California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Van was taken out first, and then Rosa. When her bound hands were freed, there was blessed relief for her aching arms and shoulders. Once the captives were marched out beyond where the cook fire had been, they could see what awaited them. There were twenty or more Apaches in each line, some with knives, some with lances, and some with clubs. Some of the women were pointing to the naked Van, and while he didn't know the language, he could understand their laughter. At the very head of one of the lines that was the gauntlet was an Apache who had a wolfish grin on his ugly face, and Rosa thought he was the one she had humiliated. He looked ready, willing, and eager to extract his revenge.

  "Silencioso!" bawled an Apache who had the look of a chief. The chatter of the women, the shouting of the braves, and the barking of the dogs ceased.

  Van and Rosa were shoved into position, but the distant bark of a rifle broke the silence. The chief—if that's who he was—had a look of surprise on his face, and a hole in his chest that spurted blood. He stumbled backward, and before he hit the ground, Van was running. But not between the rows of armed men. Rosa was right behind him, and not a knife, lance, or club touched either of them. Other shots had followed the first, and there was total chaos. Men shouted, women cried, dogs barked and howled, while more men fell victims of the unseen riflemen. Van ran toward the nearest cover, a line of sage and greasewood to the southwest. Before he knew it, he had fallen headlong into a shallow arroyo, and Rosa was right on top of him.

  "Damn," Van grunted. He shoved Rosa's foot out of his face and spat out a mouthful of dirt.

  "For Dios," Rosa panted, "never have I run naked through the woods and briars before.'"

  "Neither have I," Van said, "and given a choice, I won't do it again."

  Rosa laughed. For a while they didn't move, listening. While the dogs were still barking, they heard nothing else.

  "We'll stay with this arroyo," said Van, "and we'd best keep to the south. Gil and the boys gave us a chance, but now they've got the whole damn bunch on their trail. My God, there must be sixty or seventy Apaches in this band."

  By the time the arroyo played out, it was dark enough for Van and Rosa to feel safe. Their bodies a mass of cuts and bruises, they stumbled on. While they were weak with hunger, their real need was water.

  "For so large a camp," Van panted, "there has to be water. Unless it's just a spring with limited runoff. We must have water."

  * * *

  When the last rifle was fired, Gil and his riders hunched as low as they could and ran for their lives.

  Pursuit was swift. Almost within seconds, they could hear the pound of horses' hooves. One quick look confirmed Gil's fears. While the Apaches knew from whence had come the lead, they also knew Gil and his riders were afoot. While some of the Indians charged the arroyo, others angled off, getting ahead of the Texans. They were going for the horses, and if they reached them first, Gil and his men were done. Already Indians raced their horses along the arroyo, seeking a break in sagebrush and greasewood. Arrows whipped through the brush, thunking into the dirt walls of the arroyo. Gil drew his Colt, shot an Apache off his horse, and it seemed two more took his place. Ahead of Gil, Long John stumbled and went down, an arrow through his thigh. Gil helped the fallen Cajun to his feet, while Bo covered them, his Colt roaring. Suddenly, in the very teeth of the attack, Mariposa and Estanzio were on the lip of the arroyo, and Gil thought he knew what they had in mind. It was a bold move, and it was also crazy and impossible. But it was their only hope of coming out of this alive. But for a miracle, the end was only seconds away…

  * * *

  The closest thing Van and Rosa found to water was damp sand, probably the tag end of the runoff from a spring near the Indian village. Van began to dig with his hands, and when he had dug almost a foot, water began to seep into the hole. The water was muddy, but it was cold and wet. Again and again they drank. With a sudden rustling of leaves, Van and Rosa froze. Two malevolent eyes looked at them out of the gloom, and a dog growled.

  "Get away from us, you bastard!" Van hissed. "Scat!" But the dog began barking, and within seconds every other dog within hearing had joined the clamor.

