Mort and Butch were still trying to get their horses settled down and shoot at the same time.
Kendrick's first bullet hit Mort in the right hip; his second one, a split second later, hit higher, just under the right armpit, and knocked the Circle G man out of his saddle.
Butch, in the meantime, got off two more wild shots.
Kendrick's aim shifted. His third bullet caught Butch in the pad of muscle just above his left collarbone. Butch toppled away with a loud grunt of pain.
It was over. A matter of seconds.
Clouds of yellow dust hung in the air, kicked up by the activity of the horses, mingling with drifting puffs of bluish gun smoke. A fading echo of the final shots rolled away through the arroyos.
Kendrick dismounted and helped Veronica to her feet. Their eyes locked again and this time there was something other than desperation in the gazes they exchanged.
"That was a gutsy but foolhardy stunt to pull," said Kendrick. "They had me cold, though. They'd have been able to do pretty much as they pleased if not for you."
Veronica said, "The way they were looking at me ... I don't think they would have been satisfied with just riding away with your prisoner. Besides, you were going to try something; I don't know what, but I could see it on your face. If you'd gotten yourself killed then I'd have been even more at their mercy. I figured I stood a better chance of surprising them because they wouldn't be expecting much from a woman."
"They were dead wrong about that."
"I'm doing fine over here, too, thanks for asking," Ludek piped sarcastically from the back of his horse. The animal, its reins hanging free ever since Kendrick had been ordered to raise his hands, had remained amazingly calm and still during all the shooting. "I really appreciate being left here like a goddamned sitting duck on this stupid statue of a horse while the rest of you were hopping around throwing lead in every direction."
"You should be flattered," Kendrick said. "A poor excuse like you is the main reason we were throwing lead."
"You pig!" Veronica spat in disgust. "The way you treated that girl—you've got coming anything they would have done to you."
Ludek grinned. "Then why'd you risk your life to save me, darlin'?"
"I didn't do it for you. Don't ever think that for a minute."
Kendrick made his way over to the fallen Circle G riders. Tully was dead beyond question. Mort was seriously wounded, losing a lot of blood. Butch was in pain but the slug had passed through clean, leaving him in the best shape of the three.
Kendrick knelt beside him. "You're going to live, hombre. Which is probably more than you deserve. And your partner Mort might make it, too, depending on how fast you can get him tended to."
Butch was sweating profusely. His pain-etched face looked ready to panic. "You - You're not going to leave us? Not shot up like this, are you?"
"Same as you would have me. Pull yourself together, you ain't hurt that bad. You partner is going to need you calm and levelheaded if he’s going to have any chance. I don't know how scattered your hunting party is—this Brade you keep talking about, and the rest."
"You'll find out who Brade is, you bastard," Mort groaned from where he lay. "He'll be coming for you when he hears about this ... You're as good as dead."
"Maybe," Kendrick allowed. "But not as close as you."
He straightened up, addressing Butch again. "Get on your horses and clear out. We'll bury your dead. You can try to make it back to your outfit or you can try for a town. But don't head north, that's the way we'll be traveling. I don't want to see your faces again. I do, I'll finish this."
"But Las Cruces is the closest town—that's north."
"Too bad for you. Make another choice."
Butch grimaced. "You're a hard man, mister."
Kendrick looked down at him. "You should have thought about that before you decided to set yourself in my path."
Chapter 6: Apache Threat
They'd just finished burying Tully when the soldiers showed up.
Under the watchful eyes of Kendrick and his Greener, an un-handcuffed Ludek had been given the chore of doing the digging. When he'd protested "Why me?", his captor's response had been a flat: "Because you're the reason that brought him here in the first place. So dig."
Kendrick turned from piling a final rock over the freshly packed grave—a consideration even a rascal like Tully deserved to prevent his body from being unearthed and ravaged by coyotes and the like—and watched the cavalry column emerge from a winding arroyo. Ludek, back in irons, still shiny with sweat from his labor, was sitting in the shade of a rock outcropping sipping from one of the canteens. Veronica was standing near Kendrick, holding a rough cross she had fashioned by lashing mesquite twigs together.
