Blood of the Devil

by W. Michael Farmer

  My guts felt in free fall. He had to be close. I scanned the low cliffs on the east side of the river. Directly across the stream, I saw bushes bent down and rocks and dirt scrambled in places going up the cliffs. I scanned along the top of the rock bluffs, about the same height as me on the other side.

  Soladado Fiero lay about two hundred yards away on the far side of some small boulders. I saw only the top of his head, the barrel and forestock of his rifle, and the fingers of his left hand wrapped around it. I guessed he had decided to crawl there in order to watch for Tzoe rounding the ridge end and maybe have a better position for a close, sure shot. Lucky for us, he waited. Lucky for us, I found him, and the range was only two hundred yards. Tzoe wandered ever closer to the place where I knew Soldado Fiero would shoot. I had to take a quick shot, or Tzoe would die.

  I had made many long, hard shots before. I pulled back the hammer on the Henry and aimed for the top of Soldado’s head. I remembered how Soldado Fiero had baited me with my wife and our band of Mescaleros after we escaped the reservation and how he had killed the old woman in the first camp we raided for Nantan Lupan. Ussen creates the same chances for all warriors. It is like the turning of the stars. A warrior waits for his chance to come and makes old wrongs right. The thought of making things even with Soldado Fiero gave me a great feeling of satisfaction.

  The crack of doom thundered from the Henry and echoed down the canyon. The brilliant, golden light of the sun showed on a red mist where the top of Soldado Fiero’s head had been. Tzoe dived behind a jumble of boulders near some large junipers on the edge of the river. Not sure from where the shot came, he crouched down quickly looking in every direction, uncertain which side of the boulders offered protection.

  I called to him, “Ho! Tzoe! It is your brother, Yellow Boy. I’ve taken the life of one who waited to kill you. I’m on the west side of the river. Don’t shoot. I’ll come to you.”

  He crabbed around to the far side of the boulders from where my voice came and yelled, “Come!”

  I told Tzoe Soldado Fiero had been ready to kill him when I shot. He nodded and said, “I thought the fool might try something like that. I’m a lucky man to have you for a friend. Come, I would be sure this enemy is dead.”

  We climbed up the west bank to Soldado Fiero’s hiding place and found him facedown behind the boulder where he had hidden. The smells of death, loose bowels and the metallic smell of blood, were strong. The top of his head was gone. My .44-40 caliber bullet had done a crude scalping job and insects were already crawling for what was left of the crown of his head.

  Tzoe stared at the body for a moment, shook his head, and said, “Soldado Fiero wasn’t the coyote he thought he was thanks to you, Aashcho. I owe you much.”

  I said, “What you see is the Power of Ussen making debts long due, right.”

  CHAPTER 28

  LONG MARCH OUT OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

  Tzoe and I spoke to Al Sieber when we returned to camp. He listened and nodded as I told him what had happened. When I finished, he sat and puffed his pipe for a time and then said, “Yellow Boy, you did a good thing. You saved the life of a good man and ended the life of one who was not true to his word. I’ve killed other scouts for less. Say no more about this, and none will look for revenge. I’ll report Soldado Fiero as killed by unknown fighters, and that will be the end of that traitor.” He waved his hand parallel to the ground. “Go in peace. There’s a long, hard march before us. We start in the morning.” He made a half smile and said, “Moses leads us out of the wilderness to the promised land.”

  Tzoe and I frowned. “Where is Nantan Lupan? Who is this General Moses? Where’s this promised land?”

  Sieber laughed a deep belly laugh. “I made a joke. It’s a story the brown robes tell of a great chief, Moses, who, with Ussen’s help, freed his tribe from slavery and, for forty years, led them through a wilderness to a better place. Nantan Lupan is like Moses for the Apaches at San Carlos.”

  Tzoe and I looked at each other. We didn’t understand what Sieber meant, but we nodded and then walked back to John Rope’s fire.

  The next day, Nantan Lupan began leading the long walk back to San Carlos. The Nakai-yi women and baby, still weak, rode on mules, as did old Chiricahuas, weak women, and young children. We left at sunrise, crossing the river and following the trail up the ridge Tzoe had told us we would take. The first day, we did not travel far and stopped by the time of shortest shadows. We had gone no farther than a warrior might easily run in the sun traveling a hand’s width against the horizon.

