by Jack Higgins
Above them, stars swam in the hot night, and he was aware of the heat like a living thing crowding in. He wiped sweat from his forehead. 'It's too damned hot.'
Fallon moved across to join them and stood looking to the far mountains. In the distance the stars were already being snuffed out as clouds moved across the sky.
'I think we're in for a storm.'
'In these mountains?' Dillinger said in surprise.
Fallon nodded. 'The heat builds up the pressure during the day. It has to give some time.'
'What's the going likely to be from here on in?' Dillinger asked. 'Will the Chevrolet take it?'
'Wagon trains did in the old days,' Fallon told him. 'Mines all over these mountains then, even a ranch or two. Desert again on the other side.'
Dillinger moved back to the Chevrolet and got behind the wheel. 'They'd sure as hell like to know about you at the factory,' he said softly, switched on the motor and took up his position at the rear of the small group.
They ascended into a country of broken hills and narrow twisting waterways long since dry. The slopes on either side of the trail were covered with mesquite and greasewood and, as they climbed higher, a few scattered pines, rooted in the scant soil, thrust their pointed heads into the night.
On one occasion, Dillinger and Rose had to stop and call to the others for assistance to roll a boulder out of the way so that the car could pass. Later, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky over the peaks on the far side of the valley was momentarily illuminated by sheet lightning. The air seemed charged with electricity, vibrant and humming with a restless force that threatened to burst loose at any moment like water running over a dam.
For a while Nachita had been on foot, moving slowly, sometimes even feeling for the trail while Chavasse led his pony. By now the sky was overcast and the moon clouded over. As a precaution, Dillinger drove without lights.
'I think a horse would be safer,' Rose said.
They came over a ridge through the pines and found themselves on a small plateau surrounded by heavy brush. The old man turned and held up a hand.
'We stay here till morning. No fires, no lights. We are very close.'
They dismounted and Dillinger pulled the Chevrolet under some pines. Rivera was impatient. 'Why can't we move in now and take them by surprise?'
Nachita shook his head. 'They would smell our horses on the night air even before they heard them and we are lower down the mountain. A bad position from which to attack. There would be no surprise. In the dark they would hunt you one by one through the brush.'
'I thought Indians didn't like fighting at night?' Dillinger remarked.
'Someone must have forgotten to tell the Apaches,' Chavasse said grimly, and turned to Rivera. 'There are seventeen of them up there. Long odds for a dark night on a mountainside with a storm brewing. Nachita knows what he is doing. What he says goes as far as I am concerned.'
'And that stands for the rest of us,' Fallon put in.
Rivera turned and faced them. 'So it would seem I am not in command here?'
'You never were,' Dillinger said softly.
For a long moment there was silence as thunder rumbled overhead, the sound of it rolling heavily across the mountains. Rivera abruptly started to unsaddle his horse.
They tethered the horses at the edge of the small plateau. Chavasse and Villa beat among the bushes for snakes. Rose moved to the rear seat of the Chevrolet so she could stretch out. The others grouped around her, chatting, except for Rivera, who sat in lonely isolation on the far side of the clearing, and Rojas, who seemed to prefer the company of the horses.
They talked quietly, their voices a low murmur on the night, occasionally choking back laughter as Chavasse bantered gaily with Fallon. Rose knew that they were deliberately trying to relieve the tension, to make her feel more secure, and she was filled with a sudden rush of tenderness for all of them. And then a match flared in the night in the direction of the horses. Rojas had lit a cigarette.
Chavasse stifled a cry of dismay and rose to his feet, but Dillinger was already halfway across the clearing. He swung back-handed, knocking the cigarette from the Mexican's mouth, sending him off balance into the brush. As Rojas started to get up, Villa pushed him back down and held a knife under his nose.
'One more thing as stupid as that, amigo, and I shall cut your throat.'
He stood up and Rojas got to his feet, glaring at them, a sullen, dangerous animal about to explode. Rivera saw what was happening and took three quick paces forward and struck Rojas heavily across the face. 'Idiot! It is not just us you endanger. You risk the life of the child.'
