by Edd Voss
“Tomorrow, you and your companions will die,” the being told him. “Fear not your death for your name will live on the lips of Apache and White men forever.”
“How is it that you know these things?” Pablito asked shielding his eyes with his hand.
“I am the one who gave you life,” the being said, “and I promise you that your story will be told as long as people live here.”
“You are Life Giver?” Pablito asked in a whisper.
“Yes, I am the one you call Life Giver, and your death tomorrow will be sung about and talked about for the rest of time.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
“So that you will be ready and so that you can save the one who betrayed you.”
“Eyes Turn Red is the one, isn’t he?”
“He is, but it was also the white man’s drink that robbed him of his strength.” Reaching out the man placed a glowing hand on Pablito’s shoulder.
Pablito felt like fire was racing through his veins from the hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a burning feeling just the heat and the power of an all-consuming fire filling him with strength and power.
He awoke with a start and jumped to his feet, looking around for the glowing man, but he was gone. Was it just a dream? he thought. Then he rubbed the shoulder where the Life Giver had placed his hand and felt the heat still there. Laying back down he thought about the dream for a while before he drifted off to sleep once more. He wasted no time thinking about his coming death, it was just another part of life to him. Besides, hadn’t Life Giver said that they would sing about him for the rest of time? What more could an Apache ask for?
Chapter 11
It was a long day for the troopers guarding Eyes Turn Red. He kept drinking out of the whiskey jug and staying just sober enough to stay on his horse thanks to the privates who were guarding him. Before O’Connell had given him the jug he made the Indian tell Jackson and Smithers exactly where the Apaches would regroup and when it was supposed to take place. At sunrise the day after tomorrow the raiding party would ride down the face of the cliff and into the encampment of their people.
In the rocky areas every little depression held water and would for a short time, the sandy soil had absorbed the rain like a giant sponge. For the next few days the cacti and other plants would bloom for a short time before the heat would dry everything out again. Even the pools in the rocks wouldn’t last long and only a few would remain. It was the knowledge of these places that would hold water for more than a few days that gave the Apache the edge in their desert home.
Sheridan was concerned about O’Connell. The older man had been unusually quiet since they had left the ranch. Ever since he had first met his senior enlisted man he had been amazed at the strength of the man. Not so much physical strength but strength of personality. The sergeant could deal out discipline with just a stern look that froze the younger men in their tracks. His tongue lashings were, to say the least, colorful but never demeaning. All of the men respected him and would follow wherever he led them. O’Connell had become the model of a leader that Sheridan wanted to be. Something in breaking the Indian had changed the big man.
While he had been a young cadet he had witnessed one of the older students losing his nerve during an exercise, it hadn’t been pretty. It wasn’t a particularly difficult maneuver they were on but the senior cadet had a fear of snakes that no one knew about until then. His unit was concealed in a stand of trees waiting for the opposing force to show up. He went to shift his weight and move his foot, but the snake was where he was about to set his foot down. It slithered quickly out of harm’s way scaring the cadet who after trying to kill it by stomping on it took out his pistol and almost killed his own men. This young man had been a shining example of an Army officer up till that point. Two weeks later he left in the middle of the night and was not heard from afterwards. The instructors had told them that he had left but was not a deserter. During those two weeks he had become very morose and silent. Sheridan was hoping that his sergeant wasn’t going down that road. Right now he needed the man’s insight to get through this patrol.
O’Connell was lost in thought. He had broken men before but this one had been hard on him. It had taken the death of Chato to do it and that bothered him. Since coming west he had gained a lot of respect for the Apache not only as warriors but as a people who could live in this land of sand, rocks, cactus, and heat. It had taken time for him to adjust to the climate, but adjust he had. If given his druthers he would have just left the raiding party to find its way home and disappear. Unfortunately that wouldn’t work because others would try to do the same and before you knew it there would be bands raiding settlements all over the territory. What bothered him most was that Molly had seen him do it. For the first time in his life he was concerned about what a woman other than his mother thought of him.
Just before sundown they came to an arroyo full of rushing water from the storm. The water was a muddy red color and running too fast for them to cross safely. After conferring with the young lieutenant, O’Connell gave the order to make camp. He went around the perimeter setting up the guard posts and giving each man his schedule time for duty. Molly was busy preparing something over the small fire when he returned to the command area. She handed him a dish of food when he got settled in.
“Faith and begorrah! Tis the first time I have had my dinner served to me by a lovely lass while on patrol.” O’Connell smiled.
“Well don’t get too used to it, cause I’ll not be traipsing after you whenever you go out,” Molly said with a smile.
“As long as you’ll think about bein there when I return would be good enough for me.”
“I hate to get in the way of true love and all, but what are we going to do about this river, Sergeant?” Lt. Sheridan interrupted with a smile.
“Well sir, the desert will solve the problem for us by morning I’m thinking,” O’Connell replied. “Water doesn’t last long out here, either ground soaks it up or it just evaporates. By morning this river should be nothing more than a shallow creek that we can cross easily.”
