Brotherhood of the Gun

by William W. Johnstone

  They reined up, sat their ponies for a few seconds, and then wheeled about and were gone in a drum of hooves and a cloud of dust. A few seconds later, not a sign of them could be seen.

  “They didn’t spot us,” Wellman said. “But they sensed something was wrong. They’ll be comin’ for us. And when they do, it’ll be as sneaky as a ghost.”

  “How far are we from the canyon?” Laurie asked.

  Wellman spat. “Too damn far. How many did you count in that bunch, Matt?”

  “About a dozen.”

  Wellman cursed. “That’s a bunch of them savages. War party. Travelin’ light, too. Damn people will ride a good horse to death and then eat it. I hate anybody who’d mistreat a horse.”

  “Is there anything about an Apache you like, Dick?” Sam asked softly.

  “Yeah,” Wellman said, rolling his chew and spitting. “I like ’em when they’re dead!”

  Matt saw a bush move ever so slightly about three hundred yards out. It might have been the breeze rustling through it, or it might be an Apache moving closer, utilizing every bit of cover he could find, and they were experts at that.

  Matt could let him come closer while he pondered their situation. The location wasn’t that bad. The four of them were on a rise, the highest point around. The girls and the horses behind them in a depression, where they had stopped to take cover when they spotted the second dust. But they would have to very carefully ration water, making sure the horses got enough in case they had to make a run for it. If this was Chappo’s band, so they’d been told up at the Crossing, Chappo didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to Indian superstition; he’d just as soon fight at night as during the day. Might call him an Indian atheist. Among other things.

  Matt looked at the bush again. It had moved, just as he had suspected it would. It was maybe five feet closer than before. He pointed that out to the others.

  “We’ll keep an eye on it,” Sam said. “When it gets well into range, we’ll all have a shot at it.”

  “Jenny,” Wellman called. “Get that short-barreled carbine outta my saddle boot and join Miss Laurie. I taught you how to shoot, girl. Make them all count.”

  Four of the other girls called out that they could shoot and had done so during other Indian raids on their farms and ranches.

  “Get them armed, Laurie,” Matt called to the other side of the knoll.

  The kids began scrambling for the spare rifles and pistols.

  “A game bunch of kids,” Sam pointed out, his eyes on a slight movement in a clump of brush below him. “The future of this country, and I think it’s in pretty good hands.”

  “That’s put right good,” Wellman said. “Plumb poetic. Now why don’t you shoot that ’Pache that’s slipping up over yonder by that clump of manzanita just to the left of that sycamore? I would, but you’re in the way.”

  Sam suspected it was a little more than that: Wellman wanted to see if a half-breed would shoot another Indian. He should have known better; Plains Indians never did have much use for the desert tribes.

  Sam waited until the Apache made another move, and gave him a .44 round in the brisket, knocking him spinning. The Apache tried to lunge back into cover. The second .44 round from Sam’s Winchester stopped him from moving . . . ever again.

  Sam locked eyes with the old mountain man. “You satisfied, now?”

  Wellman grinned. “I ain’t got no idee what in the world you’re jabberin’ about.”

  “Right,” Sam said drily.

  “That one behind the bush is about two hundred yards off,” Matt pointed out.

  “Let’s take him out,” Wellman said, adjusting the rear sight on his long-barreled .44-.40. “You boys dust him out and I’ll nail him.”

  Sam and Bodine fired as one. The slugs must have stung the Apache, for he rolled to one side and tried to fling himself into deeper cover. Wellman dropped him with one well-placed shot. The warrior did not move.

  “Now!” they heard Laurie shout, and the air was filled with rifle and pistol fire for a few seconds. “Good work, girls!” Laurie said.

  “What’d you get, girl?” Wellman called, after the firing had subsided.

  “Two dead and two wounded,” she called calmly. “Jenny got one of the dead.”

