by Short, Luke;
Noonan turned back to Thornton. “Just keep on the road till you come to Camp Date. I’ve heard it’s ahead.”
Noonan waited for Thornton to request a gun, too. But Thornton only got up, reached in his coat pocket for his wallet, and emptied its entire contents of gold eagles into Noonan’s outstretched hand.
“Now, may I have my horse, please?”
Noonan pocketed the money and called to Earl, “Bill, give him one of the wagon mules. Put a hackamore on him.”
“You said you’d sell me a horse,” Thornton said.
“A mule’s better in this country,” Noonan replied easily. “Besides, we can’t spare a horse.”
Presently Bill Earl led a mule out of the stone corral. He fashioned a hackamore in place of bridle and bit, then led the mule to the walled-off section of the spring used for stock watering. That reminded Thornton that he must fill his canteen to the brim. He walked over under the amused gaze of the loafing men and topped off his canteen.
When Bill Earl led the mule out and handed the rope to Thornton, Noonan sat up and watched.
“Want a leg up?” Bill Earl asked.
Thornton nodded, and Bill cupped his hands to serve as a step for Thornton.
No sooner had Thornton hit the mule’s back and Bill Earl had ducked away from the mule than it began to buck and pitch. In a matter of seconds Thornton had slid over the mule’s neck into the sand.
His fall brought the expected laughter from the men. Bill went over, caught the mule’s rope, and led it back to Thornton, who had scrambled to his feet and replaced his hat. His face was not only flushed with heat, but with embarrassment.
“Maybe you’d better get me a more gentle animal,” Thornton said.
Brick Noonan called, “All of ’em are only harness broke, Thornton. Just stick with it.”
Resignedly Thornton accepted another leg up, and the mule came uncorked again. This time Thornton stuck with it a little longer before he was thrown. Again, there was the cruel laughter from Noonan’s watching men.
Now, for the first time, Thornton knew both anger and fear. How was he going to handle this beast by himself when he could neither mount it alone, nor stay when he was on it? Beyond that, was he even going to get out of camp?
He looked at Noonan and his men, hating them for their derisive laughter and for the obvious pleasure they were getting out of his troubles. Still, there was only one thing to do, and Thornton, although never an expert horseman, knew it had to be done. He tried again, and was thrown, he tried once more, stayed on a little longer, and was thrown again. On his fifth try, battered and bruised, he succeeded in staying aboard the now tired mule, which had exhausted itself with its exertions in the blazing heat.
Noonan came forward then with a saddle bag stuffed with bacon and bread. He handed up the canteen and saddle bag to the shaking and panting Thornton.
“There you are, Mister Thornton. Have a good ride.”
“Thank you,” Thornton said stiffly. He drummed his heels into the mule’s side, but it did not move. Bill Earl came up, kicked the mule in the belly, and only then did the animal grunt and get into motion past the adobe and down the road.
John Thornton’s plans of this morning had worked out almost exactly as intended. He had escaped camp, he had bought a mount of sorts, he had food and water, and he was out of this distasteful and dangerous quarrel between people he cared nothing about. Yet somehow the reality did not match the expectation. He was exhausted, afraid of his mount, and suddenly he was terribly alone in this cruel, unfamiliar land bordered on two horizons by distant and hostile mountains.
As the day wore on into mid-afternoon, the mule resignedly plodded on at a gait it chose itself. When Thornton passed a few rocks that could offer shade, he was afraid to dismount for fear the mule would bolt back to camp. His legs ached miserably and he could find no comfortable seat on the mule’s bare back. His few attempts to spur the animal, rein him in, or guide him, had failed. He was simply aboard a beast that had pulled a wagon over so many miles of road that it had learned to travel stubbornly.
The farther he rode that afternoon, the greater his loneliness became. What had been the constant irritations in camp now seemed trivial in the light of his present solitude. There was talk there, however bad, and companionship, however boring, and there was shade, blessed shade. He wondered, his alarm growing hourly, when he would come to the next water. He knew that he should pause to rest and water his mule, but some deep pessimism told him that he could not stop the mule, and that even if he did, the mule would very likely turn around and head back for camp.
