Hard Trail to Socorro (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 1)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  Kendrick went to Jory Ludek last. He gave him a drink out of a canteen he'd taken from one of the Circle G horses. Ludek swallowed eagerly until the canteen was pulled away.

  "Wish I could say there's plenty more where that came from," Kendrick said cautioningly.

  "What difference does it make?" Ludek muttered. "The Injuns are going to get us before we run out of water, no matter how little there is."

  "You've already given up, is that it?"

  "Why the hell not? Man can't have much more stacked against him than I got. First there's you, keeping me chained every step of the way on route to a hangman's noose. I was to get past you, there'd be Brade and the rest of Grodine's Circle G hounds. Past them, there's the Apaches. And behind the whole stinking lot of everything there's this hungry damn desert—the Jornada—waiting for all of us. You see anything in there a body should get his hopes up about?"

  "You're alive, ain't you? That fella Hopson who just breathed his last, don't you reckon he'd come back and trade you for your odds? Or even the other fella over there, Glavens, the one with the arrow in his spine. He's got pain screaming through him like sin and he can’t move anything but his head and one hand a little bit. But he ain't give up, by damn. He asked me to lay a gun in the hand that works and he full intends to put up as much fight as he can. You think you're the only one with something to complain about?"

  "Save it, big man. As a preacher, you make a passable bounty hunter."

  "So that's all we can count on you for ... to feel sorry for yourself?"

  "What else did you expect? When those Injuns come riding down, what am I supposed to do? You want me to jump out and rattle my chains at them, scare them off with the noise or maybe with my reputation as a big, bad criminal?"

  Kendrick rubbed his jaw. "I seem to recall you're able to make more effective noise with those guns of yours."

  Ludek cocked one eyebrow suspiciously. "Meaning what? You stooped to taunting me now? You showed pretty damn clear you're past trusting me with my guns again, even though I kept my word straight down the line the other time. You proved that when you left me chained cold while those Apaches skulked us back at that lava pocket, and again while these Circle G jaspers rode down on us right here."

  "Different circumstances, the way I saw it."

  "Not me."

  "So you're not interested in taking up your guns again—that what you're saying?"

  "Now wait a minute," Big Kermit spoke up from where he leaned against the high rubble a short distance away. His fur-rimmed face looked concerned. "You ain't fixing to swap those handcuffs for his brace of guns, are you?"

  Kendrick nodded. "I was thinking mighty strong on it, yeah."

  "Brade okay that?"

  "Didn't ask him."

  "You're on the ball, ain't you, Kermit?" Ludek said, smirking. "If I was to get hold of my shooters, you got me spotted to gun all of you down and then charge right out and take on that whole pack of Injuns by myself. What a clever plan! And only a brain like you could see it coming."

  "Shut up," Kermit growled.

  "Why does everybody keep saying that to me?" Ludek wanted to know.

  "Because you're a smart-mouth," Kermit said hotly. "You always made fun of me at the Circle G, too, when you worked there. Did you think I forgot?"

  "Nope. Not for a minute. Stands to reason a powerful clever brain like yours would have a powerful memory to go with it."

  "See?" Kermit said to Kendrick. "That's why, when Mr. Grodine asked for volunteers to go with Mr. Brade chasing Mr. Smart-mouth here, he didn't have a bit of trouble finding plenty of takers."

  "I don't care about any of that," Kendrick said. "All I care about right now is saving our scalps. To do that, we need every gun hand we can get. Ludek is flat too good not to invite to the party."

  Kermit glanced nervously in the direction of Darrel Brade.

  "That arrow he's carrying is giving him about all the worry he can handle,” Kendrick said, following the bearded man's eyes and thoughts. "It'll be festering by the end of the day, if not sooner. We're going to have to take it out to keep him from losing the leg. If he goes into a fever, that'll be one more gun—maybe the best we got—we'll lose at least for a while. Still another reason we need to figure in Ludek."

  "I don't make fun when it comes to killing Injuns," Ludek said evenly. "We need each other, Kermit. I ain't making fun when I say that, either."

