by Short, Luke;
“Not me.”
“Then get back to your post.”
Private Cleary was the second sentry, and Overman put the same question to him.
“Yes, sir, I passed him,” Cleary said. “His shoulder was hurting him so that he couldn’t sleep. He said he wanted to walk but that he was afraid someone might shoot him if he kept close to the wagons.”
Dave looked at Overman and said, “That could explain the shot we heard.”
“Did he seem delirious to you, Cleary?”
“I couldn’t see him, sir, but he sounded like he was hurting.”
Overman scowled. “We’ll have to wait till morning before we look for him. I can’t risk my detail hunting down a stray trooper who isn’t even attached to it.”
Juliana asked slowly, “You think he might have deserted to those people?”
“Hardly,” Overman said. “They shot him today, didn’t they?”
Although Dave held his silence, he thought Juliana could be right. He remembered the excellent horse Noonan rode and Noonan’s story of how he acquired it. He also remembered Noonan’s lack of papers, which Overman had sensibly ignored out of gratitude for an added rifle.
If Noonan had deserted to the enemy, there was little he could tell them that they didn’t already know. One thing Noonan couldn’t tell them was Overman’s decision to stay here and wait for the stranded detail.
Just after moonrise the supply wagon was pushed out of the circle, and Dave, mounted on Noonan’s horse, rode through the break. He was followed by ten more animals with his teamster Solly Liston bringing up the rear. They headed west, picking up the road they had traveled over earlier that day. Three miles from camp Dave spotted the cairn Trooper Adams had built to mark the trail he had made through the desert. Dave, in the lead, and the band of horses turned south.
The malpais still held the heat of the day, but it was bearable. The jagged upended mass of rock took on weird and monstrous shapes in the moonlight, and Noonan’s men, waiting in the road, studied them curiously, commenting on their fantastic forms.
Noonan himself was a hundred yards away at the west entrance to the malpais, Bill Earl beside him. They had seen the lanterns lighted up and had assumed that the train was making up for travel. Dave’s exit with the horses had gone unnoticed by them, since the wagons lay between Noonan and Dave.
Now the lanterns were being doused and Bill Earl looked quizzically at Noonan. “It don’t look like they aim to move tonight.”
“They’ll move,” Noonan said flatly. “I heard the lieutenant give the orders.”
They waited impatiently for another half-hour, but all lanterns were out. The camp looked asleep except, of course, for the sentries Noonan knew were out. His wound was nagging now, and he felt a growing anger. At first he had thought the lanterns indicated that the train was getting ready to move; now he wondered if his absence had been discovered and if the lanterns had been lighted to search for him.
But why wasn’t the train being readied to move? Had his desertion alarmed Overman to the extent that he had changed plans? Why should it alarm him? If Overman questioned Cleary, all the trooper could tell him was that Sergeant Noonan had taken a walk out into the night.
Bill Earl’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hell, the camp’s asleep,” he said in disgust. “They’re waiting for daylight.”
“Maybe they are,” Brick agreed reluctantly. He had the strongest of impulses to attack the camp right now, but he also had an old soldier’s appreciation of the situation. The camp could be easily defended against five times the number of his men. Now that the moon was up, surprise was out of the question. They had the protection of the wagons, while his own men would be exposed on the flat moonlit desert. No, it would be foolhardy to risk an attack and lose advantage of numbers.
Now Brick said with assumed cheerfulness, “Looks like we don’t have to worry about them moving.”
“I thought you wanted ’em to move?” Bill said.
Brick shook his head. “Why would I want ’em to move? If they started to move and we attacked, they’d fort up again. They might just as well be here as a mile down the road. Wherever they are, they’ll be using up water.”
He turned and swung up on his horse. “Stay here until I send someone to relieve you, Bill.”
“You going back to camp?”
“That’s it. I’d rather sleep than watch them sleep.”
