Blood of Apache Mesa

by Patrick E. Andrews

  And stumbled straight into Wildon’s line of fire.

  Wildon unemotionally and intentionally aimed at the bandit. A gentle squeeze on the trigger and he killed the man. He turned and emitted a loud whistle. “Hester! Bring the horses!”

  In five minutes the trio of escapees were remounted and going down the trail. When they reached the bottom, they streaked out over the hard desert floor, heading with all speed back to safety. The sun, a bare reddish disk, was just peeking over the eastern horizon.

  Above them, on the trail he now knew was clear, Hubert Mauveaux led his bandits down the trail at a wild gallop.

  Sixteen

  The previous night’s coolness had yet to be burned away by the desert’s relentless sun. The comfortable temperature acted as a stimulant to the horses as Wildon, Hester, and Garrity streaked across the hard-baked terrain.

  Hester rode between the two men, sitting in the saddle and rocking in rhythm with each stride of her mount in a smooth fashion. She was completely at ease and even enjoying the ride, showing what a superb horsewoman she truly was.

  Wildon glanced back and noted that there was no sign of the bandits in pursuit. The three escapees’ mounts would tire fast at that frantic pace, but they had no choice. If they slowed up to take it easy on the animals, it would only increase the danger of being overtaken. All three knew that the desperados would be pushing hard to catch up with them.

  Another ten minutes of the mad galloping continued. Garrity’s eyes were in constant motion as he checked the area in front of them, the condition of his companions and their animals, and any sightings of the outlaws. He saw nothing to give him any concern other than the very real potential of sure death they faced if they were captured by the bandits. But he did notice that Hester’s horse was not as fit or fleet as the cavalry mounts he and the young lieutenant rode.

  Wildon had also become aware of that particular problem. Although the animal Hester rode was game and showed every desire to keep up with his new companions, he was slowly falling behind. Wildon looked back again to see if the bandidos were any closer. When he noted they were not, he emitted a loud whistle to catch the others’ attention. When they looked toward him he signaled a halt.

  The horses, excited by the run, whinnied protests as the reins were pulled back against them. They finally slowed, kicking up dust, then came to a hoof-stomping, snorting stop, showing their equine displeasure at the interruption of what they considered fun.

  “What’s up, sir?” Garrity asked.

  “I’m going to trade horses with Hester,” Wildon answered, swinging out of the saddle.

  “Sir—”

  “By God, Sergeant Garrity, I’ll tolerate no arguing this time,” Wildon said angrily. He looked up at Hester. “Let’s exchange mounts.”

  Hester, with a solid background in judging horses, knew the reason. She would have preferred that Garrity take her mount, but something about the way Wildon looked smothered any desire for argument. She stepped to the ground without a word.

  Now Wildon settled into the saddle of the bandit horse. After waiting for Hester to remount his own animal, he glanced toward the rear. A faint cloud of dust could easily be seen hanging just on the horizon.

  “See that, Sergeant Garrity?” Wildon asked. “They’re drawing closer.”

  “They sure are, sir,” Garrity said. “Let’s ride.”

  The run for freedom was resumed.

  Forced to push the horses again, the trio galloped at a continuing mad pace. Wildon slapped the reins onto the horse’s shoulders, but could sense the animal’s fast-growing fatigue. Each stride set him back farther from the other two mounts.

  Wildon looked back and saw that there was a perceptive change in the dust cloud. Higher, thick, and definitely closer, its ominous sight heralded the closing gap between them and the outlaws.

  “Ha-yaah!” Wildon shouted, trying to urge the horse on. The animal tried, but still could not maintain the pace of the other two.

  Finally Garrity rode out a bit farther ahead. Then he zigzagged back and forth to slow the married couple down and brought them to another halt. “You gotta gimme that horse, sir.”

  “I thought I made myself clear, Sergeant,” Wildon said, pulling rank.

  Hester rode over close to her husband. “Darling, do what you think is best. But I am telling you, without hesitation, that I shall stick close to your side.”