  "But you will," Kermit said. "The very first chance you get, you by damn will. I know you, Ludek."

  "Would an apology make you feel better?" Kendrick said. "Is that what you want, Kermit?"

  Kermit's face scrunched with consideration. "You mean for all the times he made fun at my expense—all the times he belittled me in front of others?"

  "Every one of them," Kendrick said.

  "Listen to yourselves," Ludek said incredulously. "Belittle this big ox? It would take a lightning bolt to—"

  "Watch your mouth,” Kendrick warned.

  "See?" Kermit said. "That's how he is."

  Kendrick folded his thick arms and glared at Ludek.

  "You can't be serious?" Ludek said.

  Kendrick kept glaring.

  Big Kermit looked smugly expectant.

  At length, Ludek heaved an exasperated sigh. "All right," he said. "All right, for crying out loud." He straightened and stood squarely in front of Kermit. He sighed again, then said, "Kermit, it was wrong of me to ... to belittle you in front of your friends like I done. I'm right sorry for all the times I did you that way."

  Kermit was grinning, pleased as a kid licking striped candy. "Uh-huh. And you'll promise never to do it again."

  Ludek frowned. "What?"

  "Promise him," Kendrick said.

  Ludek rolled his eyes. "Aw, for the love of ... All right, Kermit. I'm sorry as I can be for the way I did you and I promise to never, ever do you like that again."

  As if Kendrick hadn't been standing there the whole time, a beaming Kermit turned to him and said, "You hear? He's sorry and he promises never to treat me that way no more."

  "You bet I heard," Kendrick said. He dug the key to Ludek's handcuffs from his vest pocket and flipped it to the bearded oaf. "Undo him while I get his guns."

  As he went to work with the key, Kermit said, "We're going to kill us a bunch of them Apaches, ain't we, Jory-boy?"

  "Damn sure are, Kermit. A hell of a bunch."

  Retrieving Ludek's twin-holstered gun belt from the pack pony, Kendrick held them out to his prisoner. "This don't change nothing between us, Ludek. We manage to turn those Apaches, I'll be taking these back ... one way or another."

  Ludek stood rubbing his chafed wrists, making no immediate move to take the weapons. His eyes held Kendrick’s for a long count. When he finally reached to close his hands around the leathered Colts, he said, "We both know how it has to be, bounty man."

  * * * * *

  Once he'd directed Ludek to a key spot in the high rubble above the horses and after making sure the canteens got passed around so everyone could share in a drink, Kendrick returned to his original position at the front barricade. He carried one of the canteens along, which he handed to Darrel Brade as he settled against the scorching rocks next to him.

  "Obliged," Brade grunted, uncapping the container and tipping it to his mouth.

  Although he'd been away less than a half hour, Kendrick was mildly shocked at the deterioration during that short time that was evident now in the condition of the Circle G's top gun. Brade's pallor had grayed, his eyes looked feverish, and there was a noticeable tremor in his hands as he lowered the canteen.

  "How are the others doing?" he asked.

  "Making it," Kendrick said. "Your man Glavens, the one with the arrow low in his back, is pretty bad off. I don't know if he'll pull through or not. Even if we turn the Apaches, it'd be tricky to try and move him."

  "Glavens is tough. If there's a way, he'll hold on."

  "Otherwise, except for water, we're in fair sh
ape. Plenty of guns and ammunition, even food. If everybody takes it easy, we could probably stretch what water we got through tomorrow sometime. But that's figuring strictly people, nothing for the horses."

  "That's no good."

  "Nope. It ain't."

  Brade gestured. "There's a couple more canteens out there on those dead animals. We might have a chance to get those come dark. But that wouldn't amount to spit, really, not for eight horses. Starting to sound to me like we'd better be considering a break for it while our horses got the strength to make a run."

  "Maybe. But our only way is west. That means miles of open country once we got away from this broken up ridge. On animals already half played out. The Apaches'd chew us up."

  "You got a better plan?"

  "I'm thinking on it. Any chance we got, it'll likely be best played under cover of night. Let's see what Fire Shirt's got in store for us over the course of the rest of the day."