  The trail was long and hard. Scouts hunted every day to add to the supplies that weren’t nearly enough to carry us all the way back to San Bernardino. On parts of the trail, water was scarce, and scouts, Chiricahuas, and Blue Coats all went thirsty. We passed through a burned place in the trees that left us black and dirty, and we won a fight against a range fire on the eastern llano that nearly burnt us up. As we came down out of the mountains for the springs at Carretas, all the supplies had run out, but the scouts found enough game to keep us fed, for there was plenty of game in the mountains.

  We camped one night near the springs at Carretas. Cooking fires from the scouts and Chiricahuas made a long string of yellow lights scattered far down the trail, their little columns of white smoke rising in the still, cold night air. At John Rope’s fire, we finished a roasted haunch from a deer Dastine had taken. We spoke of many things we had seen along the trail.

  Much Water said, “I saw something very strange today while I was hunting. There’s a rancho in a canyon back up the trail. I didn’t go near it because I didn’t want to stir up the Nakai-yes who lived there, but I did watch it for a while with my be’idest’íné. There were posts stuck in the ground with crosspieces fixed to the top where big hunting birds, an eagle, a couple of hawks, and even a great owl roosted with their heads covered. The owl made me cringe just to look at it. Even stranger, there seemed to be Indians working there with Nakai-yes. It was a fine hacienda, and it had a big, new corral filled with fine ponies, and many cattle grazed along the stream running below it. I don’t understand why the Chiricahuas had not already taken the stock. Maybe the Indians and Nakai-yes watch them carefully, but that never stopped Geronimo and the chiefs before. It’s strange.”

  I said, “Much Water, what tribe of Indians were the ones you saw? Were they Tarahumaries?”

  Much Water shook his head, “No, not Tarahumaries. When I first saw them, I thought they were Comanches. But that makes no sense. Comanches ride the llano to the east across the great river, and now they are on the reservation with Quanah Parker and not even raiding the Nakai-yes. They wouldn’t be in the Blue Mountains. I think my eyes deceive me.”

  I could only think, So, at last, I find you, witch!

  “Can you show me how to find this canyon where you saw them? I want to watch them for myself with my Shináá Cho.”

  Much Water nodded and with his finger drew a trail in the dust and showed me the canyon where he had seen the hacienda with the Comanches. The others around the fire paid little attention to Much Water’s story or map, but I memorized it.

  The next morning, in the mists and gloom of the coming dawn, I rode back up the trail and found the canyon where Much Water said he saw the Comanches and big hunting birds. I also found the hacienda he had seen. Truly, the Indians were Comanches. I watched the hacienda until there was good light, but I saw no hunting birds, only the big posts with the crosspieces.

  The gates to the hacienda compound swung open and, as if in a dream, Sangre del Diablo, bald, naked to the waist, tattoos twisting over his arms and torso, walked out carrying a hooded golden eagle on a leather covered forearm. I threw my rifle to my shoulder, cocked it, and was ready to shoot when I realized if the Comanches came after me, the Chiricahuas would scatter like quail before a coyote and the expedition to bring them back to San Carlos would be a failure. Slowly the rifle came down and I tasted bitter disappointment as I thought, I have to wait a little w
hile, witch, but I’ll be back.

  I memorized the path back to the hacienda from the trail Nantan Lupan followed, and I thanked Ussen for showing me the witch and his new hacienda. From the lessons I had learned attacking him before, I would think carefully this time about how I would kill him.

  In twelve suns, we returned to San Bernardino Springs. The Blue Coats and scouts waiting there saw us coming from a long way off and started cooking all kinds of food for us. After we took care of the animals, we all lined up, Blue Coats, Chiricahuas, and scouts alike. There were so many, we had to eat in shifts, and, even then, some didn’t get any food. The next day, we moved to a place with big oaks and much shade, and everyone cooked, as they needed.

  Two wagons, each pulled by four mules, came to the place of the oaks. Al Sieber said they came to take Nantan Lupan, some of the Blue Coat officers, and the Nakai-yi women and baby to Tucson. Before he left, he called all the scouts to the wagons before the sun was high, but the light was bright and the air, still and cool. Nantan Lupan stood in a wagon and talked to us. He said many Indah believed we would never return from the land of the Nakai-yes alive. He said many of us thought we would never catch the Chiricahuas, but we did, and we came back from the land of the Nakai-yes with most of the Chiricahuas. He told us to go on to San Carlos and keep watch over them. Then he sat down, and the wagons rolled off down the road in a little cloud of white dust.

