Nighthawk

by F. M. Parker

  Kanttner came running in from the juniper. He stopped quickly, swinging his sight over the two dead men and the standoff. He looked at Raasleer.

  The rustler leader removed his hand from the butt of his six-gun.

  “If I was going to shoot you, you would already be dead,” snorted Raasleer. “I’m short two men now and I need you to help rustle cattle.”

  He pointed at the dead men. “You and Caloon killed them, so you bury them. Give their weapons to Berdugo for the stores.”

  * * *

  Russ and Caloon sat on their blankets as the daylight dimmed into dusk. Caloon spoke, breaking the silence for the first time since the shoot-out. “Thanks for saving my hide. That’s one I owe you.”

  “You would have done the same thing for me,” responded Russ.

  “That was a close shot. Weren’t you afraid you would hit me?”

  “Yes, but you were a dead man if I didn’t nail Tanwell.”

  There was a glint of satisfaction in Caloon’s eyes. “I’m glad you killed that weasel-faced bastard.”

  “Did I nick you?” asked Bus.

  “The bullet “burned me a little when it went past.” Caloon unbuttoned his shirt and pointed to a red streak marring white skin of his chest. ‘It’ll heal soon.”

  “Good,” said Russ. He did not feel friendly toward Caloon. “I’ll see you later. I’m going for a walk.”

  Caloon examined Russ’s face, saw the eyes strained, the mouth tight, and the muscles hunched along the jaw and said nothing.

  Russ turned and walked away into the juniper. He continued beyond that for a long distance around the side of the mountain. Damn you, Caloon, there wasn’t enough reason to provoke a gunfight, Russ thought. You caused me to kill another man. He let his anger run, allowing it to override his fear of what he was becoming. A killer. He knew the boy was burned out of him. He felt the iron in his stomach and didn’t like it.

  Long after dark, Russ returned and lay down on his bedroll. Caloon heard the slight stirring of the dry juniper needles. Again Caloon felt the strong misgivings for having made the offer for the young man to come with him to join the outlaw gang.

  * * *

  Russ sat on the point of the mountain and watched to the east as a red dawn slowly increased. A complete silence lay over the land, as if the world waited for the sun to rise before it could come alive. Russ remained motionless, listening to the stillness.

  Then a puff of the rising morning wind rustled dry blades of grass and some insect chirped at being disturbed. The spell broken, Russ lifted the telescope and searched through the morning shadow lying heavy in the broad valley below.

  The sun crested the curve of the earth and the silhouette of the round dome of Turtleback Mountain became visible. From the top, a tiny gray plume formed, grew, climbing leisurely. Russ swung the telescope aside, waited a moment, then moved it back to the mountain. The image had grown and in the ever increasing sunlight the smoke column was very plain in the spy glass.

  He snapped the glass closed in his hand, hurried to his horse, and swiftly rode down to the camp.

  “Are you sure it was Corddry’s signal?” questioned Raasleer.

  “It was there just as you said it would come,” answered Russ. “There’s no doubt what I saw.”

  Raasleer turned to face the remainder of the men and called out loudly so all could hear. “Throw that supply pack on a horse and let’s ride. Take an extra horse apiece and one for Corddry and the two lookouts. I mean to meet with Corddry and then make it to the bend of the Gila before nightfall. Lewett, you stay here and help Jones take care of the cows. Keep an eye open so we don’t ride into a trap when we come back from Mexico.”

  With a rattle of metal bits, stamp of horses’ hooves, and an occasional curse for a beast to stand still, the men saddled swiftly. They divided the spare mounts among themselves and rode off down the canyon.

  Kanttner and Banty, obeying the orders that Raasleer called up to them as he passed, followed along the top of the canyon rim until a break was found in the rocks. Then, with a clatter of loose rock falling and dust swirling up on the wind, they forced their ponies down into the bottom.

  There was no conversation. The band of heavily armed outlaws strung themselves out along the narrow canyon and spurred into a ground-eating canter.