It was late afternoon when Thornton knew that he could not go much farther without resting. If only he could find, in all this flat desert, some shade where he could tie his mule and lie down and sleep for an hour. With rest, and by splitting his remaining water with his mule, maybe both he and his mount would have strength enough to ride on until they came to water.
Far ahead of him he could see a gentle rise in the flat desert, and he hoped wildly that somewhere on its far side there would be a patch of shade where he could dismount. As he approached the rise he saw that the road swung gently to the right to avoid a rough promontory of rock. On the other side perhaps there would be a bank that would give him some shade. As he began to round the low promontory, only some ten feet high, his mule’s ears pricked up alertly. Was there water ahead? Thornton, weary as he was, didn’t think so, for the mule’s pace slackened and he snorted in short, sharp breaths. If there were water ahead, the mule’s pace would have increased, he knew.
The mule stopped then and Thornton could feel the animal trembling under him. He did not know if it was from fear of something unseen behind the smooth rock or from weariness, but he did know that he could not sit here listening to his own heart pound and feeling the mule’s heart pumping against his legs. He kicked savagely at the mule’s flanks, but the animal would move only sideways, not ahead; its attention was riveted on what lay on the other side of the smooth rock. Whatever it was, John Thornton realized now, for the first time, that there was nothing he could do about it, since he had neglected to bring a gun from camp, or to buy one from Noonan.
Suddenly the mule seemed to make up its mind. It gave a vast snort, wheeled, and started to trot back in the direction from which it had come. Vainly Thornton tried to turn it, but he had not the strength. He was so concentrated on trying to master his mule that only belatedly did he hear the sound of hoofbeats.
He turned and saw four mounted Apaches, their ponies at a dead run in pursuit. He had time only to count them and to note their red headbands before he turned and tried with his rope to whip his exhausted mule into greater speed.
The rest was only a matter of moments. John Thornton’s mind was to register only the twang of a bow before the arrow hurtled into his back, slamming the breath out of him and replacing it with an agony of pain. With mute astonishment, even denial that it existed, he saw a foot of arrow sticking out of his chest ahead of him, but that was only an instant before he swayed off his mule to crash onto the desert floor and to die within seconds.
Well before noonday Lieutenant Overman had his camp prepared. The ring of wagons had been closed tighter. His men had managed to clear enough cargo in each high-sided wagon to allow space for a man inside. Among the tools which were part of the freight to Whipple, Overman had found augers with which he had bored holes in the wagon sides at the height where a kneeling man inside could poke through a rifle and sight in it. All available guns were counted and loaded, and placed inside the wagons along with extra ammunition. It turned out that each man had two repeating rifles plus side arms.
When the extra rifles were stowed inside the wagons, Lieutenant Overman assigned the best marksman and a loader for him to each wagon. That done, he ordered each wagon crew to stay in the shade of its assigned wagon so that they could climb inside in a matter of seconds in case of alarm. For Lieutenant Overman was convinced that Noonan, rather than wait for a
n extra nine men to fight him, would try to overpower the wagons before reinforcements arrived.
Juliana watched troopers and teamsters as they finished their tasks, and she shared with them the simple noon meal which she had prepared. There were no longer two fires; the imminent danger of attack had drawn teamsters, troopers, and their officer into one close group.
Afterwards, when the men had scattered to their places, Overman sank down in the shade of the tarp he had hung from the side of the wagon and propped up with new shiny yellow shovel handles which had been found among the freight. Juliana, her dress clinging to her body in this oven heat, was already seated on one of the blankets under it.
“I think we’re ready for them,” Overman said. “You know you’re my loader for this wagon.”
Juliana nodded absently, and after a moment’s silence she asked with seeming irrelevance, “Dick, suppose Dave brings in these nine more men, with them and with all the men we’ve got, do you think we could fight our way through the malpais to water?”