  Brade rubbed his wounded leg, pressing the heel of his hand gingerly around the swelling where the arrow was imbedded. Through narrowed eyes he scanned the rugged landscape to the west, saying, "I still ain't so sure those red devils are even out there any longer."

  The words were scarcely past his dry, cracked lips when the first of the shots rang out from the boulders and the near dunes. Simultaneously, a volley of arrows was loosed, arcing high to rain down like threats from the sky itself. As these bullets and fiercely sharpened war tips raked the defenders of the sandstone barricades, a line of mounted braves galloped into sight, riding hard in a tight swing around the broken end of the ridge and charging straight at the hated White Eyes. The pounding of their hooves made ominous thunder pierced by shrieking war cries.

  "Satisfied now?" Kendrick said, levering a cartridge into his Winchester. "They're out there alright—but here in our laps is where they want to get to."

  "Good," replied Brade, drawing his gleaming guns and confidently twirling them in hands suddenly without tremor. "Close in my gun sights is right where I want those sonsabitches."

  Covered by continuing rifle fire and sporadic bursts of arrows, the Apache riders bore down fearlessly. They hugged their horses' backs to present smaller targets. In their hands a few held carbines; the rest clenched tomahawks and war clubs, ready to smash and maim at close quarters.

  Brade opened fire, triggering in a measured rhythm, first the Colt in his right hand, then the one in his left; a painted brave pitched from his pony. Kendrick aimed calmly and fired his Winchester; another Apache toppled to the ground. Behind them, the guns of Ludek and Kermit and the rest began cracking. The air was filled with bullets and gunsmoke and dust. Arrows continued to streak through it as well, making their own peculiar whirring whistle in flight before clattering against rock or thudding into hot sand, occasionally finding flesh.

  Two of the charging ponies took bullets, emitting shrill screams of pain and confusion as they tumbled heavily to the desert floor, pulling their riders down with them. One of these braves remained on the ground, either the recipient of his own slug or knocked unconscious by the fall. The second, however, rolled clear and scrambled nimbly to his feet only a few yards short of Kendrick's position. Drawing back his tomahawk, shouting a high-pitched, defiant battle cry, this warrior raced forward and launched himself headlong over the top of the low barricade, straight for Kendrick. Between shots, with no time to jack a fresh round into the chamber, the bounty hunter met him with a desperately savage chop of his rifle butt. The Apache's head was slammed to one side, his neck breaking with an audible pop, and he crumpled to a motionless heap.

  The charge was full upon the toppled stone fingers now. Here and there a riderless horse milled. Those with braves still on their backs, however, were urged onward to vault the series of low walls. Brade was brushed by the massive shoulder of a horse surging past him, spinning him like a blow from a fist. But even as he stumbled and fell away, his Colts blasted the painted Apache off the animal that had struck him.

  With horses thundering by on both sides, Kendrick discarded his empty Winchester and snatched up the sawed-off Greener. He used it first to parry the swing of a war club aimed his way; then, from near point blank range, he discharged one of the barrels and beheaded the warrior wielding the club. The second barrel he spun and emptied indiscriminately at a rider streaking past behind him.

  Despite his advice to her not to do any shooting unless absolutely necessary, Kendrick was aware of Veronica repeatedly levering and firing her Winchester off to his right.

  From his perch in the high rubble, Jory Ludek gleefully poured hot lead and sudden death down on the Apache horde as it overran the barricades and flowed past below him in a boiling yellow cloud. The toll he took would have been even more devastating if not for the heightened burst of cover fire laid down by the concealed Indians to the west, peppering his position from behind, forcing him to duck into a crevice where he missed the opportunity for many shots. Out of the corner of his eye, Ludek saw the Circle G wrangler who had climbed up to join him in the high rocks take a hit to the back of the head, his body convulsing then pitching forward into a spatter of his own brains and shattered skull fragments.

  The Apache charge made a single bloody sweep through the sandstone. Once clear, without looking back, the surviving riders looped around in a wide circle, returning to their starting point behind the ridge to the west. When they were back in place there, their war cries only then ending, the cover fire tapered off and once again stopped.