  * * *

  From the top of Turtleback Mountain, Corddry watched the group of riders approaching across Palomas Valley from a long distance. Shortly before noon, the men drew close to the western foot of the mountain and Corddry rode down to rendezvous with them.

  Raasleer and the others with him had stopped at the first steep slope of the mountain and sat in the shade cast by their horses. Corddry came in warily and made no greetings until the presence of Caloon and Russ was explained. His untrusting face flashed anger at the telling of Pratt and Tanwell’s deaths.

  Caloon stood up, leaned against the shoulder of his horse, and glared back truculently. Fuss also climbed to his feet and, remembering Tanwell’s evaluation of Corddry as a back shooter, kept his attention on the gang’s second in command. He waited for the man to take a stand on the killing.

  “Well, how about the cows?” asked Raasleer impatiently.

  Corddry finished sizing up Russ and Caloon and faced Raasleer. “Two hundred prime breeding heifers in a meadow pasture all by themselves. The Englishman just brought them in from Tucson. They’ll bring a top price in Mexico. They’re in good condition and can travel fast. In two and a half to three days we can have them south of the border.”

  “Good,” said Raasleer. “Any problems? How about the ranch hands?”

  “I saw somebody ride out from the direction of the ranch headquarters about noon yesterday and take the two men who had been building fence back with him. But those heifers are valuable stock. They’ll be checked every couple of days.”

  “Any reason to change the plans we talked about before?” questioned Raasleer.

  “Nope. Let’s leave it the same. I judge we have one day, maybe a day and a half, to get a good head start. That is, if we take the stock tonight and push them all night. Tomorrow morning, too, if they can stand it. Cover twenty, twenty-five miles while it’s still cool. Rest during the heat of the day and start out again in the evening.”

  Raasleer smiled, pleased, and faced the men. “With luck, we’ll make it to Mexico without the Englishman ever coming within sight of us. We’ll hide our tracks going to the Englishman’s spread, but make as much sign as we can once we start with the cows. I want to leave a good trail for the Englishman to follow. We want him after us and not poking around in the mountains and finding the herds we have stashed there.”

  “Even a blind man could follow two hundred head of stock,” observed Caloon.

  Raasleer ignored Caloon. “Who knows the Growler Mountains?”

  Banty spoke up. “I cut across the south end once ten years or so ago.”

  “How about the north part of the mountains?”

  “Nope. Never been there.”

  “I trapped some wild mustangs in the Growlers last year,” said Russ. “I know them fairly well.”

  “You know the mountains stretch north-south and that on the far north end there’s a steep shoulder sticking out to the west?”

  “I been there,” said Russ.

  “Then do you know where the nearest water is to that piece of the mountain?” questioned Raasleer.

  “Well, I found a spring, a big one, on east side of the mountain, about three miles from the place you’re talking about. And there’s a seep about four miles west in the bottom of the wash in Growler Valley. I was trailing a band of wild horses and they led me to it. The water is so close to the surface the mustangs could paw the sand and gravel out deep enough with their hooves to drink.”

  “I see you do know the land. We’ll need water for the heifers and our saddle horses about noon tomorrow.”

  Russ nodded. “A man with a shovel could dig out quite a lot of water in a cou
ple of hours. Easy enough for two hundred head.”

  “All right, you’re the one to go,” said Raasleer. “Take the extra horses, except for a couple we’ll drag along with us, and ride to the Growlers. Dig out a water hole and then climb up to the top of the tall point I mentioned. Watch for us, but mainly watch for riders chasing our trail. After we’ve watered the cows sometime near noon tomorrow, you look close at our back trail and then come down and meet us with the fresh horses. Can you do that?”

  “No problem getting that done,” said Russ.

  Raasleer and Corddry looked, at Russ hard for a long moment. “This is damn important,” said Raasleer. “I don’t want the Englishman close enough when the sun goes down so he can find us in the dark and shoot the hell out of us. And I want all the horses to he there and well rested. Savvy that?”

