They hit hard, fast, swinging low over the necks of their ponies. They hit while the column was still disorganized, firing their volley, slashing with their hatchets, and then they ran again. More Apaches were being swallowed up by their stronghold canyon. More dismounted warriors were taking up positions to guard the pass.
I saw it then, the telltale feather of dust beginning to rise up at the far end of the stronghold. And I saw the Colonel, too, sitting stone-faced, ramrod straight, near the center of the new cavalry line.
“Colonel Weyland,” I said.
His head snapped around. He had a revolver in one hand and I thought for a minute that he was going to use it on me. “I presume, Mr. Reardon,” he said stiffly, “that you have found my wife. Else you would not be here.”
I said, “No, sir, I haven't found Caroline, but I think I've discovered what Apache is up to.”
His eyes went suddenly wild, and I think he would have killed me then if Major Burkhoff hadn't reined in beside us.
“The left flank got it pretty bad on that last pass, Colonel,” Burkhoff said. “Shall we dismount and fight on foot?”
“No,” Weyland said, without taking his eyes from me. “We shall regroup and assault the pass. And we shall do it on horseback, Major, like cavalry.”
The Major's mouth dropped open in surprise. “Sir, do you think it's wise to order a frontal assault on the pass?”
Weyland turned on the Major then, his voice edged with steel. “Major, I make the decisions for this command. What is wise and what is unwise I alone shall decide; I had hoped that you understood that.”
Burkhoff's surprise turned to anger. He snapped his hand up in a stiff salute, wheeled his horse roughly, and rode back toward the left.
I said, “I don't believe Caroline's in the stronghold, Colonel, if that's what you are thinking.”
“I don't care what you believe, Mr. Reardon,” he said tightly. “I informed you before this command set out from Larrymoor that failure in your mission would not be tolerated.” He cut me with a glance, almost smiled. “And you have failed, Mr. Reardon.”
A sudden anger grasped me, almost choked me. I wanted to tell him about that dust rising at the far end of the canyon and what I thought it meant, but the words would not come. I wanted to tell him that the safety of the fort, the safety of northern Arizona, was more important than the welfare of any one individual. But I said nothing. Maybe because I could understand how he felt about Caroline. And if I had been in his place I would have done the same thing. I would spend every man, fire every round, trail blood over half of Arizona Territory to get her back.
Major Burkhoff had formed the regiment in line formation, and up ahead we could see the Indians getting set for us. The Major rode front and center of the formation, then Weyland reined out and said, “You follow me, Mr. Reardon.”
We rode out to where the Major was waiting. In the pass, the Indians were quiet now, waiting for us to come well within rifle range before opening fire. I imagined they were smiling, for it must have been amusing for them, watching the dog soldiers play at war. Guidons flying, the smart staccato of a bugle piercing the early morning.
“Ready, Major?” Weyland said.
“Yes, sir,” grimly.
“Take the left flank, Major. The orders are to take the pass. To take Kohi's stronghold. The orders are to kill every single red-skirted devil in the canyon if my wife has been harmed. Is that order clear, Major Burkhoff?”
The Major's neck was swollen, his face red. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well, that is all. Have the bugler and color bearers ride front and center. I will lead the charge... and Mr. Reardon has requested to ride beside me.”
The Major's eyebrows raised, but that was all. He saluted stiffly and rode off at the gallop.
The cavalry line was formed just far enough from the pass to be out of rifle range. Bodies littered the dust between us and the pass, both Indians and troopers. Dead horses lay in silent mounds, riderless horses galloped frantically toward the higher hills.
Weyland lifted a white-gauntleted hand. “For-war-r-r-d!” The line began to move, wavering at first, as if in uncertainty, then straightening and gaining momentum. “At the gallop!” we heard the officers bawl behind us, and then the colonel turned slightly in his saddle and called, “Bugler, sound the charge!”