  Chapter 13

  Bowie in his hand, Estanzio leaped on a galloping horse behind its Apache rider. His left arm around the man's throat, Estanzio drove the big Bowie into the Apache's belly. The horse didn't even break stride as its new rider flung the dying Apache to the ground. Right on the heels of Estanzio's move, Mariposa had performed a similar feat. Mounted, Colts in their hands, the two now galloped toward the thicket where their outfit's horses were waiting. This brazen move by Mariposa and Estanzio had so angered the Apaches, they seemed to forget the besieged Texans in the arroyo. Gil had the wounded Long John on his feet, and with Bo covering from behind, they went on toward the horses. The rest of the riders had continued their mad run down the arroyo, and with the diversion created by Mariposa and Estanzio, the Apaches found that taking the Texans' picketed horses was no longer a sure thing. In the best Indian fashion, Mariposa and Estanzio clung with one leg to the backs of the Indian ponies and fired their Colts under the necks of the galloping horses. A dozen Indian ponies raced away riderless. It was now almost dark, and except for Gil, Long John, and Bo, the outfit had reached the upper end of the arroyo, near where their horses were tied. Their fire, added to that of the hard-riding Mariposa and Estanzio, was deadly. With half their attacking force dead or wounded, the

  Apaches retreated. A day that had held so much promise for them had gone sour, and there had been much bad medicine.

  "By God," said Long John, through gritted teeth, "she was some fight. I wouldn't of missed it fer nothin'. Did Van an' Rosa git loose?"

  "They lit out for the brush," said Gil, "and I don't think they were pursued. The way we cut them down, they wanted us bad, so they dropped everything else and came after us. Now we have to get away from here, remove that arrow from your leg, and then stampede every horse in this Apache camp."

  "The arrer jus' tore the meat," said Long John. "It ain't hit the bone."

  "No, but there'll be infection," said Gil, "if we don't attend to it."

  Without further difficulty they reached their horses, where the other riders waited. Mariposa and Estanzio still had the captured Indian ponies.

  "Bring them along," said Gil. "It'll be two less for them to use. When we come for our horses they took, we'll stampede the rest of theirs."

  They rode out, bound for the spring where they'd camped the night before. For the night, at least, Van and Rosa were on their own, and Long John's wound needed attention.

  * * *

  "Don't move," Van whispered, his hand on Rosa's arm. "Don't breathe."

  They had backed away from the muddy water Van had brought to the surface, and one of the dogs from the Indian camp had roused all the others. Worse, he had attracted the attention of some of the Apaches. Van and Rosa could hear their voices as they came to investigate. But Van still had hope. There was a faint but distinct odor of skunk, for the animal had gone to the water they had left. Van wasn't sure if the curious dog had first discovered them or the skunk, but that no longer mattered. The skunk, if it tarried a little longer, could save their lives. As the Apache voices came closer, the dog's barking grew more frenzied. The foolish dog waited until its human companions were near, and then, encouraged, it went after the skunk. Even from where Van and Rosa hid, the stink was all but unbearable. But the unfortunate dog and the pair of Apaches seemed to have gotten full benefit of the skunk's temper. The dog whimpered and cried, and the Apaches coughed and wheezed. There was a final shriek from the offending dog, as one of the Apaches silenced him forever. Van and Rosa waited until the skunk-smitten Apaches had departed and until the camp dogs were quiet.

  "Now," said Van, "let's get away from here."

  But it would be a while before moonrise, and they couldn't see where they were going. Finally they came upon a windblown pine, and the upended root mass had left a hole as big as a buffalo wallow.
It was waist deep and full of dried leaves. A light wind had risen, and Rosa's teeth chattered.

  "God knows what may be in among those leaves," said Van, "but we can't see standin' here jaybird naked, with our teeth chattering, while we wait for the moon to rise."

  Van fumbled around in the dark for a stick, a limb, something with which to probe the mass of dry leaves. He eventually found a stone by smashing his big toe into it. When he dropped the stone into the hole, there was no evidence of any animal or reptile that might object to their company. The naked pair sank gratefully into the dry leaves and out of the chilling wind.

  "Por Dios," sighed Rosa, "I have never been so tired, so sore, or so hungry. How far are we from the spring where our camp was?"

