Blood Bond: Arizona Ambush

by Johnstone, J. A. ; Johnstone, J. A.

  Sam reined in and swung down from his horse. As he hunkered on his heels to study the ground, John Henry Boyd called a question from behind him.

  “You find something, Two Wolves?”

  “Maybe,” Sam said. He spotted another darker rock a few feet away, and another after that. He straightened and walked forward slowly, leading his horse.

  The signs were small, in some cases so tiny as to be almost invisible, but they were there. Sam followed them for a good fifty yards before he found an actual hoofprint. It had been left by a cow, and he came across more and more of them as the ground became softer again.

  “Here,” he said, pointing. “They came through here.”

  He lifted his arm and leveled it in a generally northwest direction, toward the area of buttes, ridges, and canyons where Caballo Rojo and his people lived.

  “And they went that way,” Sam said, hoping he wasn’t wrong about the Navajo.

  Boyd grunted.

  “Then so will we,” he said as he slipped his revolver from its holster.

  He pointed the gun into the air and fired three shots, signaling his widespread riders to converge on him again.

  “You’re leading the way now, Two Wolves,” the rancher said.

  “The redskin might be leadin’ us into a trap, boss,” Pete Lowry warned.

  “I don’t care if he is,” Boyd snapped. “We’ll fight our way out of it. I want my cows back, and I want a shot at the mangy coyotes who killed my men.”

  At that moment, Sam almost felt some admiration for the crusty old cattleman. He could appreciate the loyalty Boyd felt toward the men who rode for the Devil’s Pitchfork brand.

  The riders gathered and the whole group struck out, again following the trail left by the stolen herd. Stovepipe brought his horse up alongside Sam’s and said quietly, “That was good trackin’, son. Couldn’t have done better myself, I reckon.”

  “You don’t fool me, Stovepipe,” Sam said. “I’ll bet you picked up some of the same sign I did.”

  The range detective grinned.

  “Well, you was doin’ such a good job of leadin’ the way, I didn’t see no need to get in your way.”

  “So you let me take the credit with Boyd, so maybe he’ll trust me a little more.”

  “Credit’s somethin’ I never cared overmuch about,” Stovepipe admitted.

  After another hour or so of following the trail, the riders began to get into an area that seemed a little familiar to Sam. Of course, most of the rugged landscape in the Four Corners region looked similar.

  The rock formations jutting up from the arid plains were infinite in their variety, however, and Sam began to see some he was sure he had seen before.

  That meant they were getting into the area where he and Matt had been bushwhacked.

  And that meant they weren’t that far from the canyon where he had left Matt with Caballo Rojo’s people.

  Elizabeth Fleming was there, too, Sam recalled. He had spent a considerable amount of time wondering how his blood brother was doing, and that included wondering what was going on between Matt and Elizabeth.

  Sam didn’t have any real romantic interest in the redheaded Eastern teacher himself, but he knew how Matt was any time he was around a pretty girl.

  Flirting came as naturally as gun-handling to Matt Bodine, and Sam hoped that hadn’t led to any trouble while Matt was supposed to be recuperating from those bullet holes in his hide.

  Chapter 27

  Matt made good on his promise to sleep with one eye open after the attempt on his life.

  Not literally, of course, but with the skills developed during a dangerous life on the frontier, he slept lightly that night.

  His instincts remained on alert to warn him of anything that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He wished he had his guns, but Caballo Rojo had ordered something done with them.

  The only weapon he had was a fist-sized rock he had managed to sneak into the hogan. If anybody attacked him, he planned to brain the varmint with the rock.

  The result of all that was that Matt was still tired when he rolled out of his blankets the next morning, but nothing else had happened.

  Well, one other thing, he amended as he sat up and looked across the hogan.

  Juan Pablo was back.

  The Navajo was as stone-faced and unfriendly-looking as ever, Matt saw. He hadn’t heard Juan Pablo come in, and he felt a slight prickling of his nerves. He should have been aware of the man’s arrival.