As soon as we got into rifle range it was like hitting a steel wall. Horses went plunging in great clouds of dust. Riders went over their heads, sprawling. Kohi, if he was up there in the pass, must have been smiling. I felt a tap at my shoulder, stinging for a moment, but that was all. The cavalry kept plunging on. I heard the yelling and the shooting, but for some reason the sound got weaker as we came closer to the pass. The sheer walls of the stronghold began to waver and blur and I lost sight of the Colonel. I turned then, for a moment, and what I saw in that moment left me cold.
Weyland had fallen back the length of his horse. He was staring with crazed intentness... and the revolving pistol in his hand was pointed at me.
I don't know where Morgan came from at that moment, but he came from somewhere, plunging out of the crazy mill around us. With cold deliberation the Texan bumped the Colonel's horse, and as the horse went down Morgan drew his revolver and put two bullets in the Colonel's back. That was the last thing I saw for what seemed a long while.
When I came to, Morgan had dismounted and was dragging me over the rocky ground in front of the pass. He got me behind the boulder finally, seeming completely oblivious of the grim battle going on around us.
“By God, Reardon,” he said dryly, “you ought to be more careful who you pick for enemies!”
I still wasn't sure that it was real. I had seen Weyland trying to kill me, and I had seen the cool-eyed Texan kill Weyland, but I still couldn't believe it. I felt the blood then, and the dull beginning of pain just below my shoulder. I looked and saw that Morgan had already tied his neckerchief around my upper arm to slow the bleeding.
“The Colonel...”I managed to say.
“The sonofabitch is dead,” Morgan said, tightening the neckerchief bandage. “What did he have against you, anyway? It must have been somethin' pretty bad to make him shoot you in the back.”
“Is that how I got hit?”
“Sure. There wasn't no Indians in back of us, was there? And that's where you got it. He was gettin' ready to put another one in you, until I butted in and spoiled it for him.” He stood up then, took off his campaign hat, and scratched his head, while men died all around us. He looked toward the pass with detached interest. “Goddamn,” he said, “we'll never get into that stronghold....”
Then he took two steps forward and two steps backward, almost as if he were doing a little dance. His knees buckled; he broke in the middle and suddenly sprawled at my feet.
“Morgan!”
He didn't move. I turned him over and saw that a bullet had gone through his lungs. He moved his mouth, almost grinned. “My God!” he whispered hoarsely.
He did grin then, shaking his head. “Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I'd of got it one way or another. I think Burkhoff saw the whole play back there.” He began to breathe faster, blood bubbling from his mouth. I remembered Halan.
“Anyway,” he said, “the federal marshals would of found me before long. I killed one of them in Texas a while back.”
“Don't talk, Morgan. Just take it easy and you'll be all right.”
“I'm downright curious, though...” he rambled vaguely. “What did Weyland have against you?”
He fell to coughing before I could say anything.
Lieutenant Gorgan rode up then, out of the dust and smoke and noise. “You all right, Reardon?” he shouted.
“I'm all right.”
“Who's that with you?”
“A trooper I used to know in A Company.”
Gorgan swung down from his saddle and looked at the Texan's yellowed face. “Your friend's dead,” he said flatly. “So is the Colonel, for that matter, and
a lot of others. Great God, Reardon, the whole regiment will be dead if this insane attack goes on!”
“Where's Burkhoff?” I said.
“Lord knows. Out there somewhere, I guess, in that mess.”
“Find him. He'll be in command now that the Colonel's dead. Tell him that Kohi's warriors are pouring out the rear entrance of the stronghold. They're already out, maybe, hell-bent for the fort.”
Gorgan looked slightly dazed.
“Kohi knows there's nobody at the fort to protect it,” I said. “If he can hold the regiment here with part of his force and make a raid on the fort with what's left...”
But I didn't have to explain any more to Gorgan. He had a wife and daughter back at Larrymoor. “Stay here, Reardon,” he said, and started running toward his horse. “If I get a chance, I'll send somebody to get you.”