  “Will neither of you obey me as an officer or husband?” Wildon asked angrily.

  “Now look, Lieutenant. You know your wife ain’t gonna ride off and leave you,” Garrity argued. “I thought you’d already seen that. If you keep riding that damned Mexican horse, you’re both gonna be farther and farther behind. This way, you stand a better chance of getting away. Hell, I can prob’ly do pretty good for myself if I’m alone anyhow. At least I won’t have nobody else to worry about if I get separated from you two.”

  “Perhaps we can pull another rear-guard action,” Wildon suggested.

  Garrity shook his head. “There’s no cover. Even if one of us stayed behind, them bandits would just ride around and come back later after getting the other two.”

  Wildon took another look at the horizon. The dust cloud seemed to have grown in the previous few minutes. “Very well, Sergeant.”

  Within seconds, the two cavalrymen had exchanged mounts.

  This time Wildon and Hester took the lead while Garrity brought up the rear on the blown bandit horse. They rode wildly with abandon, giving the eager animals their heads. Only Garrity’s stallion strained in an effort to go all out.

  They went up a slight rise and down into what appeared to be flatlands. Then the unexpected sights of arroyos appeared. A disorganized network of ancient riverbeds formed an erratic pattern of trenches ahead of them. Wildon and Hester urged their horses to jump the ravines. But when Garrity reached the gashes in the earth, he chose the widest and rode down into it, dismounting and pulling the Henry from its scabbard.

  As with the ambush on the mountain trail, the sergeant had the luxury of preparing himself well in order to surprise his enemy. The disadvantage of this position was the fact that the bandits would not be pinned down to the confines of a narrow track. But the arroyos still offered a chance, albeit limited, of slowing them down.

  Garrity took the time available to him to go to several different positions in the arroyo that offered good areas of fire. He chose the one that gave him the best view. It would be his main fighting post.

  Its depth was a foot more than his height, but there were plenty of places that offered footholds so that he could step up into a firing position and drop back under cover before any accurate return fire could be directed at him. When he finished the task of picking his spots, he went back to the one that was his first choice. Stepping up onto the bank, he cautiously raised his head until his eyes were at ground level. He could easily see the bandit gang approaching. The dark shadows in front of the dust were barely distinguishable, but Garrity knew dozens of riders thundered toward him.

  This particular ambush would be carried out at maximum range. He had to wait a full five minutes before the bandidos reached the point where he planned to shoot. Aiming high to allow for the bullet’s drop at that yardage, he pointed the muzzle at a point in front of the large, approaching target. He knew the desperados would not even hear the shot as he squeezed the trigger.

  One of the horses suddenly went down, throwing its rider to the dirt while the rest of the gang pressed on.

  Even though Garrity was but one man, he had every intention of hiding the fact from the bandits. He quickly went to another point and repeated the operation. After firing five more rounds, he stopped long enough to see what sort of reaction the outlaws had made to the unexpected casualties among themselves.

  They were coming to a ragged halt, milling around and gesturing to each other. Laughing out loud, Garrity ran to his horse and leaped into the saddle. Thoroughly pleased with himself, the sergeant rode out of the
arroyo and up onto level ground to gallop off after Wildon and Hester.

  Wildon had glanced back and noticed Garrity turning off into the arroyo. He was torn between whether or not to go back to the sergeant and stand side by side with him in a shoot-out with the bandits. It was sorely tempting to the adventurous, soldiering side of the young lieutenant’s soul. But a look at his wife swept away his warrior instinct, replacing it with that of a loving, dutiful husband.

  Hester was also doing more than simply riding blindly toward freedom. She used her own eyes to judge the situation. When Garrity pulled away, she kept a close check on Wildon to see what he would do. Hester was determined that if her man pulled back, she would ride with him. When he continued the pace, she stuck close to his side.

  It was Hester who noted Garrity when he rode out of the dry riverbeds. She motioned to Wildon. As if making a silent agreement between them, they slowed enough to allow the sergeant to rejoin them. When he caught up, the run continued.