  An uneasy silence drifted over the scene, the living for the time being as quiet as the newly dead.

  Chapter 16: Counterstrike

  "The way they kept coming straight into our gunfire," Veronica was saying. "It seemed so ... well, brave is the only word I can think of. And yet so reckless. It cost them a lot of lives."

  "They were measuring our worth as an enemy," Kendrick explained. "That’s important to an Apache. One of the main reasons they torture their captives the way they do. If they can determine an enemy has courage and a strong heart, then there's greater glory in conquering that enemy."

  "So what are you saying?" Jory Ludek looked dubious. "If we'd showed ourselves to be chickenshits then they would've gone away and left us be because there wasn't no glory in it?"

  Kendrick shook his head. "Not hardly. They'd kill us all the same. Just settle for less bragging rights is all."

  "Then what's the point?"

  "I guess you'd have to be an Apache to understand that."

  "Well, I understand about bragging rights," Darrel Brade said. "And it looks to me like we earned ourselves some. I count no less than seven of those red devils laying dead. And more wounded. That's over half of what they sent against us. I'd say that adds up to a pretty good accounting we gave."

  "Reckon so," Kendrick allowed. "But it cost us, too. Glavens got trampled to death because he couldn't move out of the way with that arrow in him. The fella that was up on the high rocks with Ludek got his brains blown out. On top of that, on their charge through the Apaches managed to put bullets in two of our horses and hole one of the canteens that still had water in it. So they got in their share of licks."

  The six remaining defenders of the toppled rock columns had re-grouped behind the middle barricade, crowding the higher end that had been its original standing base. The horses were close by, behind the similar high end of the third barricade. With the scent of fresh blood strong in their nostrils as well as the din of recent battle still ringing in their ears, the animals were pawing and blowing nervously, often nipping at each other with impatiently bared yellow teeth.

  While outwardly they might be attempting to conceal it better, the human survivors each carried their own load of nervous stress over the situation as it remained.

  "So what now?" Veronica asked what everybody was inwardly wondering. "What will they do next?"

  Kendrick rubbed his jaw. "I’d bet against any more straight-on charges. They've tested that water and found it tough to cross. They know
they've got our backs to the wall and it shouldn't be too hard for them to figure we don't have a lot of water. I expect they'll do everything they can to keep us pinned here so they can keep pecking at us, toss in a shot or an arrow whenever we start to relax or offer any kind of target. Come dark, they'll likely move in tighter, make another attempt to do some more serious damage."

  Brade looked grimly determined. "Then I say we make use of the dark, too. Come night, I say we break for it, ride hell for leather out of here."

  "They'll be ready for that," Kendrick pointed out.

  "To hell with what they're ready for!"

  "They still outnumber us three or four to one. In the open they'll eat us alive."

  "I'd rather make a fight of it in the open than stay bottled up here, roasting from the heat and choking of thirst and always waiting for them to make the next move." Brade's eyes glittered with intensity. "I'm for taking the fight to them. Who's with me?"

  The Circle G wrangler they called Saltillo Bob, who was standing watch from a ledge of rock some feet above the others, nodded his sombreroed head enthusiastically. "Si, Boss. I go along with that."

  Big Kermit was clearly torn between loyalty to his ranch foreman and a conflicting sense of how best to proceed. "I dunno, Boss," he mumbled. "Those redskins know this desert like the backs of their hands. You saw how they move—like ghosts. Out in the open, at night, they'll be able to disappear behind a handful of sand. How are we going to be able to fight what we can't see?"

  "Can you see them now?" Brade demanded.

  "But they can't see us either," Veronica said. "Not as long as we stick to the cover we have here."

  "But cover is all we got here," Ludek said. "We got no water, no grazing for the horses, only limited food for ourselves—how long can we last like that? Sooner or later we're going to get desperate enough to make a break for it anyway. Maybe Brade's right. Maybe the best time to try it is now while us and the horses are at least halfway fresh, while we got a fighting chance."