Rojas turned without a word and stumbled into the brush.
'He will do as he is told from now on, I will see to that,' Rivera said, and returned to his place. At least he could be in command of Rojas, if of no one else.
Nachita moved to the edge of the clearing and stood listening, head turned slightly to one side.
'Any harm done?' Chavasse asked.
Nachita shook his head. 'We are well hidden here. We must post a guard, though.'
Chavasse volunteered to take the first watch. Rose curled up in the rear seat of the Chevrolet. Dillinger made himself as comfortable as he could in the front, and the others bedded down in the brush around the car. It still hadn't rained and as Dillinger closed his eyes, a great rush of tiredness swept over him and he slept.
He was awakened by Fallon shortly after 3 a.m. 'Your turn, friend. Better take your poncho. I think we might get rain soon.'
Dillinger checked to see if Rose was OK in the back seat. She looked like a little girl, asleep with her hands under her cheek. He then went to sit on a boulder beside the horses, his rolled-up poncho under him, the Thompson across his knees. There was a dull ache just behind his right eye. He could have used some more sleep.
No more than ten feet away, Rojas sat glaring at him through the darkness. He was no coward and yet he had seen what Ortiz was capable of. He was not here for sentiment, but because the patron had ordered him to come, and now, for the second time, he had been publicly humiliated.
His last shred of loyalty to Rivera had vanished with that smack across the face. An hour earlier he had made his decision. To hell with them. He would ride out, taking the other horse with him. If the others had only the stupid convertible for transportation, they couldn't all fit in. Some would have to go on foot. If the Apaches caught them, his revenge would be complete.
Rojas had waited only for the American to take his turn on guard duty. He got to his feet, pulled out his knife and moved forward quietly.
In the darkness on the other side of the clearing Nachita had been watching him, and now he called out urgently, 'Jordan, watch out!'
Rojas flung himself forward and Dillinger turned, bringing the barrel of the machine gun down across the Mexican's wrist so that he dropped the knife. They came together breast to breast, Rojas exerting all his considerable strength in an effort to wrench the Thompson from Dillinger's grasp. Dillinger hooked a foot behind the Mexican's ankle and they fell together, rolling between the horses into the brush.
Suddenly Rojas released his hold and drew his revolver. As Dillinger pushed him away, the Mexican fired, the bullet ricocheting from the stony ground into the night. As the rest of the party rushed forward in alarm, Rojas ran headlong into the brush.
As Dillinger scrambled to his feet, the others crowded around. 'What happened?' Fallon demanded.
'If it hadn't been for Nachita, Rojas would have put his knife in me.' Dillinger turned to the Indian. 'Does the gunshot mean trouble?'
Nachita nodded. 'They know where we are. We must be ready for them.'
At that moment, a great zigzag of light struck the rocks, followed moments later by the crash of thunder. The deluge of rain came with a sudden great rush, filling the night with freshness.
Rojas kept running in a blind panic, expecting at any moment to hear shots behind him in the brush. It was impossible to see his h
and in front of him. He moved forward, half-crouching, holding his left arm high to protect his face from flailing branches.
Suddenly he tripped over something, lost his balance, went over the edge of a small gully, the revolver flying from his hand into the darkness. He would never find it now. He could feel the apron of shale sliding beneath his weight and clawed desperately for a secure hold. As his hand fastened on a tree root and he pulled himself to safety, it started to rain.
He had to get off the mountain, that much was certain. He blundered forward into the darkness through the greasewood and mantinilla, losing his balance, stumbling from one gully into another until he had lost all sense of direction.
When he finally paused for a rest he was hopelessly lost. The rain was still falling heavily, drowning all noise, but behind him loose stones tumbled down the slope. He stood peering into the darkness, his throat dry. As another shower of stones cascaded down, he turned to run.
Someone thudded into his back with stunning force, sending him staggering to his knees. He turned, flailing desperately, feeling hands reach for his throat.