Lieutenant Overman’s glance shifted away from her. He had been asking himself that question all morning and could not answer it with an optimistic affirmative.
Juliana went on, “If we can’t fight our way through, then we’ll have nine more men to supply with water.”
“We’ll make it through,” Overman said, with confidence he did not feel. “When you have to do something, you do it.”
Even before sundown Dave had rejected the notion of stopping to eat. He had set a pace during the blazing afternoon that was calculated to save the trail-weary animals. But now that the sun was down, he increased the pace. He wanted to be in camp well before moonrise. If he arrived after moonrise, the plan he had been turning over in his mind all afternoon would have far less chances of success.
The handle of the Big Dipper, his only clock, told him that it was close to ten o’clock when Corporal Chasen, riding beside him, said, “Look off to the right on the horizon, sir. If that’s a star, it shines pretty steady.”
Dave picked up the light, watched it a minute, then said, “I think that’s our camp, Corporal.”
The column now altered its course, and within half an hour they made out the bulk of the wagon train and its lanterns. Soon they were challenged by a sentry and passed and then Dave said, “Corporal, I wonder if you could halt your men on the east side of the camp with the wagons between you and the malpais. I’ll bring lanterns over for unsaddling.”
“If you want it that way, sir,” Corporal Chasen said, in a tone of mystification.
Dave split off from the detail and headed for the lanterns where both Juliana and Overman, surrounded by troopers and teamsters, were waiting.
Dave rode in and swung out of the saddle as Overman said, in a puzzled voice, “Bring them over to the light, Dave. I’d like to look at them.”
Now Chasen’s order for dismount came clearly from the other side of the camp.
Dave said, “String along with me, Dick. Can you have your men take a couple of lanterns around there? I’ll explain why later.”
Bewildered, Lieutenant Overman gave the order to his men, who were already moving toward the newly arrived detail. Dave tied his reins to a wagon wheel and said, “I think we’d all better give them a welcome. You, too, Miss Juliana.” In the dim light of the lanterns they walked around the wagon train and approached the dismounted detail. Juliana said to Dave, “Are they all right?”
“Mostly,” Dave said. “You’ll hear about it later.”
“John’s gone,” Juliana said then. “He deserted us this morning.”
Dave looked obliquely at her in the dim light to see what her face contained. It was certainly not grief, only a weary sadness.
“Dick will tell you about that,” she added.
The lantern light picked out Lieutenant Miller’s detail and they heard Lieutenant Overman, a few steps ahead of them, say, “Welcome, troopers. We’ll feed you shortly.” There was a pause. “Where’s your officer?”
By that time Dave and Juliana had reached Overman’s side. And now Dave called, “Corporal, would you come here, please?”
Out of the group of unshaven and dusty men, still holding their horses’ reins, Corporal Chasen stepped out. He came up to them, halted, and saluted Overman. “Corporal Chasen reporting, sir.”
By this time Trooper Adams had rejoined his old group, and they were shaking his hand and patting him on the back. To a man, they were aware that but for his stubborn determination and endurance they all would have died in the desert.
“Dick, I think you’ll want to talk to Corporal Chasen in private,” Dave said. He glanced at Chasen. “Have you Lieutenant Miller’s diary, Corporal? I think you might tell the lieutenant your story like you told it to me.”
“I’ve got it, sir,” Chasen said. He reached into his hip pocket and drew forth the notebook, which he handed to the puzzled Overman. Overman took a lantern and said, “Come along, Corporal,” and moved out of earshot, first ordering his men to build a fire and start preparing food for the newcomers.
It was an unnecessary order, for the troopers had already kindled the fire and were rustling grub. Dave noticed that Trooper Wilson was sitting off by himself in the dejected attitude of a pariah. On the faces of the other troopers, gaunt and unshaven as they were, there was an excitement of being here that they did not even try to hide.
“You’ll want some food yourself,” Juliana said. “We’ve got beans and bacon back at the other fire.”