  “They’ll pull out,” Sam stated, the Indian in him surfacing. “Their medicine is bad. Regardless of what we were told about Chappo, he’s still an Apache. Four dead and two wounded have cut his band by half. Indians don’t fight to take those kind of losses. But they’ll be tailing us all the way to the fort, you can bet on that; just waiting for a chance to take one or two of us out.”

  “Let’s ride,” Matt said.

  The Apache must have thought that his medicine was not just bad, but awful. They followed the group for several hours that day, then dropped back and headed southwest, toward the border.

  “Smoke.” Matt pointed to several thin lines of smoke rising from the southeast. “Something’s up that’s made them edgy.”

  Sam sat his saddle and watched them go, then rode up onto a ridge to get a better look and to make sure it was not a ruse. It was not; the Apaches were indeed leaving. Just a few minutes later they all found out the reason why as a patrol of cavalry rode into view.

  “Captain Gibbs,” the officer in charge introduced himself. Although he knew the answer to the question, he asked, “May I inquire as to why you people are out in the middle of Apache country with these children?”

  Quickly, Bodine explained.

  “And you are?”

  “Matt Bodine. Sam Two Wolves. Dick Wellman. That’s Jenny, Dick’s granddaughter. And this is Laurie. She was looking for her brother.”

  Several of the troopers shifted nervously in their saddles. They knew their captain’s orders and none of them liked it. They liked even less the fact that Sam Two Wolves had shifted his horse and the muzzle of his Winchester was now pointed directly at Sergeant Larsen’s belly. Miss Laurie’s rifle was carelessly laid across her saddle horn, the muzzle aimed at Lieutenant Packard’s stomach. Wellman’s rifle was laid across the saddle horn, the muzzle pointed straight at a trooper’s belly. Bodine held the reins in his left hand, his right hand near the butt of a Colt. If the captain tried to carry out his orders, a lot of people were going to die.

  Captain Gibbs noticed all that, and also noticed that several of the young girls were armed. He had his orders, but sometimes out in the field one had to put common sense into play. Gibbs knew he was dead, cooling meat if he tried to arrest the four adults for violating the territory of Mexico, destroying a fort, and killing several Mexican nationals with explosives. He had twenty-five men with him. Ten would die in a matter of seconds. And if the adults started shooting, so would the armed girls; and who among them was going to shoot a child?

  He sighed heavily. “Mister Bodine, I have a bit of a problem here. The government of Mexico has demanded your arrest for violating their sovereign territory, for murder, and for destroying an army post. Mister Lake claims that he bought the children from Chappo out of the goodness of his heart, to prevent them from being placed in the hands of slavetraders . . .”

  “He’s a liar!” Jenny lashed out at the captain, startling the army officer. “Him and Chappo have a deal worked out, and all of us here will swear to that.”

  The Captain really did not know what to do. However, he had other cards to play, but not at this time.

  Bodine said, “How do we know you’re really U.S. Cavalry? Those uniforms may be stolen; you may be part of Lake’s gang for all we know.”

  “Matt,” a trooper spoke from the mounted line of blue uniforms. “I’m from the Sweetwater. Jim Harris. My daddy had the Rocking V until that winter two years ago wiped us out. We’ve met several times.”

  Bodine stared at him. Nodded his head. “Yeah. I remember you, Jim. You know about your father?”

  “Got word several months ago. Ma wrote me. She’s gone back to Kansas to live with her sister.”

  “I
know Sergeant Larsen, Matt,” Wellman said. “Met him years ago in Utah Territory. They’s soldier boys, all right.”

  “So what do we do?” Matt tossed the question out.

  “My suggestion is,” the captain said, “we ride to the canyon and make camp, let these young ladies have a proper bath and a hot meal, and discuss this matter like civilized men.”

  “And women?” Laurie put her two cents into it.

  “Right,” Gibbs said, looking at the muzzle of her Winchester, which had shifted and was now pointing at his belly. The muzzle silently spoke volumes. “By all means, Miss.”

  “Y’all head on out,” Wellman told them. “We’ll take the drag. Someone’s got to keep an eye out behind you.”

  “That’s very considerate of you,” Gibbs said.