A young, clean-shaven lieutenant at the lead reined his horse and simultaneously raised his
gloved right hand to halt the troopers riding behind him. Yellow dust continued to roll disobediently after the horse soldiers came to a stop, causing the officer to squint distastefully as the cloud came swirling around him.
"Good morning," he said at length, when the air had cleared some.
"Howdy," Kendrick returned.
"I'm Lieutenant Rorsch, Fifth U.S. Cavalry, C Troop, out of Fort Selden. From the other side of the river, my men and I heard shots a short time ago." He indicated Tully's grave with a nod of his head. "I take it that grave is the result of the shooting?"
"That's part of it," Kendrick said. "Fella in the ground there had a couple friends. They rode on, both of them wounded and maybe a little smarter about trying to take something that don't belong to them."
"They tried to rob you?"
"In a manner of speaking. Not of money, though." The bounty hunter jabbed a thumb in the direction of Ludek. "They had an interest in my prisoner. His name's Ludek, there's a reward for him up Socorro way. Those others had a mind to take him elsewhere."
Rorsch said, "And you are...?"
"Bodie Kendrick. The lady is Miss Fairburn, she's a traveling companion."
The lieutenant touched the brim of his hat with a practiced flourish and said, "Ma'am." But with his eyes he said something more. Why, they clearly wondered, was such a striking woman traveling through this rugged country in the company of a bounty hunter and his prisoner? But, this being the West, even an arrogant young cavalry officer knew better than to pry too hard into somebody else's business, so he left the issue alone; at least for the time being.
Rorsch returned his gaze to Kendrick. "I assume you have sufficient documents to prove, if necessary, your man's fugitive status?"
"I do. If necessary." Kendrick made no effort to produce the wanted poster. For one thing, he was getting tired of showing it to everybody who raised an eyebrow. On top of that, he didn't care much for Rorsch's smug attitude. Let him work for whatever he was after.
The lieutenant cleared his throat. "Inasmuch as you're headed for Socorro, would I be correct in presuming that you have not heard of the Indian trouble north of here?"
A jolt of heightened awareness went through Kendrick. He sensed Veronica stiffening beside him and, over his shoulder, he heard the clink and scrape of Ludek scrambling out of his relaxed sprawl in the shade.
"I guess you'd be presuming right," Kendrick said, rubbing his jaw. "Exactly what Indian trouble are you talking about?"
"Is it Geronimo again?" Ludek wanted to know, moving up to stand before the cavalrymen.
Some of the troopers toward the rear of the column, who hadn't been able to hear the exchange between their officer and Kendrick, showed curiosity now at the sight of the handcuffed outlaw. A number of others had already been doing plenty of neck craning to get a better look at Veronica.
Rorsch shook his head in answer to Ludek's question. "No, it's not Geronimo this time. It is Chiricahua Apaches, though—about forty of them, running under the lead of a young renegade called Fire Shirt. They jumped the Elephant Butte reservation six or seven days ago and have been raising pure hell ever sinc
e all throughout the Rio Grande valley between Las Cruces and Socorro."
"Fire Shirt," Kendrick said thoughtfully, testing the name. "Can't recall hearing of him before."
"He rode with Geronimo during the last several months of that devil’s campaign of terror. For some reason Fire Shirt was one of the few who didn't get shipped off to Florida, even though he was as wild as any and never took well to the surrender. It was while riding with Geronimo, in fact, that he got the name he's now called by. Story goes he was tomahawking some Mexican soldier who managed to get off one final shot at pointblank range; the bullet only grazed a rib but the muzzle flash was so close it set the Apache's shirt on fire. He was so caught up in the battle, though, that kept right on fighting, unaware he was in flames until some of the other braves grabbed him and smothered them out."
"Bloodthirsty heathen," Ludek muttered. His voice was edged with equal parts hatred and concern, and as he spoke his gaze swept somewhat nervously about, scanning the ragged rim of the rockiness surrounding them.