John Thornton came awake at earliest light and lay in his blankets thinking of the events of last night. It seemed to him that this whole business was the sheerest idiocy. Why should they be suffering these hardships for the sake of a few rifles that the Army could easily replace? Undoubtedly the Army wasn’t in need of the rifles or they would have sent many more men and used a far speedier method of transporting them than these lumbering freight wagons.
He thought now of Sergeant Noonan’s disappearance. Had the man deserted, as Juliana suspected, or had he walked off in delirium into the desert? Maybe he, too, was sick of being tied down to danger and privation by the presence of five crates of rifles.
Come to think of it, why couldn’t he leave, too?
The thought brought a strange surge of excitement. What was there to stop him from walking into the camp of their attackers? They didn’t want him; they wanted the rifles. In fact, they would probably welcome him, since it would mean one less defender of the wagon train. Then, too, he should have no trouble getting a mount. After all, the attackers had extra horses from the lost freight wagon. He could buy one of these horses and some food from them. Water was no problem, since there was a well ahead.
He pondered what Overman might say when he told him he was leaving. It didn’t really matter what he said, because he had no authority over civilians. If Thornton chose to travel by himself, it was assuredly none of Overman’s business. Anyway, why tell Overman anything? He was accountable to no one but himself.
What would Juliana think if he took off by himself? (Even in his own mind Thornton did not use the word desertion.) For some reason Juliana, these last few days, had grown away from him. Their friendship, which had ripened on shipboard, had been a precious thing to him at one time. He had even thought—no, intended—to ask her to marry him. Now he was glad he hadn’t. A certain willfulness flawed her character. She had sided with Harmon against him too many times on this trip. While she was pretty, she seemed as strong-willed as any man, and he could not imagine being married to a woman who did not respect his judgment and his actions. No, Juliana was not for him. Therefore, why should she even enter into his consideration of going off alone?
The camp began to stir and Thornton rolled out of his blankets and put on his townsman’s shoes. He was on his way to the nearest water barrel when he remembered Overman had forbidden them to wash with the precious water. It was at this moment that John Thornton, a man with almost a mania for cleanliness, made up his mind to desert.
At breakfast he found that, having missed supper last night, he was ferociously hungry. He saw Juliana and Overman at the small fire, went up to them, and gave them a good-morning. Juliana was mixing a batter of pan bread; one loaf was already baked and lay on a crate beside the fire. Overman was feeding more wood onto the fire.
Thornton went over to the round disc of bread, picked it up, and broke it in half.
“I was saving that for the hurt men, John,” Juliana said.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” Thornton said coldly. He felt himself grow red.
“I’ll take their breakfast to them as soon as I mix this.”
Lieutenant Overman said, “I’ll finish that, Miss Juliana, you go ahead with their breakfast.”
As Juliana spooned out the stewed apples, which had been soaked overnight, and the bacon onto two plates, she ignored Thornton. Overman was busy with the batter.
When Juliana was out of earshot Thornton said, “You’ve had time to consider my suggestion about the rifles, Lieutenant. Are you of the same opinion today?”
; Overman looked up and nodded. “And I will be tomorrow and the day after, Mister Thornton.”
“I wonder what your superiors will say when I tell them of your decision?”
Lieutenant Overman stopped his stirring and stared at Thornton, his eyes hard. “They’ll hear of it from me, not from you. And whatever they think, I’ll take the consequences.”
“I hope there are some.”
“Just don’t try to create any, Mister Thornton, or you’re apt to be barred from Fort Whipple.”
“I don’t think you have that authority, Lieutenant.”
“I don’t claim it. I only claim that the Army punishes or rewards its own without outside help.”
“We’ll see,” Thornton said.
Lieutenant Overman put the pan bread in the Dutch oven and then covered the oven with coals. Presently Juliana returned and reported that both Bailey and Everts seemed to be doing well and that Bailey’s fever was almost gone.
“Aren’t we torturing them unnecessarily?” Thornton asked her.