Dave nodded, and together they started around the wagons. Now Dave said, “Tell me more about Thornton.”
“There’s nothing much to tell,” Juliana said. “One of your teamsters was sentry. John said he wanted to go over and look at the malpais and your man warned him to stay away from the road. When he got to the malpais he headed for the road, and that was the last any of us saw of him. Noonan saw him, though.”
“Noonan’s back then?” Dave said.
“Our Sergeant Noonan wasn’t a sergeant, Dave. It’s his gang that’s fighting us.”
As Juliana prepared the meal she told Dave of Noonan’s offer to trade Thornton for the rifles, and of Overman’s refusal. Nobody knew Thornton’s fate, but Overman was certain that Thornton had told Noonan of Dave’s journey for reinforcements and had prepared the wagons for a raid that had never come off.
Dave listened carefully, thinking that Overman had been right both in his decision to refuse the blackmail and to fortify the camp in the best fashion he could.
Juliana gave Dave his food and he wolfed it hungrily; she seated herself beside him and began to speculate on Thornton’s fate.
“I wonder what possessed John to leave?” she said musingly. “Surely Noonan didn’t influence him to desert and join his gang. John’s not that kind.”
“No, he’s not,” Dave said slowly. “But what kind is he?”
Juliana looked at him in puzzlement. “Why, he’s selfish, for one thing, or he would never have deserted us. He’s vain and stubborn and I’m afraid he’s more than a little foolish.” She paused, lost in thought for a moment. “On shipboard he was thoughtful and pleasant. He was the best company a person could have, but when he got into this desert something happened that I don’t understand. He was so sure he knew everything, and he really knew nothing.”
That sums him up, Dave thought with relief. No woman about to marry a man would admit these flaws in his character.
“Now I’ll confess something,” Dave said. “I thought you and Thornton were close to being engaged or married.”
Juliana blushed, but her voice was steady as she said, “Never. I want more in a man than entertainment.”
Dave frowned, and, as always, the act made his eyepatch slip a little. He placed a finger to it and shoved it back into position, while Juliana watched him.
“I don’t reckon you saw him under the best of conditions,” he said.
“I saw him under the worst. So I know him. Dick didn’t desert us. You didn�
�t desert us. That’s the difference.”
They were interrupted by the approach of Lieutenant Overman, who sat down on the blanket beside them and crossed his booted legs. Taking off his hat, he laid it slowly, almost thoughtfully, on the blanket. “That’s quite a man, that Corporal Chasen,” Overman said. “And Lieutenant Miller, in his own way, was quite a man, too.”
At Juliana’s look of polite puzzlement Overman told her of the story contained in Lieutenant Miller’s notebook and of his murder. He ended by saying reluctantly, “If I were a proper officer I’d probably put the whole detail under arrest to be held for court-martial.”
Dave smiled. “But you’re not a proper officer, are you, Dick?”
A look of pleasure touched Overman’s lean face. “I am not, or I wouldn’t have shaken hands with Corporal Chasen for breaking Trooper Wilson’s jaw.” Then the look of pleasure faded from Overman’s face. “Can you tell me now why you wanted Miller’s troopers on the other side of the camp?”
“That’s a question I’ll have to answer with a question.” Dave paused. “How do you propose to use the additional troopers that came in with me? You were into the malpais and I’ve been through it lots of times. Do you think you could storm it, or do you think there’s a chance of pairing off your men to hunt down each member of Noonan’s gang?”
Overman thought a moment. “I don’t think it could be stormed. Even with twice the number of men we’ve got, it would be impossible.”
“Do you think they could be hunted down individually?”
“I don’t like it, but I think that’s our only hope. We would have to send some sort of decoy through the cut to draw their fire so we could spot the location of the riflemen. Even then, once they were located my men would be sitting ducks, when they expose themselves to get a rifleman.” He shook his head. “It’ll be bloody, but I don’t see any other way.”
“What if you could draw them out of the malpais?” Dave said quietly.