  “Think nothin’ of it,” Wellman responded politely. “We’re only too happy to hep out the Army.”

  It was at times like these, Gibbs thought, as he took the lead at the head of the column, that he wished he’d followed his mother’s wishes to become a carriage maker.

  Chapter 13

  The girls splashed and hollered and had a good time flouncing around in the cold waters of the lake at the canyon while their freshly washed clothing dried on makeshift lines. The men, their backs to the young ladies, talked over coffee.

  “Of course we know that Lake and Porter are filth,” Gibbs said. “And liars. We know all about Captain Morgan and his odious business. But since he never puts in at any American port, there is very little the government can do about it. But Mexico, more specifically the state of Sonora, has lodged an official protest with our government—concerning your actions. So what do you suggest we do about it?”

  “Ignore it,” Matt said. “Hell, Captain, the kids were kidnapped and being held against their will while certain officials down there were being paid off to turn their backs to it.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Then the government, our government, has no choice but to press on with the charges against you.”

  “You know what all this is, don’t you, Matt, Sam?” Wellman said. “It’s all a crock of bull-crap!”

  Gibbs stiffened. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Oh, blow it out your back-flap, Captain!” Wellman snapped at him. “You think I rode into this mess blind? I sent a hundred wires off seeking information afore I started out down here. Our government receives fifty or sixty protests a month from the Mexican government . . . for one thing or another. They been doin’ it ever since the Alamo fell—forty damn years ago. And all of a sudden you gonna single us out for charges? Crap! Git to the bottom line, soldier-boy.”

  Matt was confused for a moment, studying Gibbs’s flushed face. Then pieces started falling into place. He hoped he was wrong . . .

  Matt said, “The bottom line is this: Chappo, Lake, and Porter, right, Captain?”

  Sam looked at his blood brother. “Have I missed something along the way?”

  “Let me put it this way: Our government isn’t above turning its back to some unlawful act if its interests are served in the process, right, Captain?”

  “I didn’t come up with this idea, Bodine. And I don’t like it.”

  “Do your men know about it?”

  “No. That’s why I could say nothing about it out in the field.”

  “Lake and Porter would be as easy as breathing,” Matt said. “So it has to be Chappo.”

  “Certain . . . ah . . . rewards will be given in return for his death.”

  “I don’t need rewards,” Matt told him bluntly. “I own a very large ranch up in Wyoming; as does Sam. But I can’t speak for either Sam nor Wellman.”

  “I struck a rich vein years ago,” Wellman said. “I got enough to live on for five lifetimes.” He then proceeded to tell the captain where he could stick his rewards.

  “I have an idea,” Sam said. All eyes swung toward him. “Let the money go to Laurie. You can’t raise Jenny, Dick. But Laurie could, with some financial help.”

  “I just told you I got gold a-plenty,” Dick said peevishly. “But that ain’t a bad idea of yourn.”

  “You know, Captain,” Sam spoke the words softly, “if we don’t agree with this, all we’d have to do is contact some reporter and public sentiment would turn against the Army.”

  “I realize that. However, there is a small matter of a shooting up at the Crossing still to be resolved . . .”

  Matt held up a hand. “Enough, Captain. You’ve got a lot of green troopers, don’t you?”

  “More than seventy-five percent of them, yes.”

  “All right. Sam is half-Cheyenne, I was practically raised by the Cheyenne, and Wellman is an experienced Indian fighter. The feeling is that a very small band of highly seasoned men could probably do more than a large force of basically untrained troops, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, why didn’t you just ask us to do it?” Sam stated. “That’s what gripes me. Why all this elaborate scheming?”

  Gibbs smiled, thinly. “You ever been around a bunch of high-ranking officers, Sam?”

  “Fortunately, no.”

  “For your sake, try to keep it that way.”