There were hands everywhere, forcing him down against the ground, twisting his arms behind him. He started to scream and something was pushed into his mouth, half choking him, leaving only the rush of the heavy rain and the sound of unfamiliar voices.
Cochin said, 'If we deliver this one to Ortiz, perhaps it will satisfy him. He was the worst against our people in the mine.'
There was a grumbling from the others, then Chato said, 'Only Rivera will satisfy him.'
'Then what are we to do with this one?'
'Glad I brought the Chevvy now?' Dillinger asked, with everyone except Nachita crowded under the raised top of the convertible. 'Like college kids crowded into a phone booth.'
He didn't mind, for to make room for the others, Rose was sitting in his lap.
'Look at Nachita's umbrella,' Fallon said.
The old Indian had pulled two flat pieces of what looked like thatch from his pack and had angled them over his head so that they formed a peak like a roof and sloped down on either side.
'He's got a portable roof,' Dillinger said.
Chavasse chimed in, 'You don't expect Indians to ride around with umbrellas, do you?'
Suddenly all their attempts at humour stopped. The cry of an owl had pierced through the rain.
'That's no owl,' said Fallon.
'Everyone out of the car, quick,' Dillinger said. 'It's too easy a target.'
They scrambled out into the diminishing rain. Nachita was staring to the north. Something seemed to flit between the bushes on the far side of the clearing.
Fallon's instinct was to head for the horses. Crouching, he ran for the greasewood on the far edge of the thicket where the horses were tethered. Damn, he thought, puffing, he was feeling his age in his bones.
The horses moved restlessly, stamping their feet and snorting. Fallon strained his eyes searching the darkness, his rifle at the ready.
A tremendous flash of lightning seemed to split the sky wide open. A crash of thunder made the mountain seem to tremble. Then a second flash of lightning laid bare the hillside. In its brief light Fallon saw an Apache amongst the animals.
He gave a hoarse cry of alarm. The Apache rushed at him, Fallon fired blindly again and again, but the Indian kept coming, his right hand swinging upwards. Fallon was aware of the knife, but it was too late to do anything about it. The point caught him under the chin, penetrating the roof of the mouth, slicing into the brain.
In the next brief moment of illumination, Dillinger saw what was happening, ran to save Fallon but too late. The Apache and Fallon were sprawled over each other in death.
Gradually the thunder moved away across the mountains and the rain stopped. As dawn began to edge away the darkness, Nachita slipped into the brush. When he reappeared, he reported, 'They have gone now.'
It was Villa, on his knees beside Fallon, who pulled out the knife and wiped it on his pants leg. Rose gazed down in horror.
'He wasn't a cautious man,' Rivera said solemnly.
'If it wasn't for you, he'd be a live man,' Dillinger replied.
Rose put her arm around Dillinger's shoulders.
They took a miner's short-handled pick that had been strapped to Fallon's saddle and dug two shallow graves as best they could, covering the thin soil with rocks as a protection against animals.
It wasn't a time to conduct a service. 'There's one American who won't make it home,' Dillinger said to no one in particular.
They moved out.
It was perhaps half an hour later when Dillinger noticed smoke up ahead, rising on the damp air. He stopped the car and got out and Nachita moved cautiously down through the trees and they followed to where a white trace of smoke lifted into the morning from a clearing in the brush.
They found Rojas, or what had been Rojas, suspended by his ankles from a dead thorn tree above a fire.
14
The Indians were all assembled around Ortiz.
'We started out with more than twice as many as they did,' Ortiz said, 'and none of us is a woman. Now they have lost two to our one. The gods are turning in our favour.'
It was Chato who said, 'Killing Rojas was enough. It was wrong to kill the old man.'
'Silence!' Ortiz said. 'Manilot was told by me to turn the horses loose. The old man saw him and would have shot him. Now they are both dead. The next one to be dead must be Rivera.'
'Do we wait for them here?' Kata wanted to know.