“What do you mean by that, John?”
“They both need medical attention. Why can’t someone drive on ahead with them?”
Juliana looked at Lieutenant Overman, who was staring at Thornton. The lieutenant said drily, “Yourself, you mean?”
“I’d be willing to,” Thornton answered calmly. “I’m not a soldier and I’m not a teamster. You could spare me.”
“I could, but I won’t,” the lieutenant said grimly. “For your information, Thornton, both Everts and Bailey will be handling a rifle if we’re attacked. So will Juliana. So will you.” His voice held such contempt that Juliana looked away from Thornton.
When their breakfast was ready, it was full daylight and the blasting sun rose over the malpais. Again there was not a cloud in the sky and the day appeared to be like all the others since they had set out—murderously hot and bright.
The conversation at breakfast was sparse and strained, and Thornton knew that it was probably his fault. However, he cared the least of the three.
Finished with breakfast, Thornton prowled the camp. Troopers and teamsters were feeding and watering the horses and mules. On his round Thornton noted that the lone daytime sentry had been pulled in to sit in the shade of the wagons, since there was a clear view of the road leading into the malpais.
Thornton returned to his gear under a wagon, got his full canteen, slung it over his shoulder and moved between the wagons. To the teamster sentry he said, “I’m going to have a look at that black rock.”
“I wouldn’t if I was you,” the teamster said uncertainly.
“But you’re not me,” Thornton said. “I’m not Army, and I’m not working for Harmon. I’ll do what I please.”
“Then if I was you, I’d stay wide of that road. They’ll have a man there sure.”
“I intend to,” Thornton said, and went on.
It was that easy. The troopers and teamsters were occupied, and so were Overman and Juliana. If the sentry had been a trooper, he would have informed Overman immediately. But to a teamster, wholly without authority, Thornton’s words made sense of a sort. Nobody had authority over the civilian passengers.
Thornton headed for a part of the malpais well away from the road. He was not challenged or called back. When he reached the edge of the malpais he turned and headed for the road. He was so far from camp now that even if the sentry became alarmed there was nothing to be done. He would be in the malpais before they could reach him. Picking up the road now, he turned into the malpais, already feeling the heat of the road through his boots. He was less than fifty yards into the rock when a man stepped out from behind a huge chunk of lava, his rifle held at ready. The sentry peered behind Thornton and cautiously came toward him.
“You from the train?”
“I am.”
“We’re awake. Go back and tell your soldiers to come through if they can.”
“My good man, I’m leaving the train.”
The man looked puzzled. “Footin’ it?”
“You have extra horses. I want to buy one. Whom do I see?”
The sentry looked at him in bafflement. The situation was new to him. He’d been told to signal if the train started to move. Nobody had told him what to do if a fancy-talking man in a business suit and panama hat, a canteen slung over his shoulder, strolled into the malpais and asked to buy a horse. Perhaps this was some kind of a trap, he concluded. Slowly he walked up to Thornton and said, “Give me your gun.”
“I don’t have one.”
The sentry laid his rifle aside, pulled a pistol, stepped up to Thornton and searched him, then stepped back. He looked more baffled than before. “Well, if you ain’t got a gun, I don’t reckon you can shoot me. Go on through, but you’ll be on your own. I can’t leave here.”
“Thank you,” Thornton said civilly. He tramped on.
The sentry stood in the road and watched him go, wondering what Noonan would do to him for letting him through.
Thornton walked on past the looted wagon and alarmed half a dozen vultures that were feasting on the carcasses of the horses. As he drew his handkerchief against the stench, the birds vaulted into the air on slowly flapping wings, then hovered overhead. When Thornton was well past the horses, he turned and saw the scavengers descending again.
At the edge of the malpais he was challenged by a second sentry who simply put a rifle in his belly and circled him, then put it in his back and prodded him into the camp close by.