“I hope you’re right, Sergeant, I want to get this patrol over with and having a civilian along makes me nervous.”
“Don’t you be worrying about me now, Lieutenant, I’m a big girl who can take pretty good care of herself if the need be,” Molly told him reassuringly.
The patrol settled in for the night, making sure that all fires were extinguished by the time it became dark enough for the lights to give away their position. Even though the raiding party was most likely far ahead of them the soldiers moved very little and were as quiet as possible. Even the changing of the sentries was done with a minimum of talk and movement. Every man could feel that the final battle was not far off.
Daylight found the patrol up, saddled and ready to go. Eyes Turn Red was the only one who was moving slowly. The closer they came to the final confrontation the more whiskey he needed to bolster this courage. The two privates assigned to guard him had to help him into the saddle. He was so unsteady that they tied a rope around his waist to the saddle horn to keep him from falling off the horse.
Where the afternoon before waters had raged now was a sandy draw with little sign of moisture. After a rain the desert can blossom into a riot of colors with each plant sprouting colorful flowers that only last a short time. It was into this landscape that the patrol made its way. The day before this had been a land of flat colors now it was dotted spots of brilliant colors.
As the sun stood directly overhead Eyes Turn Red with his head hung low told them that they were getting close to the rendezvous site. His speech was more of a mumble but O’Connell was able to understand what he was saying enough to know that they had to move with even more caution from this point on.
“Sir, it might be a good idea to send Jackson and Smithers out to scout the area.” O’Connell said to Sheridan in a quiet voice.
“Are we that close do you think?” the officer asked
“Yes, sir I think that we are close enough that if we aren’t careful we could be on top of them before we know it.”
“Okay then, send them out and we’ll hold up here,” Sheridan said.
Using hand signals the sergeant summed the two scouts up to his position. They came at a fast walk, halting near the leaders.
“From what our friend over there with the whiskey jug tells us,” O’Connell said indicating the Apache with a nod, “we should be very close to where the raiding party was going to regroup before riding down into the village. He says that it is along the edge of a canyon not far from here. I need you two to scout the area and find us a place to hide out till they are all together.”
“Anything special you want us to look out for Sarge?” Smithers drawled.
“Just find a place to hold up till morning without being seen,” O’Connell responded. “According to our friend they’re supposed to meet up late today and ride down the cliff face just after dawn. I want to catch them against the cliff edge at sunrise.”
“Anything you say, Sergeant,” Jackson chuckled.
“We’ll be waiting down in that little depression over there, one of you come back for us, the other one can stay there and keep watch,” O’Connell told them as he pointed to the depression he had mentioned.
Both men knew that O’Connell understood not only how tough the assignment he had just given them would be, but also that they were good enough to get the job done. They left the patrol moving at a slow pace so as to not raise any more dust than they had to. Using the contours of the land they slowly worked in the direction Eyes Turn Red had indicated.
It took most of the afternoon to find the place that they needed. It was large enough for the patrol and their mounts to remain unseen. Jackson scouted the area finding tracks here and there belonging to shod horses that were heading towards the same place. These looked like the tracks of horses from the settlement. Being extra careful he managed to find a place where he could see the gathering area. Already many of the raiders were there and he was almost spotted by a group of four riding silently through the sand. When he was sure it was possible to get away unseen he worked his way to the spot where he had left Smithers. After a brief conversation, Jackson told his partner what he had seen and sent him back for the other soldiers.
Smithers guided the patrol into the hiding spot just before sundown. Eyes Turn Red was tied and gagged so that he wouldn’t be able to give away their position. Each trooper had wrapped the metal parts of their horse’s harness with bits of cloth to keep them from making noise. No one bothered to do more than loosen the cinches on their saddles. Anyone not on watch spent their time eating cold rations or sleeping. The older experienced soldiers knew that they would be moving out to their final position long before dawn. It was the hours between midnight and dawn that men were least alert and the Cavalry units in the Southwest had learned how to use that fact in their favor.
Lt. Sheridan and Sgt. O’Connell discussed the plans for the night quietly after they had made sure the men were taken care of. Molly chewed on some jerky absent mindedly as she watched all of the activity going on. Washing it down with water she lay down and dozed off and on. Every time she opened her eyes she found herself looking for the reassuring sight of the big redheaded Irishman. Was it just yesterday that they had met? O’Connell woke her with a gentle hand on her shoulder to the pitch black of the predawn sky. They moved into a position that left the Apaches with no place to go. The soldiers were in a semi-circle around them and the cliff closed off any escape in that direction. When the trap was set Sheridan signaled for Jackson and Smithers to take out the sentries and control the horses.
Jackson and Smithers were wearing moccasins when they left the rest of the patrol. Using skills that they had learned from their time working with other Indians they crept silently through the desert. Light was just beginning to show on the horizon when they used their knives to silently take out the sentries. The horses were used to white men and showed no alarm at their approach, but the smell of blood bothered them some and it took all the skill of the two soldiers to keep them quiet. All they had to do was keep them from alerting the Indian camp until it was light enough for the patrol to have a clear field of fire.
