by Logan, Jake
Although Jack cast his eyes wildly in every direction, Slocum had his fixed upon the warrior who rode at the front of the formation.
“They didn’t take our weapons,” Jack whispered.
“I know. We’ll leave them right where they are.”
“But what do they want?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Slocum replied.
“Or they’ll kill us soon enough.”
“If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it already.”
“Your leader is right,” the Apache at the front of the group said.
“He ain’t my leader,” Jack said.
Some of the Apaches spoke to each other in their own language. Judging by their tone, they were mildly amused by Jack’s attempt at a stern demeanor.
“Perhaps he should lead you,” the head Apache said. “Then he could tell you when to be silent.”
“Jack,” Slocum said. “Shut the hell up.”
The head Apache shifted in his saddle just enough to get a look at Slocum. “A leader who also knows when to follow. That is rare.”
“Not following,” Slocum replied. “Just wanting him to shut the hell up.”
Most of the Apache chuckled at that. The ones who didn’t only had to wait for Slocum’s words to be translated into their language. Then they laughed.
“Well, I’m glad you all find this so damned amusing,” Jack said. “I for one don’t . . .” He stopped himself short when he looked over to Slocum and saw the deadly glare that was pointed in his direction.
“My loud friend is right,” Slocum said. “You didn’t take our weapons and didn’t bind our hands.”
“I could change that if you like,” the head Apache said.
“That’s not necessary. Does make me wonder what you’re after, though.”
The Apache at the front of the line stared straight ahead, and all the others behind him lost every bit of expression that had previously been on their faces. For the moment, it seemed the men had become just another cluster of rocks within the mountain pass.
Finally, Jack lost what little composure he still had. “We can get out of this, John. What the hell else am I payin’ you for? And don’t tell me to shut up again!”
“You make one move toward your gun and you’re on your own. Do you understand me?” When Jack started to say something, Slocum snapped, “Do you understand?”
Rather than speak, Jack settled into his saddle and cradled his hand as if it had suddenly started hurting again. That wasn’t an unreasonable thing, considering the scant amount of medical attention he’d received.
Slocum was grateful if the wound caused the other man to sulk on his own for a while. To the head Apache, he said, “We’re not going to harm anyone. That’s not why we’re here.”
The Apache brought his men to a halt by extending a hand to one side as if he were chopping into the side of a rock face. “We know that now,” he said.
“Then there’s no reason to keep us any longer.”
Bringing his horse around with a few subtle pulls of the hand that was embedded within the animal’s mane, the Apache leader turned to face Slocum as if he and the horse shared a heartbeat. “I think there is.”
For a moment, Slocum considered going back on his own command. The muscles in his gun arm twitched in response to the intent glare etched into the Indian’s features. If he was going to make a stand against the Apache, there was no good time for it. Taking his chances here and now seemed a hell of a lot more appealing than waiting for the archers who’d stayed in the higher rocks to come along. “What reason would that be?” he asked.
“That man is wounded. He bleeds.”
Shoving his bandaged hand under his left arm, Jack said, “Ain’t nothin’ that could keep me from defendin’ myself!”
Sparing only the quickest glance to Jack, the Apache looked back to Slocum and said, “The animals you seek can smell the blood.”
“What animals?” Slocum asked.
“Cha’to.” Since that didn’t register immediately with either of the two men, the Apache placed his hand flat upon his nose, tapped it, and said, “The wolf with the flat snout. We know you are hunting him.”
“How the hell could you know that?” Jack asked.
One of the Apache riding closest to Jack scoffed and said, “We have followed you for miles. You speak so loudly of the wolf that took your hand that deaf women three towns away must have heard you.”
“You were following us?”
“You are trespassing on our land,” the Apache leader said. “We go where we please.”
“If we’re such invaders, then why not kill us?” Slocum asked. Knowing Jack was about to jump out of his skin without so much as looking at the other man, Slocum held him back with a warning hand. “Instead you lead us through this pass without bothering to take our weapons.”
“If you are after Cha’to, then perhaps we need to help each other. That wolf is an eater of men.”
Suddenly, Jack brightened up. “See?” he declared victoriously. “I told you so! I told you that damn thing was a menace!”
“Yeah, Jack,” Slocum said. “You know so much, so why don’t you take it from here?” When Jack eased back into his saddle, Slocum looked back to the Apache leader. “What do you want from us?”
“First, we needed to see if you were on our land to spill our blood. We see that you are not. We also want you to see that if you did think about making war with my people, you would be making a mistake.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Slocum said while casting his eyes in Jack’s direction.
“Cha’to has been gathering a pack. We have seen wolves in these mountains, but they have been rare for many seasons. Some among us think the spirit world is making warriors to inflict pain on the white invaders. Perhaps this is the case.”
Jack pulled his hand from where it had been lodged under his arm and placed it casually on his knee as if his wounds had suddenly healed themselves. The wince that drifted across his face when his bandages knocked against his leg was almost subtle enough for him to cover. Almost, but not quite.
“Have any of your people been hurt?” Slocum asked.