  Wildon, with a sense of direction and location developed through countless hunting trips in the Catskills, recognized they were near the Mexican farming village they had visited earlier. An idea formed in his mind.

  ‘This way! This way!” he shouted as loud as he could. A slight tug on the reins turned his horse in the direction he wanted to go.

  Garrity also recognized the terrain. As if in agreement, he unhesitatingly veered his own direction to go' with Wildon. The three rode another ten minutes before the small adobe huts came into view.

  When they reached the place, the three found the same kind of impromptu welcoming committee that had previously greeted Wildon and Garrity—the hamlet’s men.

  The spokesman, remembered by the two Americans as being the one who forsook his raped wife, exhibited no pleasure at seeing them. He gave Hester a meaningful glance. “You have found la mujer americana, eh?”

  “Yes,” Wildon said. “My wife.”

  “You are a lucky man, senor,” the Mexican said. “I do not understand why you do not race on to la frontera.”

  The other village men crowded around ominously. They seemed to sense the situation the three Americans were in. The spokesman asked, “What do you want from us, senores?”

  “We need ayuda,” Garrity explained. “Los bandidos chase us. We have to hide.”

  “There is no place for you to hide,” the Mexican said. “Go away. You bring the bandits here.”

  He turned toward the crowd. “Luis! Alfredo! Vengan con tus armas!”

  Two men pushed their way through the others. When they stepped out into the open, they each held a weapon—one a pistol and the other a rifle. Their manner showed they were ready and willing to shoot.

  “If you do not go, I will tell them to kill you,” the Mexican said.

  “Wait,” Wildon said. “We have not harmed you.”

  “But you bring such dano to us,” the man said. “If the bandits come and find your tracks going away from here, they will quickly leave and follow you. En cambio, if they find your bodies, they will reward us.”

  Alarm swept through Wildon and Garrity. Both men, though neither spoke to the other, had sudden thoughts of drawing pistols and shooting.

  The Mexican sighed. “But we are cristianos here. Por eso if you wish to leave, we will allow it.”

  The three escapees took the hint. “We will go then,” Garrity said. He looked at Wildon and Hester. “There’s no sense in wasting any more time. It’ll only make things worse for us.”

  “Then let’s go,” Wildon said.

  The three Americans quickly rode away without further word.

  They realized they had lost even the small bit of time gained through Garrity’s ambush. They pressed on toward the border. But the sergeant’s horse was faltering much more. Although a spirited animal, it was not capable of keeping up the run more than another three miles at best.

  To make matters worse, the two cavalry mounts were beginning to show the physical strain they were under. Slowed considerably, the ride continued northward. Finally, when they reached the outer stretch of the arroyo patterns they had encountered earlier, Garrity spoke the obvious.

  “Let’s find a good spot. We ain’t gonna make any more headway.”

  They continued for another half-mile before finding a deep cut in the desert floor. Riding down into it, they dismounted. Wildon and Garrity handed the reins over to Hester as they pulled their long guns from the saddle boots. The two climbed back up the bank to see if they could spot the bandits’ approach.

  “We’re as good as being on foot,” Garrity said. “And that’s a fact whether we like it or not.”

  “Yes,” Wildon said. “Now the army mounts are winded. The bandit horses are a hell of a lot fresher. Too bad we didn’t get a better one.”

  “Maybe that Lola gave us a tired horse on purpose,” Garrity said.

  “No doubt,” Wildon said angrily.

  Garrity continued his candor. “This is a last stand, Lieutenant. We ain’t getting out of this. If we surrender, it’ll only prolong the certainty of what’s to happen.”

  “The sons of bitches will pay plenty though,” Wildon said in dogged determination.

  “There’s something else to consider, sir,” Garrity said. “I’m talking about your wife. It ain’t pretty, sir, but you got to save the last bullet for her.” Wildon’s eyes opened wide. “For the love of God! You mean kill her!”

  “Yes, sir. You know what they’ll do before they murder her if you don’t take her out gentle and quick.”

