s horse.

  “That’s malpais, isn’t it, Sergeant?”

  “Right, sir. Wicked, too, and hot.”

  Lieutenant Overman looked ahead, studying the uneven skyline. He knew, but only by hearsay, that malpais, or bad rock, was of volcanic origin and was apt to be a jumbled mass of solidified lava that was all sizes and forms. He also knew that its razor-sharp edges could wear through a foot soldier’s boots in a half-day’s time. What he didn’t know was how well a shod horse could handle the malpais.

  “What’s the road through it like, Noonan?” Overman asked.

  “It’s rough, sir, but not bad. Blow sand has kind of leveled it off.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard the stage line spent plenty of powder to make it.”

  Lieutenant Overman persisted, “What’s it like away from the road?”

  Noonan looked at him and smiled. “Never heard of anyone trying it, sir.”

  Lieutenant Overman thought about this a moment, then said, “Looks like I pull my flankers in.”

  Noonan appeared to consider this, and then he shrugged. “It’s your choice, Lieutenant. My guess is you’d be safe if you did. If a ’Pache put a barefoot pony into it off the road, he’d have to shoot ’im within the hour. His feet would be a bloody mush.”

  Overman nodded slowly. “What about men using the road to get into it, then forting up off the road?”

  Noonan laughed. “An ’Pache moccasin hasn’t been made that will go far in that rock. Besides, sir, ’Paches aren’t much good fighting afoot. They like horses and a lot of space. They wouldn’t have either of them in there.”

  “I’m not thinking about Apaches, Sergeant. The dead man wasn’t an Apache that we found this morning.”

  Noonan said fervently, “Not by a long shot, he wasn’t.” He looked at Overman, his face showing concern. “Still, the only white men we’ve seen today were on the stage or on the stage escort.” He hesitated. “Outside of Layton, his hostler, and that crazy prospector.”

  It was Overman’s turn to concede, and he nodded agreement. “How do you figure that raid last night, Sergeant?”

  Noonan shrugged again. “I think I know what they’d tell you at Whipple, Lieutenant. You see the placers at La Paz are mostly shut down. The boys working them are hanging around Ehrenburg without work or money to get out. At Whipple they figure the first day out of Ehrenburg or the last day into it is where trouble will happen. These miners gang up and will raid anything if they’re strong enough. A day or so out of Ehrenburg and it’s Indians you watch out for, not them.”

  “Why’s that, Sergeant?”

  “Simple, Lieutenant. The miners got no money for horse feed and no money for grub. They’re too broke to stay out longer than overnight.”

  Lieutenant Overman turned this information over in his mind and it seemed to make sense. At this moment he wished fervently that Sergeant Noonan could be permanently under him. Here was a man who used his ears and eyes and who was full of information that he did not volunteer unless it was asked for. He was, Overman thought, the ideal type of noncommissioned officer—wise, willing, and seasoned.

  By this time they were drawing near the malpais, and through the waves of heat that distorted everything in the distance Overman could see the jagged and wildly upended surfaces of the malpais. He said then, “Slack up a little, Sergeant, and wait for us at the malpais. I’ll call the flankers in.”

  The lieutenant turned and rode back to the train, and Noonan felt a surge of quiet elation. He thought the lieutenant had believed him, and in fact everything Noonan had told him was true. The flankers, even on shod horses, would take an interminable time winding through that mass of malpais. Overman had no choice but to stick to the road.

  If Kirby and his men had circled them during the day and were now forted up in the malpais, this would be easy. It would be simple enough to let the train get well into the malpais, shoot a lead horse on the first wagon and one on the rear wagon, thus blocking passage either way. Then it would be simple enough to pick off the detail from a higher vantage point. Once the escort was gone, Noonan didn’t doubt that Harmon and his teamsters would surrender.

  Dave Harmon had been regarding the malpais, too, and he was wondering how Lieutenant Overman would handle this. When he heard Overman’s single rifle shot signaling in the flankers, a faint apprehension touched him. Overman was only doing what necessity dictated, but Dave knew that if the train was to be attacked, this would be the place for it. They would have no warning of the attack because the flankers were pulled in. They could not fort up or retreat because on that narrow road there was not room enough to turn the teams and wagons between the walls of the malpais.

  He asked himself: Did he really think there was danger of attack? He simply didn’t know. All day long he had watched the desert for signs of riders skirting them. He had seen nothing, but that didn’t prove a thing.

  They were close to the malpais when Overman signaled a halt. He rode back, passed Juliana and Thornton, and reined in beside Dave.