The Apache fell silent for a few seconds. The tension in the air was unmistakably that of men who had fresh wounds of their own. Breaking the silence with a steady voice, the head Apache said, “One of our women and two of our children were killed by the pack you seek. Many of our warriors have sacrificed their flesh to the hunt.”
“Are you certain it’s the same pack we’re after?” Jack asked anxiously.
Without batting an eye, the Apache told him, “If you wish to hunt with us as free men or ride as slaves, you will hunt the same pack as we do.”
Jack nodded once. “Sounds fair enough.”
Everyone seemed to be taken aback when Slocum proved to be the one who wasn’t going to go quietly any longer. “The hell it does,” he said.
The Apache at the head of the group furrowed his brow and said, “You are in no position to defy us.”
“Just because you can listen to this one talk from a distance doesn’t mean you earned our respect. And just because you act like civilized men doesn’t mean you got any favors coming to you.”
Either responding to a touch of the Apache’s hand or a tap of his knee against its sides, the Indian’s horse ambled forward until the Apache was close enough to swipe at him with one of the many sharpened weapons carried on his person. “I thought you were a man who could be reasoned with.”
“I am.”
“Then why do you speak to me this way?”
Keeping his chin up and his back straight, Slocum spoke as if he had an entire army behind him. “We are after a pack of wolves and we could sure use any bit of help that’s being offered. Both of us stand to gain from killing those animals, but it seems your people will gain just a bit more.”
“How so?”
“Several of you were hurt, but it’s just my friend and I on
this hunt. So far, he’s the only one with a scratch to show for it.”
“That can change very quickly.” It was clear by the edge in his voice that the Apache leader was talking about more than the wolves being a threat. To his credit, he did have men to back him up. “Half of your number have spilled their blood,” he added in a somewhat less threatening tone. “Our losses aren’t nearly so bad.”
“I guess it all depends on how you look at it.”
The Indian riding alongside Jack’s horse tightened his grip on his weapon, which was one of the clubs fashioned from a thick length of wood with a flat rock tied to one end. It was a simple weapon, but had enough chips and dark stains on it to show it had inflicted more than its share of damage. “I told you we should not expect help from white men!” he snarled.
Some of the others voiced their agreement. The more the Apaches spoke, the more they drifted into their own language. Even the leader abandoned his well-crafted English in favor of the more comfortable dialect which he’d known since birth.
At one point, Jack shot a quick glance at Slocum while tensing ever so slightly to let him know he was ready to fight. The Apache were arguing heatedly among themselves, which meant most of them were too involved to be as focused on them as they had throughout the rest of the ride. Slocum returned Jack’s look with one of his own that pinned the wounded man in place.
It hadn’t seemed like a very long ride from the point where they’d first crossed paths with the Indians, but they’d easily gone for a few miles into the slopes of the Potrillo Mountains. Slocum wasn’t too familiar with that particular trail to begin with, and he doubted the Apache were using a trail that was known to anyone outside of their tribe. And even if they could get away from their escort with a minimum of fuss, there was still the second group with bows to think about. All of that flashed through Slocum’s mind in a rush, convincing him that now was not the time to make any sudden moves.
Jack clenched his jaw and winced as the muscles in his gun hand flexed. He wasn’t happy about it, but he’d apparently come to the same conclusion.
Finally, the leader of the Apaches lifted himself up an inch or so from his horse and held his tomahawk over his head. The gesture was meant either to quiet his men or to make sure Slocum and Jack didn’t get any ideas. By displaying the deadly weapon and letting out a sharp cry, he accomplished both tasks.
The other Apache didn’t cower in front of their leader, but they held their tongues and didn’t make a move to challenge him.
Jack was nervous as Slocum showed him a single nod. It wasn’t very reassuring given their circumstances, but it was the best he could manage at that time.
“My men don’t want to trust you,” the Apache leader said. “And I am having doubts as well.”
“I have doubts, too,” Slocum said. “Especially since you and your men jumped us and forced us to come this way like we didn’t have a say in the matter. You want to know why white men call you savages? Incidents like this one right here.”
“You still have your weapons,” the Apache closest to Jack said. “Use them!”
The leader hissed a warning in his own language, which didn’t do a thing to erase the challenging glint from the other Indian’s eye.
“Your hands are not bound,” that Indian said. “Challenge us if that’s what you want.”
Slocum took stock of the men around him in much the same way he would evaluate opponents sitting at a card table. From what he could gather, the Apache were ready to call damn near any bluff that was set in front of them. A few were itching for the chance to do so. Rather than give them a reason to clean him out, Slocum said, “We could have done that at any time. In fact, I’m not in the habit of allowing myself to be led around this way.”
“You hold yourself like a warrior,” the Apache leader said. “And you seem to have more sense than most white men, who would have used their weapons to try and spill our blood. That is why you still live.”
“And you strike me as men I’d rather have as allies than enemies,” Slocum said. “If we’re to work together, it can’t be like this. Tracking anything isn’t easy. Tracking a pack of wolves in these rocks is even harder. Trying to do that while we’re questioning each other every step of the way is damn near impossible. I understand you don’t have any reason to hold us in too high regard, but the least we deserve is some common courtesy.”