  “Why?” Wildon asked. "Didn’t that woman Lola say the bandit leader loved her? Hell, he didn’t do anything bad to Hester while she was his prisoner. Why would he turn mean now?”

  “The sonofabitch won’t have no choice, sir,” Garrity explained. “He’s going to have to show his men that he isn’t a softy. We’ve killed a lot of them too. He can’t let none of us off. Not even Mrs. Boothe.”

  Wildon gritted his teeth. “God!”

  “He’ll give her to his men, sir,” Garrity said. “You want her to endure that during her last hours of life?” He grabbed the lieutenant’s shoulders. “God damn it! I’ve seen the results of these things.”

  Wildon nodded. “You’re right, of course. Damn your eyes, Sergeant Garrity! You’re always right, aren’t you?”

  “In this case it don’t pleasure me much, sir,” Garrity said solemnly.

  A slight trembling in the ground could be discerned. The two soldiers looked over the rim of the arroyo. Out in the desert, coming on ten men abreast, the bandit gang pressed toward them.

  “Maybe they’ll ride by,” Wildon said hopefully.

  “No, sir,” Garrity said. “You can tell from the direction they’re coming that they’ve been to the village. Those poor folks there told on us.”

  “I guess I can’t blame them,” Wildon said. He looked back. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes left.” He held out his hand. “Good-bye, Sergeant Garrity.”

  “So long, sir.”

  Wildon looked back at Hester. He wanted to go over to her, but there wasn’t time. She had eased back into a cut in the arroyo wall. The opening was just large enough for her and the three horses. He waved at her and smiled.

  The lieutenant looked back at the approaching enemy. They had drawn much closer. He cocked the Winchester, chambering a round. His hand reached down and touched the handle of his revolver, the awful words running through his mind.

  The last bullet.

  Seventeen

  The bandits charged toward the arroyo as a close-packed, thundering mob. The two soldiers knew exactly how to handle such an attack.

  They fired evenly spaced shots, swinging the muzzles of their rifles to crisscross the broad target roaring down on them. The tactic spilled a dozen desperados from their mounts. The unfortunate outlaws hit the ground, rolling and bouncing before coming to undignified stops. They were covered with white dust that stuck to their blood-soaked clothing.

  When the attacke
rs swept past on each side of the arroyo, Wildon and Garrity changed positions to fire into their backs. Five more of Mauveaux’s men were hit by the flying slugs.

  The bandits rode fifty yards past the defended position, then turned off to the west, keeping plenty of range between themselves and the two soldiers.

  Wildon slid his head above the arroyo and watched their wide circuit. “They’re keeping their distance,” he said. “Looks like they’ve been stung enough to make them cautious.”

  “I’ll say,” Garrity said, remembering his own ambushes. “But they’ll regroup for another assault.”

  Hester joined the two men. “I’ve hobbled the horses with the restraints you had in your saddlebags,” she said. “They were getting hard to hold down.”

  “They’re skittish and blowed,” Garrity said. “All this noise ain’t doing much for their dispositions.” Hester spoke as a horsewoman genuinely concerned about the faithful animals. “They are in need of a long rest. As of this moment, we cannot depend too much on the poor horses.”She sighed. “They could never outrun Mauveaux’s men.”

  “Mauveaux?” Wildon asked. “I thought the man’s name was Mobo. Isn’t that what the Mexican woman in the village told us?”

  “Yes, sir,” Garrity said. “But you gotta remember that the Spanish ‘v’ and ‘b’ are real close. It just sounded like Mobo to us.”

  “He is French,” Hester said. “A former officer in their army. He told me he was going to be an emperor of an empire that stretched from here to South America.”

  “A mad man,” Wildon said.

  “But a gentleman, I must most hesitantly admit,” Hester said. She thought it best not to bring up his amorous advances to her husband. “He treated me rather well, I must say.”

  “The Mexican lady said he was quite fond of you,” Wildon said with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

  Hester was a bit embarrassed at learning Wildon had been told about her former captor’s affections. “Well—I suppose he was.”

  Garrity interrupted any further conversation. “Here they come again!”