"If the Apaches are raiding along the Rio Grande to the north of Las Cruces," Kendrick said, "what brings you and your men this far south?"
Rorsch replied, "Our orders are to patrol for sign, make sure the Indians aren't staging any activity this side of Las Cruces. Other troops have already secured the area to the immediate north, turning back anybody attempting to travel that way and rounding up surviving settlers, getting them to safety either back at the fort or in town. As soon as we've warned and cared for everybody in the outlying areas, then we can concentrate on riding down Fire Shirt and his braves and returning what's left of them to the reservation."
"Why?" Ludek spat. "So they can gather up weapons and courage and get ready to jump off and go killing all over again in another few months?"
"I said 'what's left of them'," Rorsch said evenly. "You can rest assured they'll be made to pay dearly for their transgressions."
"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Kendrick said. "Some might say the Apaches and the other tribes of the Southwest have already been made to pay plenty dearly—hell, they've only been stole from, cheated, lied to, and shoved off onto the most worthless parcels of land, in the process their numbers getting whittled down to a mere fraction of what they once were. Might even say there's a question of who's been transgressing on who all these years."
"What are you, some kind of damn redskin lover?" Ludek demanded.
"Let's just say I don't necessarily buy into the Red Man being the worst evil a body can find." Kendrick pointedly arched a brow for the benefit of his questioner. "Reckon it could have something to do with the kind of White company I tend to spend time with."
Ignoring them, Veronica addressed Lieutenant Rorsch, saying, "Did I understand you to say that travel between Las Cruces and Socorro has been halted?"
"That's right. Until the Indian trouble is cleared up."
"But I have urgent business in Socorro!"
Rorsch shrugged. "I guess you could reroute, if you insist. A few are doing that. Making a loop to the east through Alamogordo—or west through Lordsburg—then angling up. But that's days out of the way, through awfully harsh country. I can't see where it would pay. We'll have these renegades under control in no time."
Veronica looked plaintively at Kendrick.
The young officer's optimism made the bounty hunter smile. He said, "That harsh country you mentioned—the Chiricahuas know it like you know the shine on your brass buttons. Every water hole, every mountain pass, every hill, every rock. In case you forgot, Geronimo used his knowledge of that kind of country to elude the armies of both Mexico and the U.S. for over two dozen years. No offense, Lieutenant, but your chances of 'riding down' Fire Shirt and his boys in the matter of just a few days are slimmer than a preacher's vocabulary of cusswords."
Rorsch swelled up his chest and sniffed somewhat haughtily. "Your low regard for the ability of the U.S. Cavalry is duly noted, sir."
Kendrick made an open-palm gesture. "Dammit, I said I meant no offense. It's just that I, too, have business in Socorro I'll be wanting to take care of without too long a delay."
"No need to hurry on my account," Ludek threw in.
Still glaring at Kendrick, Rorsch said, "You strike me as the sort who stubbornly makes his own way paying little heed to the advice or opinion of others, but I will nevertheless impart to you a warning against attempting to travel due north of Las Cruces. You will be turned back by troops patrolling there. In the meantime, for the sake of the lady present, I offer your party the escort of my men and I as far as town. We've found no Apache sign in the vicinity, but inasmuch as we share the same destination I would feel remiss if we left you unattended."
Kendrick did some fast thinking. Despite what he might have implied, he'd never really intended going to Las Cruces. Until Veronica showed up, at least. Her arrival had caused him to consider making that stopover, if only to have a suitable place to get shed of her. Then she'd gone and saved his hide with those Circle G riders, making him feel obligated to take her all the way to Socorro after all. But now there were marauding Apaches to factor in. He might be perfectly willing to risk his own hair—and Ludek's—by sticking to his original planned route (and thus exhibiting the stubborn independence Rorsch had keyed on), but he wasn't ready to drag Veronica into a gamble like that, not even if she demanded it.
Kendrick wasn't used to this kind of indecision, and he didn't like it one damn bit.
"Well?" Lieutenant Rorsch said, wanting a response.
Veronica and Ludek were watching him, too. Ludek, of course, would welcome anything—even Indians—that interrupted his return to Socorro. Kendrick couldn't tell what Veronica was thinking.