  "God knows," said Van. "That big bastard that grabbed me almost bashed my brains out. I don't know how far we had ridden when I finally came to my senses. I'm afraid we're far enough away that we won't make it tonight, and that forces us to go the rest of the way in daylight. From all the shooting, I reckon Gil and the outfit got out alive, and I look for them to come back after the horses sometime tonight."

  "All they can do is stampede the horses," said Rosa, "and that means they must round them up in the daylight. Could we not just stay here and wait for them to find us?"

  "Rosa, these damn Apaches will still be here, and they may be hunting horses too. Knowin' Gil, he'll stampede every horse in camp, leavin' these war whoops afoot. They may be out here beatin' the bushes too, and what do you reckon they'll do to us if they find us?"

  "I am sorry," she said. "I am so tired, I am not thinking."

  "I know how you feel," he said, more sympathetic. "I just believe Gil will expect us to try and make it back to the spring, to our old camp. He won't expect us this near the Indian camp, and he can't risk coming to look for us."

  "Van, what do you think of me? Be honest with me, and do not spare my feelings."

  "Now that I've seen you stripped to the bare hide," he said. "I think you're a hell of a lot older than Gil believes you are.''

  "Had you felt that way before… today?"

  "I've suspected it for at least a year," he said, "and I was sure of it…"

  "Today," she finished.

  He said no more. Irritated, Rosa again took up the conversation.

  "Damn it, Van, why will you not talk to me? Just because you have seen me without my clothes, does that make me less a person? Are you going to pretend I do not exist?"

  "Rosa, I'm a married man with a child. How am I supposed to feel, the two of us together possum naked? Besides, I'm not sure how Gil's goin' to take this."

  "He will be satisfied that we are alive," said Rosa. "Do you fear he is going to think you took advantage of me while we were half frozen, tired, and hungry, with the Apaches after us?"

  "No," he said wearily, "it's not that. I… damn it, Rosa, I don't know what I'm afraid of, what I think. I was sittin' there in that tepee, hogtied, not knowin' if I'd live or die. I should have been praying, but when that Indian brought you in… like that… stark naked, I…"

  "You forgot the wife and child," said Rosa. "You have been on the trail many weeks, and you wanted me. As a woman. Your conscience hurts you."

  "My God, yes," he said, his voice breaking. "I wouldn't have, couldn't have, but God help me, I wanted you. What would Dorinda say if… she knew?"

  "I think she would say she is proud of her husband," said Rosa. "It is no sin to be tempted. The sin comes with the yielding. You are a bueno hombre, Van, and I could be tempted of you as you are tempted of me, but I think your feelings for Dorinda are my feelings for Gil."

  "Thank you," said Van. "I needed to hear you say that, and I don't regret my feelings for you. I don't understand Gil, but if he ever lets you down or hurts you, I'll personally kill him."

  "Thank you," said Rosa. "I know he wants me, but there are times when he is so distant I cannot reach him. He is searching for something only he can see. Perhaps it is something he wants more than me. I think I shall know by the time we reach the end of this California Trail…

  * * *

  Gil and the outfit returned to the spring that had been their camp when the Apaches had struck. The moon had risen, and they found that during the day, most if not all the longhorns had returned to water. So had the horses the Apaches hadn't been able to gather.

  "We must have hot water," Gil said, "to cleanse Long

  John's wound, and that means a fire. None of us have eaten since last night, so let's eat while we can. We have a long night ahead of us, and maybe a fight in the morning."

  "Could the Apaches strike again tonight?" Bo asked.

  "Maybe," said Gil, "but I don't think so. We hurt them, and except for the arrow in Long John's leg, they didn't make much of a showing. They've had a bad day. No matter how hard they hit us, those of us still able to ride would go after them, but Indians don't think that way. When things just go to hell for them, like today, they'll back off. In fact, they're liable to pack up at first light and move the camp. That's why we have to go after them tonight, and recover the rest of our horses."

  "Ye'd best git started drivin' this Apache toothpick outta my leg," said Long John. "Time the moon sets, we ought't' be back at that Injun camp."

  "You're goin' to be right here," Gil said, "and Bo will be with you. By morning, you'll have some fever. I want you to start sweatin' out that infection, so when we recover the horses, we can get on with this drive. I reckon it's time to break out that little keg of whiskey we brought along for this occasion."