  “I think we ought to take this as fast as your teams can make it, Harmon. You agree?”

  “Expecting trouble?” Dave asked mildly. He was curious as to Overman’s opinion of the situation.

  “Not really,” Overman said. Then he told Dave of Sergeant Noonan’s modest judgment, which seemed to be the opinion of the Fort Whipple people who were used to escorting wagon trains and coaches—that danger of attack from all except Indians lay a day out of Ehrenburg.

  When he had finished, Dave nodded, then said, “But there’s always the exception, Dick.”

  Overman looked puzzled. “We’ve seen nothing today to cause alarm. I’ve questioned my flankers closely. They saw nothing.”

  Dave was silent, and his silence brought a faint expression of uneasiness to Overman’s thin face. In self-justification, Overman said, “We’ve got to go through this if ther
e’re a hundred men in there; Dave. There’s no way around it.”

  “True,” Dave said quietly. “It all depends on how we go through it.”

  Overman frowned. “How we go through it? I don’t see what you mean.”

  “Why, if the whole train is trapped in there, we’re in for trouble.” He paused to emphasize what came next “Why not send one wagon at a time through it? Under full escort, of course. If the first wagon gets through and the escort returns safely, then send the second. At some stage of the game they’ll have to commit themselves, won’t they?”

  Overman thought about this. “What if half the wagons get through, then they attack the next one? Our party will be split.”

  “We still have the advantage,” Dave said. “We’ll have men on either side of them. Then we attack.”

  Slowly Overman’s scowl of concentration erased itself. “Thunderation, you’re right! That’s the way we should do it. We’ll have Miss Juliana and Thornton wait till the last, since we’ll know by then if there’s any danger.” Overman sighed, and then gave a friendly grin. “I can see why you made a captaincy at your age, Dave.”

  Dave said nothing.

  Overman sat lost in thought. When he spoke it was in a tone of command. “In case anything happens to me I want you to take command. Will you do that for me?”

  “Of course,” Dave said. “I’d just as soon my wagon didn’t go first, though.” At Overman’s look of puzzlement, Dave said, “My wagon has most of the rifles. Let it be number three wagon. By that time we’ll know where we stand.”

  “Good idea,” Overman said. “Choose your wagon and teamster to send through first.”

  Dave tied his jerkline to his saddle horn, stepped out of the saddle, and went back to the wagon behind him and stopped beside the mounted teamster.

  “Bailey, we’re going through this malpais one at a time, under full escort. The lieutenant says I come last, so that’s the way it’s got to be. You’ll go first, so pull out around me.”

  The teamster spoke laconically. “He expecting trouble?”

  “No, he’s just preparing for it.” The driver nodded. Dave started the lead horse around the other wagon and watched it pass his own wagon, Thornton’s supply wagon, and Juliana’s ambulance, and then pull up for the escort to gather. He followed the wagon and halted beside Overman’s horse. The trooper who had been driving Everts’ wagon was again mounted on his own horse.

  Overman said quietly to Dave, “If you hear any shooting, don’t come after us. After all, if there is any fighting it’ll be for the stuff in your wagons. If we’re all trapped in there they’ll get the wagons.”

  “All right,” Dave said. He added quietly, “Luck to you,” and turned and started back toward his wagon. As he passed the ambulance Juliana said, “What’s going on, Dave?” He noted she had a veil over her face, as he had suggested. Now she unpinned it.

  Thornton, who was standing in the blazing heat drinking from his canteen, saw Dave stop, and he came over in time to hear Dave say, “We’re going through singly. The escort will take one wagon through, then come back for the next.”

  “Why, it’ll take all night,” Thornton said wearily. “What’s behind this decision?”

  “High rock overlooking a narrow road,” Dave said mildly.

  “What do you mean by that?” Juliana asked.

  Patience was in Dave’s tone of voice as he answered, “Why, if we’re going to be attacked again like we were last night, this is the ideal place for the ambush.”

  A startled look came into Juliana’s eyes. “You don’t think—why, nobody’s passed us today.”

  “Miss Juliana, all Dick is doing is playing it as safe as he can. Probably nothing will happen, but he owes it to all of us not to take a chance,” Dave said.

  “That’s absolutely the most preposterous thing I ever heard,” Thornton said.

  “That’s a fairly preposterous statement in itself,” Dave said coldly.

  “Is it?” Thornton said quickly. “Juliana has just told you why it’s preposterous. Isn’t it true that nobody’s passed us today? Have the flankers seen anything?”

  Dave said mildly, “Thornton, you must come from a part of the country that’s timbered.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?” Thornton challenged.