The Apache leader’s eyes narrowed, but not in a way that could be construed as aggressive. Instead, he seemed to be studying Slocum as he said, “You have been hunting Cha’to. So have we. Together, we can find him and his pack before any more blood is spilled.”
Slocum nodded. “Agreed.”
Jack nodded even harder and reached out to pat the closest Apache on the arm. “And who said you fellas were savages?”
The Indian scowled at Jack and then looked down to scowl even harder at Jack’s hand.
Retracting his arm as if it had been set on fire, Jack said, “Forget I mentioned that word. Thanks for not killin’ us, by the way. Very civilized of you. Honestly.”
“Jack,” Slocum said, “shut the hell up.”
12
The Apache were camped in a narrow gulley formed by a ridge on one side and the steeper rocky slope of the Potrillos on the other. Slocum had seen plenty of Indian settlements, and this one had the looks of one that was meant to be torn down and moved at a moment’s notice. The tents were hastily raised and barely looked large enough for a pair of warm bodies to be sheltered during the night. There was no fire being tended. Even the horses were clustered together with blankets still on their backs as if they would be mounted and ridden at a full gallop at any second.
“Strange,” Jack said as he leaned over to speak in a coarse whisper. “Don’t see any women.”
“What were you expecting?” Slocum asked. “Dancing girls?”
“No, but there should be a few women doing chores or whatever squaw women do.” Noticing the stern glare from one of the nearby Apaches, Jack lowered his voice even further and leaned toward Slocum at such an angle that put him in danger of falling from his saddle. “Best not call ’em squaws, I guess.”
Slocum had already gotten used to blocking out the sound of Jack’s voice. In the short amount of time he’d known him, it was the only way to keep from adding to the wounded man’s list of injuries. Unlike those other times when he was flapping his gums without much of a point, Jack actually made some sense.
There were a few younger Apache filling water skins or preparing a freshly killed bit of game, but all were males. The air was heavy with purpose, and every eye was trained upon the new arrivals.
“There ain’t no children either,” Jack pointed out.
“I noticed that.”
“What do you think that means?”
Noticing the head Apache had signaled for the others to stop and was swinging down from his horse, Slocum said, “Looks like we’re about to find out.”
Now that he was off his horse, the Apache who’d proved to be the leader of the party that had surrounded Slocum and Jack was taller than Slocum had originally thought. His torso was lean at the waist and widened as it flowed upward into broad shoulders. He wore a tanned leather tunic that Slocum could now see was decorated with elaborate designs of beads as well as colors that had been painted on. It wasn’t until now that Slocum had seen the Apache leader straight-on. Before, the other man had either been turning to look at him from an angle or had been too far away for him to get a good look. Also, Slocum had been more concerned with survival to notice details such as clothing.
Now that he was convinced the Apache didn’t want them dead just yet, Slocum soaked up as many details as he could. If he had to, he could get from the camp back to the spot where they’d been captured—he could do it with his eyes closed. He’d also become aware that the rest of the ambushers were still shadowing them from higher ground. Every now and then throughout the ride to the camp, he’d spotted figures darting along a ridge o
r heard the scrape of an errant hoof slipping on some loose gravel. Wherever the Apache archers were, they would know if any false move had been made and would surely put an end to those moves with several well-placed arrows. Slocum was distracted by those thoughts when he heard the sound of horses in the distance breathing heavily as if from a hard ride. He glanced up at a series of ridges looking down at the camp on the mountain side, but the angle of the sun covered those rocks in thick shadow.
“Come,” the Apache leader said. “Join us in a meal. Have some water.”
“We got our own water,” Jack said.
“But,” Slocum added while climbing down from his saddle, “it’s neighborly of you to offer us some of yours. Ain’t that right, Jack?”
Grudgingly, Jack went through the arduous process of dismounting. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s just sit and have a nice long talk while them wolves run to hell and back.”
“As long as they come back, what is the reason to complain?” another Apache asked.
“I think he’s got you there,” Slocum said.
Since he wasn’t about to spell out his reasons for wanting those wolves as soon as he could find them, Jack muttered to himself and walked over to join Slocum near the ashen pile marking a spot where a cooking fire had been.
The Apache leader squatted down next to the fire pit so he could pull aside a pelt that had been lying on the ground. Beneath it were several strips of lean meat that had shriveled around narrow spits. He picked up one of the spits, pulled off a chunk of meat with his teeth, and began chewing the leathery snack. He then held the pelt up a little higher as an informal invitation for his guests to partake. Slocum took a spit and offered one to Jack. When the wounded man turned his nose up at it, Slocum slapped one against his chest until he took it anyway.
“I am called Snake Catcher,” the Apache leader said. “I know your name is John because this one has mentioned it many times.”
“John Slocum,” he said while extending his hand. It was shaken by Snake Catcher, strongly yet reluctantly. “And this is Jack Halsey.”