  * * *

  They rode to the fort in the Huachucas and rested. Over a lot of protestations from the both of them, Dick sent Laurie and Jenny back to his small spread on the Utah-Idaho border and told them both to stay put. He had hands on the ranch; they would be taken care of. He then found himself a lawyer and had a will drawn up, changing his old will, leaving everything he had to Laurie and Jenny. They liked each other, they had each other, and that was about it as far as family went for either of them. Families or friends of the other girls were notified that they were still alive.

  “You act like you’re not coming back from this foray, Dick,” Sam observed.

  “Don’t ’spect I will, Two Wolves. Don’t know as I want to. Been in some pain lately. Arrowhead’s moved, I reckon. I told Laurie we’d look for her brother. If we don’t find him, and I pray we don’t, you tell her we did and that he’s dead, boys.”

  “That would be the best thing,” Matt agreed. “Where do we start in this quest? Anybody got any ideas?”

  Sam shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride. I’ve always enjoyed risking my life on quixotic ventures.”

  Wellman shook his head. “I wintered with a feller once that read Shakespeare. You and him would have hit it right off. Where to start? Well, let’s take the hard part first and tackle Chappo. Porter and Lake is gonna be easy. Chappo is gonna be a grizzly, I’m thinkin’.”

  “I made the list of supplies you requested, Matt,” Sam said. “Dick and I agreed with it, but there is a question we both raised: are we going on an extended expedition?”

  “We just might. I’ve spoken with some Army scouts and they’ve shed some light on why Chappo’s been so hard to catch. When he gets too hot here in the Territory, he and his people hightail it down into the Sierra De La Madera mountains.”

  “The Sierra Madres,” Dick said, almost in a whisper. “I always wanted to see them mountains. Never got around to it. It fits. Chappo would have him a rancheria down there. All tucked away in the mountains where he could relax and hide.” He grinned as he and Sam exchanged glances and smiles. “Now I see why you got all that dynamite.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said, and all three of them started laughing.

  * * *

  They would leave their horses at the fort. Hopefully they would come out of this alive to pick them up later. Then the three of them chose big, tough, horses of a light brown color, to better fit with the land they would be riding into. They all bought—at the Army’s expense, which irritated the commanding officer at the fort—new clothing, all tan and brown, right from their boots to their hats.

  They picked their pack horses carefully, choosing only those who appeared to have an even temperament and lots of staying power.

  The three of them
spent several hours putting together the dynamite, from two and three sticks wrapped together for throwing, to the wrapping and tying together of massive amounts that could bring down the side of a mountain.

  Then came the early morning hours when everything that could be done was concluded. They had not made plans to pull out that day; they just got up, looked at each other, rolled their blankets in their ground sheets, then walked toward the stables.

  After saddling up, loading up, and tying down, they strolled over to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. Captain Gibbs was standing on the porch, having a smoke in the pre-dawn hours.

  “I thought today would be the day,” the officer said, then walked inside with the trio and took a seat at a table.

  Over breakfast, Sam said, “It goes without saying that if we get down in Mexico and get in trouble, we’d probably better not hold our breaths waiting for the cavalry to come charging to our rescue.”

  Gibbs nodded his head in agreement. “We received word late last evening that Laurie and Jenny have arrived safely at your ranch, Mister Wellman.”

  “That’s the biggest load off my mind,” Wellman said. “They both got ’em a home now.”

  “What route are you taking?” Gibbs asked.

  “Straight down,” Matt told him. “Right through the Huachucas. We’ll tackle Chappo first.”

  “Misters Lake and Porter seem to have disappeared.”

  “They ain’t gone far. As long as they’s gold or silver bein’ mined out of them mountains, crud like them two will be hangin’ around lookin’ to steal it.”

  The hunters finished their coffee and stood up as one. “See you,” Sam told the captain. The trio walked outside, swung into their saddles, and put the post behind them with still an hour to go before the dawning.

  * * *

  “Chappo’ll get word of this,” Wellman said, as dawn touched the country with light, chasing away the purple shadows and bringing the land to new life. “You can bet he’s got people back at the post feedin’ information to him. I ain’t never seen it fail yet, and I done a lot of scoutin’ for the Army in my time.”