Thornton counted eleven men lounging in the sparse shade of the trees around the spring. He also noticed the abandoned stage station. Part of the wall by the door had fallen into the interior, but Thornton had no way of knowing that this had been done only that morning. The adobe’s wall had been caved in to cover Kirby’s body.
As Thornton approached the men, none of them stood up, and Thornton recognized Sergeant Noonan seated among them.
“Ah, Sergeant. We seem to have had the same idea,” Thornton said.
Noonan’s face still held the shadow of pain but he managed a wry smile. “I know why I left. Why did you, Thornton?”
“Simply to get out of there.”
Noonan scowled. “You got a message for me from Harmon or the lieutenant? They ready to quit?”
“No message,” Thornton said. “I came on my own.”
“To do what?” Brick asked, in a voice of puzzlement.
“Why, to travel on,” Thornton said. “I’m not connected with Harmon or the Army. I see no reason for being punished for their bullheadedness.”
“You don’t?” Brick asked softly. “Just what do you plan to do?”
“I know you have extra horses from that freight wagon back there. Whom do I see about buying one?”
“You see me about it.”
“Are all these men yours?” Thornton gestured to the listening men, none of whom had stirred from the shade.
“They’re mine.”
“Then you’re not a soldier after all?”
“Only lately,” Brick said drily.
“Ah,” Thornton said. “Now I begin to understand. You’re after the rifles, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“You were to be the Trojan horse—the man in the enemy’s camp.”
“That’s it,” Brick admitted.
“Very clever,” Thornton said. “Now, will you sell me a horse?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Brick said. “Why didn’t the train head back for Layton’s place last night, like the lieutenant said?”
Thornton looked puzzled and then comprehension came. “Oh, you left before the strange trooper came in.”
“Trooper?”
Thornton explained about Trooper Adams’ appearance. He told of Dave’s sudden decision to drive the mounts down to rescue Lieutenant Miller’s detail. “With nine more men,” Thornton said, “Overman thought they could battle their way through the malpais.”
Noonan listened with sharp attention, then considered
the news. He did not consult with any of his men, who were watching him with interest.
“Is that trooper sure those nine men are alive?”
“They were when he left.”
Noonan reached up to his shoulder and absently felt of his bandaged wound. He was silent for so long that Thornton, standing in the sun, shifted impatiently. “May I sit in the shade?” he asked. Noonan didn’t appear to hear him, and Thornton moved over and sat down by himself in a patch of shade.
Presently Noonan said, to nobody in particular, “I guess this is my lucky day. Bill, will you get a horse for me?”
Bill Earl rose and skirted the well to the stone corral where the horses were penned up.
“Can you get one for me, too, Sergeant?”
Noonan turned his head and looked at Thornton. “You aren’t going anywhere, Mister. Just take it easy till I get back.” He paused. “I want that white shirt you’re wearing.”
Thornton stared at him in amazement. “You want my shirt? What for?”
“Flag of truce,” Noonan said curtly. “Me, I’m going to have a parley with the lieutenant. Now take it off.”
Thornton had no choice but to do what he was told. He stripped off his coat and shirt and gave the shirt to Noonan. His soft white flesh above his trousers and proper shoes was such a ridiculous sight that several of the men laughed.
When Earl brought a horse, Noonan mounted and said, “Hold him here,” then turned his horse around and disappeared into the cut in the malpais. When he came to the sentry closest to the camp he said, “I’m going out to make talk with the lieutenant. Keep me covered. Don’t shoot unless I do.”
The sentry nodded and started down the road a few feet behind Noonan.
At the edge of the malpais Noonan put his horse down the road, and with his good hand waved Thornton’s white shirt. When he judged he was just out of rifle range of the camp he halted and waited in the blazing morning sun. It was only a matter of minutes before Lieutenant Overman rode out to meet him, and now Brick drew his pistol and rested it on his leg. Overman approached and reined in. He, too, had a pistol in his hand.
“I take it you want to talk, Sergeant.”