  Al Sieber asked me to his fire the night after Nantan Lupan left. We drank his good coffee and smoked to the four directions. He said, “You’re a good man, Yellow Boy, the best shot, including me, I ever saw. You saved the life of Tzoe twice, exactly as I needed. I want you to stay with me in the scouts. Your friends and Sergeant Tzoe plan to stay for a while longer. They also want you to stay. But I know you have a good woman and baby waiting for you at Mescalero and that you’ll leave the scouts as soon as you can. You left your pony at Willcox. Stay with us until you get your pony. I’ll make tracks on a paper that say you completed your service, and I’ll put it with the tracks on the papers the Blue Coats keep. I’ll get and pay the Blue Coat money you have coming for your good work. That way nothing will hold you up when you’re ready to leave. Yellow Boy wants this? You’re always welcome in the scouts. We still have much left to do.”

  “Hmmph. Sieber speaks good words. I go to Willcox. Get my pony. I leave with what you give me. You need me no more. You have plenty scouts. The Chiricahuas no more make war and raid.”

  Sieber crossed his arms and nodded, staring at the low, flickering flames in his fire pit. “Yes, the Chiricahuas are quiet now, but only Ussen, the chiefs, and Geronimo know for how long.”

  We left the big oaks the next day with wagons carrying the children, old ones, and the Chiricahuas’ goods, and made Willcox in the same time we had taken to go to San Bernardino Springs over forty-five suns earlier. The Blue Coat soldiers at Willcox had taken good care of my pony. He was sleek and fat and needed a long, hard run. I gave him his run the same evening we came in. After so many days of running, I felt like I was flying through the fast-cooling air as the sun fell behind the mountains, looking like a great, fuzzy golden ball in the far, gray haze.

  Al Sieber made the tracks on paper that said I did what I promised the Blue Coats. He gave me the money Blue Coats paid a scout and a little more. He said I earned it, and he told me to keep my scout coat but to return the other things.

  I claimed my guns, blankets, and mule from the packer who kept and led the mule I had taken from the Chiricahuas. He said that mule was smart and offered to buy it from me, but I needed it to carry my case of cartridges, new guns, saddle, and Nakai-yi blankets. I hadn’t worn my scout jacket on most of the trip, and it had stayed clean and in good shape, but the rest of my clothes, like those of the other scouts, were in rags. A store-owner in Willcox drove a big wagonload of clothes and other supplies out to our camp, so the other scouts and I spent some of our money on new clothes. I bought a shirt, pants, vest, a bandanna, and saddlebags to hold part of my hoard of new ammunition. The rags I burned.

  To be safe, I decided to travel at night. Before I left, my scout friends and I shared a meal. I admired and respected my new friends. They were men who kept their word and remembered their friends. I told them there was always a place at my fire for them.

  As I cinched my saddle, ready to leave, Tzoe appeared out of the darkness.

  “You saved my life twice this time out, Yellow Boy. I owe you much, and I’m in your debt. Call on me when I can help you.”

  I waved my hand parallel to the ground and said, “I’m glad Ussen gave me the Power to help you, Brother. I’ve learned much. Be careful around the Chiricahuas. I hear they shot Jelikine in the head because he wouldn’t help them with the dance ambush they planned for us and told them it was bad medicine. I’ll see you again when Ussen needs our Power.”

  Tzoe nodded and grasped my forearm and I his. He said, “When Ussen needs our Power.”

  The moon was full during my ride toward the great river. I rode hard in the night, anxious to return to Juanita and Kicking Wren. I rested near springs and tanks during the day, and all the time, I watched and listened for Blue Coats, banditos, and renegade Indians. But I saw no signs of anyone, except for an occasional vaquero’s fire off in the distance.

  As dawn brought light to the sky on the third day, I sat on my pony and waited for Rufus Pike to come walking fast to visit the little house with the door hanging open close to the corral. When I had stayed with him, learning how to shoot, he always went there before he did anything else.