  “In timbered country anything moving sticks to the road. Here in the West we use the road only when it’s the shortest distance between places.”

  “What is it you’re trying to tell him?” Juliana asked.

  “That anyone could have ridden around us and not have been seen,” Dave said, still mildly.

  Thornton snorted in disgust. “How will going singly help prevent trouble?”

  When Dave told him, Thornton said promptly, “I’m willing to take Juliana’s ambulance through this stretch and come back. If Overman will let me, I’ll prove you’ve let your imagination get the better of your judgment.”

  “Go ask him,” Dave said.

  “I’ll do that!” Thornton said sharply. He left them and went past Bailey’s freight wagon and halted by Lieutenant Overman. Dave and Juliana watched their brief conversation.

  “Doesn’t John’s suggestion make sense?” Juliana asked. “It would get us into King’s Wells a lot sooner.”

  “If there are men in there, why would they shoot or even stop Thornton? Why would they show themselves to him?” He paused and added drily, “Thornton can’t be sold. What’s in the wagons can.”

  Now Thornton headed back toward them, and outrage was reflected in his stiff-legged walk. Coming up to the ambulance, he spoke to Juliana. “I was refused permission to try.” There was derision in his voice, and now he looked at Dave. “I’m told you’re in command while Lieutenant Overman and the detail are gone.”

  Dave nodded.

  “Don’t try and command me,” Thornton warned. “You’re a civilian and I’m a civilian. I’ll do what I please.”

  Lieutenant Overman’s order to mount broke off their conversation. The detail headed toward the break in the malpais and Bailey’s teams got his wagon in motion. Two troopers dropped in behind him and in a matter of minutes they were out of sight at a bend of the road.

  Kirby waited impatiently in the scalding heat of the malpais. It was too hot to sit down, and the heat from the rocks that came through the soles of his boots was almost unbearable. His lookout had told him half an hour ago that the train was nearing the malpais. But where was it? Earlier he and his men had passed down this road and had left their horses at King’s Wells, which was on the eastern edge of the malpais. Now he had his men distributed on either side of the road, with orders to keep themselves hidden and to hold their fire until he shot first.

  They had had a hard, hot ride from Layton’s and they had not spared their horses. There would be plenty of fresh horses for them after this was over, he had told his men.

  Brick had certainly picked an ideal spot, Kirby thought with grudging admiration. The whole train could be trapped here and easily overwhelmed, for his men had the enormous advantage of cover and height.

  Now Kirby cocked his head and listened. In moments came the sound of many hoofbeats. Kirby smiled. He crouched lower and peered through the space between two irregular chunks of malpais. The train was approaching the spot directly below him. He could hear the heavy jolting of the wagon as it lumbered over the rock-floored road, and presently the officer commanding the detail came into sight. Behind him was a pair of troopers.

  Another pair of troopers passed, then the teams, wagon, and the two troopers bringing up the rear. One of the latter was Brick Noonan, his sergeant’s stripes plain.

  Kirby waited for the second wagon, but it did not come. The racket made by the first wagon was slowly diminishing in volume, yet there was no sound of a following wagon. Kirby felt a swift uneasiness. What had happened? If the wagons were strung out far apart, then the first wagon would be past his last man before the last wagon was even with him.

  He decid
ed to risk a look, and he rose and peered over the rock at the stretch of road in the direction from which the wagon had come.

  The road was empty.

  Kirby had to come to an immediate decision. With unerring instinct he guessed the strategy they were using against possible attack—one wagon at a time. In those few moments he weighed the proper course of action. He did not know if the wagon passing contained the rifles; he did know that he could not afford to let it through. If he stopped it and the rifles weren’t in it, then he could play his hole card; he could keep the whole train from water, without which they couldn’t live. That being so, there was one other thing he had to do.

  He swung his rifle up and took a careful sight on Brick Noonan’s back. With eventual victory clearly in sight he did not intend to share the loot with Noonan. As he sighted, he thought, You’re a sucker, Brick; then he squeezed the trigger. He could see Noonan driven over onto his horse’s neck.

  Lieutenant Overman scarcely had time to register the sound of the shot before all hell broke loose. He saw at one swift glance that they were shooting at his detail from both sides, front and rear. The lead horse of the freight team gave a shrill cry and went down, thrashing wildly and panicking the other teams. Overman knew instantly that the wagon was lost, and that if they stayed to fight this out the whole detail would be wiped out. Wheeling his horse and snapping a shot up the hill at a puff of smoke, Overman shouted, “Back! Back!”