  It was a sensible solution, and Long John didn't object. A man could die from a minor wound if he didn't whip the infection. While the wound would be painful, when the danger of infection was past, Long John could ride. Once the Cajun had downed enough of the whiskey to make the procedure bearable, Gil made preparations to remove the arrow.

  "This won't be a pleasant thing to watch," Gil said, "but those of you who don't know how it's done, ought to know. I think this Indian problem on the frontier may outlive all of us, and ever)' man should know how to treat arrow wounds."

  The procedure was as simple as it was painful. Gil snapped off the feathered shaft of the arrow, leaving just enough of its length to drive it on through the flesh. With the butt of his Colt, by the light of the fire, he drove the shaft far enough for the barbed tip to emerge. Gripping the tip, he drew the rest of the broken shaft through the wound. Long John, in a stupor from the whiskey, still grunted with the pain. Once the arrow had been removed, Gil used plenty of hot water—almost too hot—to cleanse the wound. He then poured a generous amount of the whiskey into the wound. An old shirt became a bandage. Gil bound thick pads over the entrance and exit wounds, soaking each pad with the whiskey.

  "Now," said Gil, ''let's get some grub ready and eat. I want us at that Apache camp by moonset."

  * * *

  Out of the chill wind, despite her cuts and bruises, Rosa slept. It was an escape from the hunger that gnawed at her empty belly. When she woke, it was to a mournful sound that seemed borne on the wind.

  "Por Dios," she whispered, "it sounds like the wind is crying."

  "I've never heard it before," Van said, "but I've heard of it. It's the Apache death song. Gil and the outfit must have done some real damage. That was a smart move, cutting down on them just as they were about to force us to run the gauntlet."

  "I knew that somehow Gil would help us," said Rosa. "In many ways, I do not understand your brother, but he is a lighting man who is quick to do what must be done."

  "I know," said Van. "That's how he ended up with you, in the wilds of Mexico, with the Mexican army all around us."

  "You say it as though I were a puta, as though I forced myself on him. It was not that way. The soldados had murdered my madre and padre, and I was afraid. Gil's hands and face had been browned, like that of a Mejicano, and I feared he was one of the soldados. I tried to kill him with a hay fork. He tied my hands and forced me to look at his blue eyes and the white sk
in above the tops of his boots. He has told you none of this?"*

  "He told us nothing, except that the Mex soldiers had killed your mama and daddy. I'm sorry for what I said… the way I said it. I know you were alone and afraid, and there was nowhere for you to go except to our trail drive. Gil only did what any man of us would have done, given the chance."

  "The moon is rising," Rosa said. "I know we must go, but I wish we did not have to. I am warm here, and the wind is so cold."

  "We'll have to take advantage of the moonlight," said Van, "and get as far from these Apaches as we can. I just wish I knew where we are in relation to that spring where we camped last night."

  "We could just go north," said Rosa.

  "We could, but we don't know if we're east or west of our old camp. Maybe we ought to circle the Apache camp to the west, and then travel north. We might even strike the trail the Apaches left, returning after their attack."

  "When the longhorns and the horse remuda stampeded, they would have left a trail," said Rosa. "Perhaps we could find the path of the stampede, and it would tell us the direction we should go."

  "The longhorns wouldn't run this far," said Van. "Once they get thirsty, they'll head for the nearest water they remember. If we're goin' to backtrack horses, I aim to look for the trail of the Apaches after their attack on us."

  "Suppose they scattered, and all returned by different ways?"

  "I'm sure they separated right after the attack," said Van, "but if you can remember, when we reached their camp, all of them had come together. I don't need a trail all the way back to our spring. Just enough to establish a direction, so we don't pass up our camp by bein' too far east or west."

  Once the moon was high enough to afford them some light, Van and Rosa left their comfortable sanctuary, again braving the chill night wind.

  "We'll go north three or four miles," said Van, "and then west about the same distance. From there, we'll head north. We're lucky we're downwind from the Apache camp, and we want to stay well away from them. All we need is for another of their dogs to discover us."