  It was cool and quiet, the high, thin clouds a color of light blue turquoise. Even the birds had not yet begun their songs. Back up the canyon, I heard a cow bawl, and before me, in black outline, stood the mountain where Ussen gave me my Power. Night water lay sparkling on spider webs woven on the creosote bush by his porch. This was a place of wisdom Rufus had made for me with his clear eyes and good stories of the old days.

  Rufus came out his door yawning and pulling the straps that held up his pants over his shoulders. Surprised, he jumped back into the doorway when he saw me, and then a big smile filled his face.

  “Well, I’ll be danged,” he said, laughing, “You disappear and then reappear faster’n any ghost I ever seen, Yellow Boy. How ya doin’? I’ll be right back.” He jumped off the porch and ran for the little house.

  He wasn’t gone long, but already the sun had begun filling the canyon with brilliant pools of light when he came out of the little house and followed the path back to his big house. He walked up and, taking hold of my pony’s bridle, said, “It’s mighty good to see ya, my old amigo. Come on in after you take care of your pony. You both look like you been ridin’ hard for a long time.”

  I nodded. “This I will do, Rufus Pike.”

  I put my pony and mule in the corral, rubbed them down with a few handfuls of grama grass, and found some oats in Rufus’s lean-to for them. I didn’t think Rufus would mind if I took a little feed, and he didn’t. By the time I had taken care of my animals and bathed in the water tank, I smelled steak on the old, black iron stove in Rufus’s house and went to join him. I was hungry.

  We sat in the porch shade and ate steaks and beans from pesh-lickoyee (white iron) plates. I hadn’t eaten this well since I’d left the reservation with Sweeny Jones. Rufus finished his morning meal before me, put down his plate, took a long slurp of his hot coffee, and said, “It’s been a year or two since I seen you last. I saw some unshod pony tracks here around the cabin a time or two while I’s gone to help a woman over to Lincoln. Figured it musta been you stoppin’ by goin’ somewheres. Are you and your People back to the reservation now that most of the Blue Coats is gone?”

  I told Rufus of the fight with the witch, of the birth of Kicking Wren, of Tata Crooked Nose and Captain Branigan, that I was a tribal policeman, how I had killed Delgadito thinking he was an Indah, and about the run into Mexico with Crook’s scouts to bring back the Chiricahuas. Rufus listened, drinking h
is coffee and slowly shaking his head as if it were hard to believe all the things I told him.

  Rufus said, “Dang! Ain’t no moss gonna grow on yore back.”

  I didn’t understand what he meant and frowned, but he waved his hand that it meant nothing and said, “So it sounds like you know where the witch is a livin’ that killed yore daddy. What you gonna do? I know you’re goin’ back to get him. I mean, when and what’re you plannin’ to do?”

  I shook my head. “This I still think on. My brothers and me, we go maybe plenty quick when I get back to reservation. Captain Branigan lets us go, we go. He says we no go, then we wait until Season of Earth is Reddish Brown and then disappear for a while. This time, Sangre del Diablo no run away. I send him to the Happy Land blind. No more Sangre del Diablo in the land of the Nakai-yes.”

  “Well, when you decide, I want to go with you. Maybe my ole buffalo boomer can reach out and get him for you, and it’s one I owe him for yore daddy.”

  “Ummph. When I decide to go, I tell you, Rufus Pike. Maybe you go. Maybe you change mind. Go or stay, Ussen wants me to kill this witch. Now, I have question for you.”

  “Okay?”

  “I smoked and had talk with Geronimo before he and chiefs talked to Nantan Lupan and decided to return to San Carlos . . .”

  Rufus spat a long, brown stream of juice off the porch. “Geronimo? He’s a no good, murderin’ outlaw. Why he even murdered a Nakai-yi boy he raised as his own. Caught him an’ his family out herdin’ sheep alone. Asked him to take off the fine warm coat his wife made for him so it wouldn’t get blood on it and kilt ’em ever’one. If’n I’d been in Mexico with you and seen him, by damn, he wouldn’t a come back.”

  “Many Indah, even many Indeh, think as you do, Rufus. Geronimo is di-yen. His Power is to see what comes. He said I would have ‘wives,’ but I have only Juanita. No room in my life for another woman, even if Juanita agrees. He also said I would help an Indah boy who would help our people. I no understand his words. He speak in riddles, in visions I no see. His words also riddles to you?”