  Juan Pablo was standing up, though, so it was possible he had just stepped into the hogan. His wife knelt by the fire, preparing breakfast. If there was going to be any sort of reunion between them, obviously they intended to wait until they were alone for it, which was just fine with Matt.

  “Good morning,” he said as he got to his feet. As soon as he’d seen Juan Pablo, he had wondered about Sam. “Is Sam back, too?”

  Juan Pablo shook his head.

  “The half-breed followed the trail of the men he sought toward the settlement of Flat Rock two days ago,” he answered. “I have not seen him since.”

  Matt was disappointed that Sam hadn’t returned to the canyon. He asked, “Where have you been all that time since?”

  Juan Pablo frowned, as if tempted to tell Matt that was none of his business, but then he said, “It took a day to return from the spot where I left your friend. The other day I spent cleansing myself of his presence.”

  “And now you’re dirtied yourself up again by comin’ back here where I am.”

  Juan Pablo grunted.

  “You said that, white man, not I.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna be here much longer. I’m leaving today.”

  And so was Elizabeth, he thought, but he didn’t mention that just yet.

  “Fine,” Juan Pablo said with a curt nod.

  “Aren’t you gonna ask if I’m in good enough shape to travel?”

  Juan Pablo’s silence was an eloquent indication of how little he cared about the answer to that question.

  The man’s wife had a pot of stew ready. When she held out a bowl to him, Matt shook his head.

  “Thank you,” he told her. He had exchanged very few words with her, and neither of them had understood what the other was saying.

  But despite her sometimes disapproving demeanor, she had taken good care of him, and he appreciated that. He smiled at her and nodded, hoping that she understood he was grateful to her, and then stepped out of the hogan.

  The air had that welcome coolness desert air always did, early in the morning. Matt breathed deeply of it and didn’t feel quite as tired.

  He heard his name called, turned around, and felt even better.

  Elizabeth was coming toward him, beautiful in her dark green long-sleeved blouse and long skirt.

  “You’re all right,” she said as she came up to him.

  Matt smiled.

  “Did you expect something different?”

  “After what happened yesterday, I didn’t know what to expect,” she said. “Do you still want to leave today?”

  Matt’s answer came without hesitation.

  “That’s right. There’s still something bad brewing here. I don’t know what it is and I wish I did, but my guts tell me we’ll be better off getting out while we can.” He paused. “You’re still coming with me, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know ... I hate to leave these people. I’d like to think I’ve done them some good. They’re going to be able to make their way better in the white man’s world because of me.”

  She didn’t understand, Matt thought. The Navajo didn’t want to make their way in the white man’s world. They wanted to be left alone to live in their own world, in their own way.

  You couldn’t convince the “Lo, the poor Indian!” people of that, though. Folks who believed they were going to make somebody change for their own good were doomed to failure.

  He wasn’t going to say that to Elizabeth. For one thing, it wouldn’t do any good. He
couldn’t change her beliefs any more than she could change those of the Navajo.

  But he could get her out of what might well turn out to be a dangerous situation, and he was going to try his best to do so.

  “I really think you ought to come with me. I mean, since I’ve been wounded and all ...”

  He ought to be ashamed of himself for playing that card, he thought as he saw sympathy light up her eyes. Somebody like Elizabeth couldn’t resist the urge to help somebody. But if it got her clear of this canyon, he was willing to do it.

  Anyway, he was wounded. That was just the truth. And while he felt stronger today than he had since winding up here, he still thought it would be a good idea to have somebody around to look after him, if need be.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll come with you.” She smiled. “Anyway, there’s nothing stopping me from coming back here later on, is there?”

  “Not a thing,” he agreed. They could deal with what would happen later once they were out of here.

  “Of course, we don’t know if Caballo Rojo will allow us to leave,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  She was right. That could be a problem.

  So the thing to do was tend to it right now, Matt decided.