  Raasleer looked from Russ to Caloon. The meaning was clear. Caloon would be a hostage to insure Russ made no mistakes.

  “I’ll be there with the horses fed, watered, and rested,” promised Russ.

  “Then be on your way,” ordered Raasleer.

  Russ took a short handle shovel and a small quantity of grub from the packhorse. The shovel was tied behind the saddle and the food was stowed away in his saddlebags. When he began to tie the extra mounts nose to tail, Caloon came to help.

  As they worked, Caloon spoke, keeping his voice low so the other men could not hear. “If you want to go to California, this is the time. Take all the horses with you. Be careful where you sell them, for I’d bet my last penny all or most are stolen.”

  Russ measured Caloon’s expression, but before he could say anything, Caloon spoke again. “Now don’t hold back on my account. I’ll find some reason to be out on point when we come up on Growler Wash. If that seep isn’t shoveled out neat and full of water, I’ll know you won’t be there.” Caloon chuckled under his breath. “In that case I’ll spur my old horse and ride like hell for safer country. Don’t worry, they’ll never catch me.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” said Russ.

  Corddry strode up and stopped near Russ and Caloon. “What’s all the confab all about?” he asked in a harsh voice.

  “Caloon was just telling me how to tie the lead ropes so they won’t come loose from the horses’ tails,” said Russ. “I’m ready to leave now.” He stepped astride the roan and, trailing the long string of eight horses, struck off to the south at a fast trot.

  The remaining outlaws headed due east toward the green meadows in the flood plains of the Gila River.

  CHAPTER 10

  Russ pulled the cavalcade of tired horses to a halt and they stood drooping in the heat. He dismounted and knelt to examine the tracks of the unshod mustangs on the sandy ground.

  The horses had come out of the west and continued to the east. Russ judged the sign not older than this morning. The ponies were being ridden, for not once did they deviate from a direct course except to detour around a patch of cactus or a clump of greasewood.

  He sat back on his haunches and considered his next move. From the lack of shoes on the horses, he believed the riders to be Indians. There were no drag marks on the ground that would mean a travois had been dragged, hauling family possessions. A band of Indians with no women or children meant a raiding party looking for something to steal or a white man to kill. If the eagle-eyed warriors remained in the area, they would surely discover the cattle being driven through the valley.

  Russ glanced up to measure the height of the sun in the afternoon sky. A hand’s width of time remained before the sun would touch the horizon.

  It was important to know the Indians’ location and, if possible, their plans. However, before it grew dark, the water in Growler Wash had to be found and dug out. The horses must have that water for they had been pushed hard for fifty miles or better since leaving the rustler hideout at daybreak.

  He mounted and, taking up the lead rope of the front pony, moved off along the imprints on the ground. Where the Indians had separated to make their way through a dense patch of prickly pear cactus, Russ counted six distinct sets of tracks. Such a small band could not take the cows from the outlaws, but they could stampede and scatter them widely across the brush-covered and arroyo-cut land. It was almost certain several would be missed by the white man’s roundup. Then the Indians at their leisure would hunt down the lost animals.

  Worst of all, such a delay by the rustlers would allow the Englishman to catch up. Then the killing would begin.

  Two miles or so later the Indians abruptly turned due south. Russ followed until he was fairly confident he knew their destination. The tracks headed directly toward one of the more gentle slopes, one a horse could climb on the north end of the Growler Mountains. The braves were seeking high ground from which to spy out possible prey crossing the valley.

  For several minutes, Russ examined the flank of the mountain that lay a full mile away. Three thousand feet above the desert floor, lava boulders lay strewn over some thirty acres. That’s the place to hide, thought Russ. He swept the field of his telescope over the large black rocks. For an instant he thought he saw the rear end of a horse, then there was nothing.

  Russ shoved his glass into a saddlebag and angled southwest, again heading for the shallow water he hoped could be found in the bottom of Growler Wash.

  * * *

  Sun Wolf, the Apache, held the horse he had dragged into hiding behind the rock. He watched the pursuers, that were at the extreme limit of his vision, abandon the trail he and his warriors had made.