He disappeared, and I sat there staring blankly at Morgan. Why had he bothered to help me? I wondered. I had never done anything for him. But, as Morgan had said, maybe it didn't make any difference whether he got it now or a while later. Morgan, the Texan, the killer—I'd never really known him. Nobody had, more than likely. I felt too weak to move, so I continued to sit there, waiting for something to happen.
After a while a kind of order began to take shape in the confusion of battle. The cavalry, some of it, began to dismount and take up positions behind the boulders. Others were pulling back somewhere. I couldn't see where. Gorgan, I guessed, had found Major Burkhoff.
The firing settled down to a harassing spatter now, but I could hear a great deal of movement behind me. My arm hurt. I felt like going to sleep.
I tried to stay awake by thinking of Caroline. I still couldn't believe that anything could have happened to her. Not to Caroline.
After a while a corporal from C Company came crawling over the rocks and squatted beside me.
“You Mr. Reardon, sir?”
I nodded.
“Mr. Gorgan says to tell you most of the regiment's pullin' out. The rest of us are stayin' here to hold things off for a while.”
I nodded again. It was going to be a rude shock to Kohi to find that his carefully laid plans had backfired, but I couldn't feel proud at having any part of it. I couldn't feel anything much, except the pain in my arm.
“Oh, yes,” the corporal said, as he started to crawl away again. “There's a Papago scout back in the rear. He says he's found Mrs. Weyland.”
The words didn't mean anything at first, but when they did hit they hit hard. “Corporal, are you sure?”
“That's what the scout says, sir.”
“Then I'd better go back and talk to the scout.” I began getting to my feet. It wasn't an easy job, but the corporal helped me and finally we started working our way back.
The scout was Juan, as I had figured. He squatted stonelike behind a high rock. If he was aware of the spatter of battle around him, he didn't show it.
“What's this about Mrs. Weyland?” I said.
Juan shrugged. “I think the Colonel's woman is crazy. I rode back to the hills when I saw this battle, as the government law says Indian scouts must do. That was where I saw her.”
“Is she all right, Juan? Was she harmed in any way?”
He shrugged again. “She ran,” he said. “She made a noise like the scream of the cougar and ran from me.”
I stood up. My head was beginning to get light from the loss of blood, but I closed my eyes for a moment and the dizziness went away. I said, “Show me where you saw her, Juan. We've got to find her.”
We went back to a small draw where the horse-holders were. Juan got his pony and I climbed heavily, clumsily onto the first cavalry mount I found. We put the battle behind us, except that it wasn't much of a battle now—just some sporadic firing from cover and neither side doing much good.
“Down there,” the scout said, pointing, as we reached a brush-grown ridge. But I didn't see Caroline. There was a rocky ravine with plenty of boulders and grease-wood, but that was all. We rode on down to the bottom, and every so often the hills would tilt sickeningly and I would have to close my eyes and hold on.
“About here,” Juan said.
She couldn't have gone far, I thought. We rode on down a way, then Juan reined his pony in and nodded to some brush on our right.
“Caroline,” I called.
No sound. Just the wind through the draw. I got down and began stumbling toward the brush.
I didn't recognize her at first. Her eyes were wild, wide, like an animal's eyes. She was crouched on her hands and knees behind the scrawny thicket, and I heard myself saying, “It's all right now, Caroline. Nobody's going to hurt you now.”
“Matt!”
It was just a whisper. Then she said it again, louder, and she got up and ran to me.
“Matt, oh, Matt!”
That was all she could seem to say. She said it over and over as she clung to me.
“It's all right, Caroline. Everything's all right.”
That was all I could seem to say.
We must have stood there for a long while, Caroline clinging to me and sobbing hysterically. Juan took his pony and went back to the ridge.
“Are you all right, Caroline?”
“Hold me, Matt. Hold me and never let me go!”
“Did they hurt you, Caroline? Did they...?”
She shook her head, beginning to get over her hysteria now. “No, but they would have. They would have, Matt, if I hadn't told them. I had to tell them. You understand that, don't you, Matt?”
I went cold inside without knowing exactly why. “What do you mean, Caroline? You told them what?”