  He took her arm and said, “Let’s go talk to him.”

  They walked along the creek toward Caballo Rojo’s hogan. With the air still holding that hint of coolness and the sun not blazing down in the canyon like it would later in the day, this would have been a pleasant moment if not for the fact that Matt was worried about what the Navajo headman would say.

  Caballo Rojo was sitting outside his hogan, working with a bit of silver, fashioning it into some small piece of jewelry. He looked up for a second as Matt and Elizabeth approached, but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge that they were there.

  “Caballo Rojo, I’d like to talk to you,” Matt said. “I know you understand me, even without Juan Pablo here to translate for me. I want to thank you for your hospitality, for seeing that I was taken care of while I was recovering from my injuries.”

  Caballo Rojo grunted but still didn’t look up again.

  “Now that my wounds are healing, I think it’s time for me to leave,” Matt went on. “I’d like to have my horse, my guns, and the rest of my gear returned to me.”

  No response from the headman. Matt and Elizabeth traded worried glances. This wasn’t going the way they had hoped.

  But there was nothing they could do except go ahead with their plan. Matt said, “Miss Fleming is going to go with me, to help me in case my injuries trouble me.”

  Caballo Rojo finally lifted his head. He shook it slowly from side to side in stubborn refusal.

  Elizabeth said, “Do you mean you don’t want me to go with Mr. Bodine, Caballo Rojo?”

  From behind them, a harsh voice said, “Caballo Rojo means that neither of you will leave this canyon.”

  Matt turned sharply and saw Juan Pablo standing there. The Navajo had one of the single-shot rifles in his hands, and the weapon was trained on Matt’s belly.

  Behind Juan Pablo stood three more men, one of them armed with another rifle, the other two with bows and arrows. They glared menacingly at Matt and Elizabeth.

  Juan Pablo smiled, though, the first smile Matt had seen on the Navajo’s face.

  It wasn’t a pretty expression.

  “What’s going on here?” Matt demanded. He looked over his shoulder at the headman. “Caballo Rojo—”

  “I have already spoken to Caballo Rojo,” Juan Pablo broke in. “I have told him how you plan to go to the settlement and lead the white men back here so they can attack us and wipe out all of our people.”

  “That’s not true!” Elizabeth cried. “Caballo Rojo, you must believe me. I’ve never done anything except try to help your people, and Mr. Bodine would never betray you after you helped him the way you did.”

  “Lies, all lies,” Juan Pablo said with the calm self-assurance of a man who knows that he has already won. “Like all the other whites, you seek only the destruction of the Diné. But your treachery will bring about only your own destruction.”

  He lifted the rifle.

  “No, you will never leave this canyon ... alive.”

  Chapter 28

  The trail of the rustled cattle continued to angle toward the canyon where the members of Caballo Rojo’s clan made their home. Sam grew more worried as he saw that.

  Was it possible that the Navajo really were to blame for stealing that stock and killing Boyd’s punchers?

  Sam didn’t want to believe that was true, but he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes ... especially when the line of cliffs where the canyon was located came into view.

  As he and the other riders came closer, however, the tracks began to turn more to the north. Relief went through Sam as he realized that the trail was going to lead past the entrance to the Navajo canyon.

  This was the closest he had been to the place since leaving several days earlier, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Matt was doing. It would be easy enough to ride over there and see. It wouldn’t take long.

  That is, it would have been easy if he and Stovepipe and Wilbur weren’t prisoners of the Devil’s Pitchfork crew.

  As it was, Sam knew that Pete Lowry would be only too happy to gun them down if it looked like they were trying to escape, and so would some of the other men.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted Boyd and his men to know those Navajo hogans were hidden in the canyon, anyway. That might cause trouble for Caballo Rojo and his people in the future.

  So as the cliffs fell behind them, Sam felt mingled relief and worry. Relief that the trail of the stolen cattle hadn’t led straight to the Navajo, and worry about Matt.