"All right" the bounty hunter said finally. "Yeah, sure, Lieutenant. We'd be much obliged to ride along to town with you and your men. Just give us a minute to get saddled up."
Chapter 7: Change of Plans
To Kendrick's surprise, Las Cruces was in considerably less of turmoil than he had anticipated. What with the Indian trouble and the comings and goings of cavalry patrols and the influx of outlying settlers and miners who’d been rounded up and brought in for their own safety, he’d expected a more congested, more frenzied atmosphere. Instead, the activity in and around the mostly adobe buildings looked relatively calm and normal. Maybe it had something to do with the majestic twin Spanish church spires rising from the center of the town, casting long shadows in the setting sun like a protective embrace. Maybe it was just the tough frontier spirit of the place, the same unbreakable spirit that had helped it stand fast under other Indian threats and Civil War skirmishes and whatever else time and elements had thrown at it. In any case, riding in now, finding it this way, Kendrick promptly felt more relaxed, less troubled about his decision to come here.
They split with the soldiers as soon as they reached the town limits. After giving a curt farewell salute, Rorsch turned his column and directed it toward the orderly arrangement of Army tents that had been set up along the northern perimeter about a quarter of a mile out.
The first thing Kendrick did was to find the town marshal's office and jail where he once again made arrangements to lodge his prisoner for as long as they remained in town. He knew a couple of the Las Cruces deputies and he'd done this sort of thing before with them, always making sure they were able to pocket an extra silver piece or two for their trouble, so it was easy enough to work out. Although one of the deputies cautioned: "Might not have been able to oblige you a few days ago. When those soldier boys first started hitting town after a round of chasing Apaches, a lot of them felt an urge to let the wolf howl a mite too loud. Seemed like every night we was packing our cell full of blue-bellies we'd had to arrest for disturbing the peace—wouldn't have had room for your man no how. They finally erected their own stockade out where they got the tents pitched, though, so now they brig their own trouble-makers—even though we're still the ones have to chunk 'em over the head and haul their drunken asses out there."
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After that, Kendrick and Veronica went looking to find overnight accommodations for themselves. Again, this was something Kendrick had fretted about and again it turned out he'd had no need. They found suitable vacancies at the first hotel they tried. As soon as they were checked in, Veronica made plans to have a bath drawn for herself and to "soak and soak until I've put about a hundred gallons of soap and water between me and all that choking trail dust." While she was doing that, Kendrick ambled to the nearest saloon; he had his own ideas on how best to cut trail dust.
* * * * *
Later, when dusk had deepened to full dark, Kendrick and Veronica met in the hotel's dining room to share an evening meal.
Kendrick hadn't spent all of the interim time behind batwing doors, instead using part of it to hunt down a barber who scrubbed and scraped his face clean, trimmed his hair and even splashed on some sweet-smelling oil, and cut some exterior dust off him as well with swats to his clothing from a dampened towel. As spruced-up as this made him look and feel, however, Veronica's ablutions had created a far more dazzling effect. She still wore the split riding skirt and boots, but she'd changed to a white blouse with frilly sleeves and a scooped neck that presented a generous display of cleavage. Against the stark whiteness of the blouse and the creaminess of her skin, her hair looked more lustrous and golden than ever and there was a flowery scent floating about her that made Kendrick's head buzz more than if he'd stayed downing shots in the saloon. It was hard to believe that little more than a dozen hours ago this frilled and perfumed vision had pumped both barrels of a Greener shotgun into a man's chest.
Once they'd eaten their main courses and were finishing up over pie and coffee, Veronica said with a sigh, "I seem to be growing more and more indebted to you at every turn. Now the price of a hotel room and meals will have to be added to the ledger. Finding oneself in the position of beggar is a most humiliating experience."
"You've got no call to feel that way," Kendrick said, shaking his head. "The action you took this morning against those Circle G riders paid a powerful big chunk of any tab you're likely to ring up with me."
Hard Trail to Socorro (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 1) Page 5