“About the infantry,” she said hoarsely, her voice again edged in wildness. “I had to tell them, Matt. Heaven knows what they would have done to me if I hadn't.”
There was a long silence. I was glad that Juan had gone back to the ridge. I was glad that there was no one else to hear.
“You bargained with Kohi?” I said woodenly. “You told him about the reinforcements and he let you go. Is that the way it was?”
“I had to, Matt! I had to!”
She had to. And the awful thing about it was that she was telling the truth. She had betrayed her country and me at Three Fork Road—because she had to. She had married Weyland, not because she loved him but because she had to. It was Caroline's explanation for all the things she did, and, for her, it was the truth.
But what I heard was the pound of horses running up and down a canyon floor, and I remembered the bloody hulks that had once been two good Indian scouts. I thought of the reinforcements. Two whole companies of good tough infantry, and they were dead now. I couldn't blame Caroline for trying to save herself, but I couldn't get these visions out of my mind. As I held her, Caroline seemed to lose all her warmth. Her softness became hard. It was like holding a stone statue, without feeling, without warmth or life.
“You don't blame me, do you, Matt? You can't blame me!”
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. “Don't hate me, Matt. I couldn't stand it if you hated me.”
I saw Caroline then as clearly as I would ever see her. As a little girl who never grew up—who never learned that she was not necessarily the center of the universe, the core of all life. “I don't hate you, Caroline. I'll never hate you.”
The Colonel's dead, Caroline. And so is Halan. But I couldn't say it then. And those two scouts, and two companies of infantry. Are you worth all that, Caroline?
My head swam and my arm throbbed. I released Caroline as gently as I could. I stood back and her eyes widened. I don't hate you, Caroline, I thought. But I don't love you either. And she could see what I was thinking.
I walked a pace or two away and sat down on a rock. The mountains tilted again and that was the last I saw.
Later Gorgan fitted the pieces together for me, when they got me back to the post hospital at Larrymoor. Kohi had been killed. With Weyland dead, Burkhoff had taken command and swung the column behind the stronghold and ca
ught the Apaches filing out their rear emergency exit, and that was where it happened. He was a little man, Gorgan said, the war chief of the Coyotero Apaches. Little and wizened and very ugly. But he had been a man of power and military genius, and the bullet that entered his heart had put an end to the uprising.
“I guess we've got you to thank for that,” Gorgan said. “Maybe Larrymoor would be in ashes now if you hadn't found that second entrance to the stronghold.”
I didn't want to be thanked. I wanted to forget. Kohi was dead—a man I had never even seen—and so were Weyland, and Halan, and a Texan named Morgan. I wondered who was the winner.
In a few days they turned me out of the single crowded hospital room and I went back to my hut at the end of Officers' Row. Gorgan came there to see me when he wasn't on duty. And Skiborsky came once to tell me that the telegraph lines were up again, and about the first thing to come over them was an order for Morgan's arrest. He thought it was a good joke that the Texan had fooled them by getting himself killed. Maybe it was. The Dutchman, Skiborsky said, was in the guardhouse for taking scalps on the battleground. There was talk again of getting more reinforcements.
The regiment, the patrols, the routine went on the same as it always had and probably always would in the Army. The ranks were thinner. The post cemetery was larger. That was about all.
Toward the end of the week I learned that Caroline was leaving Larrymoor.
I hadn't seen her since the day of the battle, and I didn't want to see her now. With no duty to pull, I lay on my bunk day after day and did nothing, thought nothing, and that seemed to be an end in itself. From my window I watched the big escort wagons back up to the front of the commanding officer's house. I watched the troopers load the furniture and the paintings and the fine silver tea service.... Caroline, dressed all in black, and very beautiful, supervised the job expertly.
Good-by, Caroline, I thought. But they were only words.
Where would she go? What would she do? I wondered. But there was no use worrying about Caroline. Somewhere there would be more Reardons, and more Halans and Weylands. And she had never liked Larrymoor anyway.
The Colonel's Lady Page 17