  He wasn’t sure why that had started nagging at him, but the bond that existed between the blood brothers sometimes enabled them to sense when the other one was in trouble.

  Sam hoped that wasn’t the case now.

  “That looks like hellacious country ahead of us,” John Henry Boyd commented. “I don’t reckon I’ve ever been up this far before. Can’t be far to the Sweetwater Hills.” He pointed to a range of low but rugged peaks with sides deeply seamed by canyons and crevices. “That must be them.”

  Pete Lowry said nervously, “Boss, I’ve heard that those hills are haunted.”

  It struck Sam as odd that such a sentiment would be expressed by the hard-nosed segundo. Even the toughest hombre could be touched by superstition, though.

  A harsh laugh came from Boyd.

  “Ghosts didn’t steal those cattle or ventilate those two boys, Pete. If they’re in those hills, the varmints who took ’em there are flesh and blood, and bullets will put holes in ’em. We’re not turning back now.”

  “Never said anything about turnin’ back,” Lowry responded in surly tones. “Just tellin’ you what I’ve heard, that’s all.”

  The trail grew dim, and once again Sam and Stovepipe had to search for it. This time it was the tall, lanky cowboy who found the tracks they were looking for.

  There was no doubt now that they were headed straight for the Sweetwater Hills.

  “Looks like there’s a heap of places to hide in those badlands,” Stovepipe said.

  “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got you with us,” Lowry said. “Since you’re one of the gang, you can tell us how to find the rest of your bunch.”

  Wilbur said, “I thought it was the Navajo who were responsible for what happened. Now you’re sayin’ it’s a gang of white outlaws? Sort of changin’ your tune, ain’t you, Lowry?”

  Lowry snarled at him.

  “Give me five minutes with a Bowie knife and I’d get the truth outta you, you short-growed little runt.”

  Wilbur’s face flushed with anger as he said, “Blast it, I’m not that short! It just looks like it because I hang around with this beanpole here.”

  He jerked a thumb at the grinning Stovepipe.

  “Beanpole, eh? I ain’t sure I like that name. I’m jus
t gettin’ used to Stovepipe.”

  “Pipe down, all three of you,” Boyd warned. “Two Wolves, what do you think?”

  “Your cattle are probably stashed in some canyon up there in the hills, all right,” Sam said. “And it won’t be easy to find.”

  “You don’t know anything about it?”

  Sam shook his head.

  “I’m just following a trail, like you.”

  “I’ve got a hunch you’re telling the truth.” Boyd silenced Lowry’s protest with a look before the segundo could even say anything. “Pete, give ’em back their guns.”

  “Boss, that’s a mistake—” Lowry began.

  “If it is, it’s my mistake to make!” Boyd said. “I still give the orders in this bunch.”

  Lowry nodded.

  “I never said you didn’t, John Henry.” With obvious reluctance, he turned in the saddle and motioned to the men who had taken charge of the weapons belonging to Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur. “Give ’em back their guns.”

  Sam felt a little better once the familiar weight of the Colt was back in its holster, the Winchester was in the saddleboot under his left thigh, and his bowie knife was nestled in its sheath on his left hip. He knew the situation was still full of risk, but at least now he could fight if he had to.

  “Let’s go,” Boyd said once the three men were armed again. The rancher added, “But just in case you’re trying to double-cross us, we’ll still be keeping a close eye on you and your friends, Two Wolves.”

  “No double cross,” Sam said. “We’re on the same side.”

  Lowry snorted.

  “If that’s true, it’s the first time I’ve ever been on the same side as a damn redskin.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Sam told him with a smile. He didn’t have to like Lowry—that seemed pretty unlikely—but they might soon be fighting side by side, so it was a good idea if they could trust each other.

  Several rugged mesas loomed between the riders and the hills. They would have to weave among those mesas to reach their destination, unless they went around and risked losing the trail ... because it appeared that the stolen herd had been driven through those big, flat-topped formations.