Ortiz shook his head. 'First we must confuse them a little.' He turned to a small, swarthy man in a green shirt and leather waistcoast. 'Paco, take my horse and six men. Ride to Adobe Wells, then circle back here. We will take the pack trail through the canyon and across the mountains to the Place of Green Waters. We will wait for you there.'
'How can we be sure that Nachita will follow Paco and not us?' Kata said. 'The old one is cunning.'
'Which is why he will follow the band led by my horse,' Ortiz said.
'Perhaps they also will split into two groups?'
'There are too few of them.' Ortiz shook his head. 'They sleep lightly enough as it is.'
Paco had already selected his men. He mounted Ortiz's pony and rode quickly down towards the desert. Ortiz turned and looked to the east again.
The dust was a little more pronounced and he thought of Rivera, a smile touching his lips. It would not be long now and the pleasure he was beginning to find lay in the contemplation of his enemy's destruction.
He swung on to the back of Paco's pony, nodded to the others and led the way up into the canyon.
By noon the party from Hermosa had moved into a broken wilderness of rock and sand, crisscrossed by dried-up water courses. Despite the lack of wind, hot air rose to meet them like the blast from a furnace door, lifting the sand into dust devils.
The line of riders was strung out along the trail, their faces covered by scarves against the dust, Dillinger for once leading the way. The grisly discovery in the clearing had had a chastening effect on everyone. Even Chavasse, whose high spirits were normally well in evidence, was strangely subdued as he rode, lolling in the saddle, half asleep.
Dillinger couldn't get his mind off Fallon. He'd gotten to like the old guy without ever knowing much about him. He wondered if Fallon had any relatives back in the States. He had to have somebody, a son or a daughter some place, a cousin, a niece or nephew, somebody. Nobody would ever know he had died, or where. Maybe he could be reburied when this was all over, with a proper marker. Shit, what a lousy way to go.
He glanced back at the others. The trail was much better now as it descended and, on impulse, he increased speed and went off after Nachita who scouted in front.
He came over a small rise and went down to a sloping plateau of sand and shale dotted with mesquite and cactus trees. Several hundred yards away a shoulder of the mountain lifted sharply toward the vast, sprawling peaks of the sierras.
On one si
de a canyon cut through sand-polished stone. On the other the slope was open to the desert, dropping through the tangle of catclaw and brush over shale and tilted slabs of rock to the desert below.
Nachita had dismounted below the shoulder of the mountain. When Dillinger drove up in the white convertible, which now had a film of sand and dirt on it, Nachita was squatting on his haunches beside his pony, examining the ground. Dillinger and Rose both got out of the car.
The barren soil was crisscrossed by tracks. Dillinger dropped to one knee and frowned.
'They have separated,' Nachita said. 'Nine of them have gone through the canyon, the others down to the desert.'
'Why would they split up?'
Nachita shrugged. 'Perhaps they have quarrelled. Some of the young men, remembering what they have done, will already be afraid. Chato and Cochin confided in me. They think Ortiz is mad to go back to the last century, always fighting, always on the run. If Ortiz kills, they can be punished, too.'
Dillinger took out a pack of chewing gum, offered a stick to Nachita, who shook his head. 'Which way has Ortiz gone?' Dillinger asked.
'Into the desert. His pony had led all the way. Its tracks are easy to recognise.'
The others rode up and dismounted. Rivera came forward, beating dust from his coat. 'What has happened?'
'They've split up,' Dillinger told him. 'Ortiz and a party of six have ridden down into the desert. The rest have gone through the canyon. God knows where it leads to.'
'How will we know which party Juanita is with?' Rivera asked.
Nachita said, 'With Ortiz. He is no fool.'
'I've been this way before,' Villa said. 'A long time ago. An old pack trail goes over the mountains. It's hardly used these days. There's a little chapel in the pine trees on top. Santa Maria del Agua Verde, it's called. Our Lady of the Green Water, because of the spring that bubbles up inside. It's the nearest water for forty miles.'
Nachita shook his head. 'There is water not a dozen miles from here where the foothills of the mountains run into the desert. Once there was a small rancheria there. Now there are only adobe walls and a well.'