“Pablito, you and your band are surrounded. We have our rifles on you. There is now where to escape.” O’Connell stood tall using the same voice he would on the parade ground. It carried well in the early desert morning.
“Who tells Pablito that he is surrounded?” Pablito answered.
“This is Sergeant O’Connell with a Cavalry patrol under the command of Lieutenant Sheridan. We saw what you did at the settlement. You have to return to the reservation and stand trial for it.”
“Never will I live like a woman on your reservation, neither will the braves who ride with me,” was the Apache’s defiant reply.
In the Apache camp there was a scramble as each man grabbed his weapon and turned to fight.
“Fire!” Sheridan yelled out.
Each soldier had already taken aim at a member of the raiding party as soon as they could see them in the early light. They never had a chance. The Army’s fire killed almost half of them in that first volley. The silence that followed was deafening. Soldiers kept their rifles aimed at the Indians who remained. Orders had been given to take as many alive as possible.
Seeing one member of the raiding party starting to stand up Sheridan held his hand up in a sign for everyone to hold their fire.
“Steady men, let’s see if this is a surrender,” he said is voice much steadier than he expected it to be. Inside his stomach was in knots. He wondered if it would ever go away.
Pablito stood up stretching to his full height with his arms at his side, his rifle clasped easily in his right hand. Lifting his face to the rising sun he felt its warmth on his skin. Closing his eyes he felt the light breeze that blew through his long black hair, he could hear the sound of the stream below as it passed over the rocks on its way past the wickiups of his band. They must have heard the shots and were looking up to see him and his warriors return triumphant. In his mind he could see his wife looking up in anticipation, his son waiting to see the band start down the steep trail, and his beautiful little daughter with her eyes shining as she looked up at the top of the mesa. Somewhere a bird sang a song to greet the morning as he opened his eyes and looked directly into the soul of Eyes Turn Red.
“Today I give you a new name.” Pablito shouted so that all could hear. “From where the sun now stands on you shall be called He Who Tells the Story. It shall be your honor and your curse to tell the story of our people. You will tell of our little camp here in this beautiful place, and how we came here to live like Apaches once more. You will tell of the raid led by Pablito and Coyote Dancer, and how we took the horses and guns of the white men. You will tell of how you betrayed us because of the white man’s whiskey, and you will tell all of how we died as warriors and as Apaches.” Every word cut deep into the soul of Eyes Turn Red till he dropped to his knees in shame.
Once more Pablito turned his face toward the sky but this time he began to sing quietly at first. One by one the other warriors stood up and joined him, each one also singing softly. It was a sad song that grew with volume changing into a song of fierce pride. The song drifted across the mesa top until it washed over the kneeling Eyes Turn Red and he felt something snap inside him. Letting go of the whiskey bottle he had been holding in a death grip he stood up lifting his face to the sky as he joined in the song of his former companions. Pablito smiled at the new man standing before him in the ranks of the pony soldiers, it was easy to see that this day would be remembered because He Who Tells the Story would make sure of it. Without any warning the song ended and the air was filled with the war cries of the surviving braves. They turned together as if they were one and ran with all their might to the edge of the cliff where they launched themselves into the open space before them. Arms wide they flew into the air as if they were
about to take flight, then they began to fall towards the rocky ground below. Stunned the Apaches on the bank of the stream below looked on in horror as their fathers, husbands, and sons plummeted to their deaths. The sound of the war cries ended abruptly to be replaced with the eerie sound of women and children wailing loudly.
Motioning the rest of the patrol to stay in position O’Connell, and Sheridan walked over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. They could see a group of wickiups built under trees, and the women, children, and old men standing along the far side of the stream, all wailing in grief. The bodies of the remaining raiders were now scattered over the ground below on the near side of the stream. Each body lay still with limbs in unnatural angles in death. As proud as they had been in life now they were just empty husks scattered over the rocks. He Who Tells the Story walked up and stood beside them tears streaming down his face.
Looking at him O’Connell could see the transformation that had come over him. In his face was pride, honor, and dignity, but there was also shame, and remorse. The man he had taunted with the whiskey, the one who had broken down under the influence of the alcohol was gone, here, now was a true warrior of the Apache. If he was ever around the saloons or trading posts where liquor was served the Sergeant was sure that he would not ever see this man losing himself in the liquor, instead he would be living up to his new name and telling the story of this day.
“What do you suggest that we do with them?” Sheridan asked looking down at the wailing people below.
“Well Sir, I am just a sergeant, what would the Lieutenant recommend?”
“Since they are mainly women and children, the book would say to round them up and take them back to the reservation, but after what we saw today, I suggest we just let them be. Without their men I am sure that they will eventually make their own way back to the reservation.”
“Sir, you just might turn out to make a fine officer yet,” O’Connell said with a sad smile.