  Those that followed him rode in a very straight line, maintaining the single file like white horse soldiers did. Maybe the alignment was too perfect. As he observed the distant objects, he thought, was there only one horse being ridden? When it grew dark he would ride down and find the camp and know the answer to the riddle.

  Sun Wolf wished he had not been discovered. He wanted to take some of the white men’s cattle, not to fight. His band was small, the members much too valuable to lose even one in a battle. And here, in this land, all white men were his enemies.

  Sun Wolf and his people had slipped north from where they had been hiding in Mexico. Knowing the soldiers still continued the search in the Apache homeland for those Indians refusing to go onto the reservation, he had led his few warriors and their families far to the west. They had come unbidden into the territory of the Cocopah and the Quechan Indians. But these tribes did not need their land, for they had given up their freedom and lived on the small areas of land the white soldiers called reservations.

  The Indian returned to the vantage point he had left to hide the horse and again cast his eyes out over the broad desert valley with its scant cover of brush and cactus. Nothing moved, not even a hawk or a buzzard braved the heat to take advantage of the updrafts rising from the hot desert floor. He let his mind sail away to the south end of the mountains where the women and children waited in the hidden camp deep in a narrow canyon.

  The warriors had been gone for three days. Soon they must return with a supply of food, for their families had been left with a few meager handfuls of grain. The women would be gathering seed from the heads of the rice grass now ripe. That was a tedious, unproductive task, but one could five on the miniature kernels of grain, just barely.

  Sun Wolf hoped he could take back meat of the white man’s cattle. But the horses he had just seen would do. He had eaten many horses.

  His five braves slept, stretched out in the narrow slivers of shade at the base of the larger boulders. Rock That Rolls, his only son, strong and daring, lay farthest from him.

  The young man had been born in a terrible storm. The wind and rain had come upon Sun Wolf and his woman while they were camped and awaiting the birth of their child. They had been lying close together, protected by their shelter of deer hide and brush. Above them a giant chunk of rock clung to the slope of a hill. The deluge of rain weakened the dirt foundation of the monster boulder and it tore loose, rumbling down upon the small dwelling, striking
the side, ripping it away. Greatly frightened, his woman went into labor and there in the torrential rain gave birth to a healthy son, Rock That Rolls.

  The Old One, the warrior that had once been called Raven, rested flat on his back only a few feet from Sun Wolf. He was so ancient that only Sun Wolf could remember when the broad streaks of gray had not been in his hair. And only Sun Wolf, recalling the man’s great deeds of the past, now and then called him Raven.

  Due to his great caution and his skill at smelling out and avoiding ambushes The Old One continued to survive while all his comrades were long dead. However, he was a very brave warrior once the battle began.

  The many winters had worked their hardship upon The Old One. Deep furrows were carved into his face and his body was merely skin and bones—a stick man, like the children drew. But like a dry pine knot, he endured, riding the weary daytime miles into night and never once complaining.

  Sun Wolf was glad of Raven’s presence in the band. His warnings and council to the young impetuous braves would be sorely missed when he no longer existed.

  He cast a glance at the old warrior to find the man’s eyes studying him.

  “What do you see in the valley that worries you, Sun Wolf?” asked Raven. Though both he and Sun Wolf could speak the words of the white man, he spoke in the Apache tongue. For what man would put horse manure in his mouth when he could savor the tones of his own language?

  “Some men, and I judge white men, have found our trail and followed it for a finger’s width of sun. They came to where we turned toward the mountain and then sat and looked directly at our hiding place. They have now gone away.”

  “How many were there?” queried Raven.

  “Perhaps eight or ten horses. They were very far away and I could not tell if all the horses had riders. I think there was only one man. However many, they go to the valley that lies there.” Sun Wolf pointed.

  “Why would one man with many horses track us for a distance?” mused The Old One.

  “Yes, it is strange. He may have a ranch near here and feels he must know for his own safety.”