Though they lived soundlessly beyond his hearing, The Watcher felt their joys and their angers. He had watched men fight, argue, and build together. When there was death, he felt the loss.
Before him, the valley had blossomed into a land richer than any he could have imagined. Even beyond the valley great changes had occurred. Cattle fed where river water had been diverted. Brush had been ripped away and burned. Grass now grew in fields with edges as straight as arrows. With his days growing few, Chinca was often aware that his great sorrow might be that he could no longer watch the work of Ted and his people.
When the Eye of Ted drew close on the wall that guarded the valley, the mind of Chinca opened and he knew the purpose of the cannon. If it could tear earth and smash the cliffs, even Ted's wall would fall before the great gun.
Now Chinca knew. Whites again fought each other. Like a stream in flood the many whites would pour through holes m the wall to destroy all that lay within. Chinca knew it would be so, for that was what his own people had done so long before and would do again if they had the strength.
The heart of Chinca began to thump and his useful eye watered so that he had to look away. His mouth, unaccountably dry, The Watcher sought his gourd and sipped carefully, but far deeper than usual. The mind of Chinca raced and indecision plucked at its edges.
He could warn the Valley of Bones if he chose to. Yet, was it not wiser to let the whites kill each other and become fewer? If he sent warning might the killing not then be even greater? Ted's people would fight harder if they were ready. Did he, an Apache, care what pale eyes did to each other? Or, did he prefer that those he knew defeat their enemies, or at least escape alive?
While his soul labored, Chinca returned to his telescope. Carefully, The Watcher scanned the empty miles around The Valley of Bones. Surely the attacking whites would scout their enemy. Yet, Chinca found nothing until the Eye of Ted saw three riders on the mountain above the valley. So distant, their movement was hard to discern, the horsemen were working their way toward the valley. He had been right. The people of Ted were the targets.
The Watcher exhaled long and deeply, ridding his being of bad spirits and relaxing the tensions that had filled him. Then Chinca began gently surrendering his presence so that his mind could roam. Without hindrance his thoughts would draw together. His being would heal itself of uncertainties and he would discover the right path.
Until his mind decided, The Watcher could enjoy the roll of memory and there was a vast amount of it. Chinca considered that, compared to the past, his future was short indeed. Perhaps a few suns; possibly a moon or two. Should that affect his reasoning? Probably it would, whether he wished it or not.
+++
Ted Shatto limped a little stepping through his doorway and onto the broad expanse of porch. He maneuvered around a peculiar pile of chairs, blankets, and assorted sticks that the children had assembled into a fort or castle he supposed. No one was in residence at the moment but he could hear Tiff giving orders somewhere within the cactus tangle that protected the real home's north side. Astounding how those children wove trails through the spikes and barbs. He couldn't get three feet in but they scooted through and underneath like desert rats and had secret strongholds in there that the grown- ups would never see.
Ted favored an ankle where a horse had jammed him against a cow. Seemed as though he was always hurting the same place. It had been easy to injure ever since Jed Gooley had left him hanging with his leg twisted in a stirrup. Every once in a while he took a knock that reminded him that the ankle wasn't as tough as the rest of him.
Before he had gone into the house Ted had hung his gun and knife from a peg set into a porch post. That way, he knew where he'd left them, instead of hunting behind chairs and sofas. He slung the pistol belt around his waist and resettled the Colt in its holster. Juan Santos stood in the sun, looking hard off toward the eastern mountains.
"Hola, Juan. Buzzards circling." Ted let his eyes roam. A lot of buzzards could mean a cow was down. Juan might check to find out. If a panther was hunting or a new wolf pack ranging it would be good to know.
The foreman's extended arm directed Ted's gaze and he had to refocus to bring in the distant mountains. Something glanced light from The Watcher's lookout. As soon as Ted caught the glitter, the flashing speeded up. Ted said "He's never done that before" and limped inside to get his telescope.
Ted was back in an instant with a pair of the instruments. He handed Juan the smaller, snapped his own to its almost three foot length, and braced it against a post.
A few twists brought the old Apache into focus. "You sighted on him, Juan?"
"Si, Senor Ted."
The Watcher's telescope rested across a stick framework, as it had most of the times Ted had checked. The Apache looked back at them, a free hand twitching a mirror to create the flashes. Ted waved an answer and the old one laid aside his mirror and slid sideward to use both hands in talk.
"Can you read this stuff, Juan?"
"Not as well as I could wish."
"Same with me. I was better years back, when Chip was around. Must be a mighty important message 'cause he's never given more than a nod before."
Even as he worked out the signaling, Ted Shatto marveled at the situation. Here they were, exchanging sign over a ten mile line of sight. Impossible except in the clear high country air. An Indian who hadn't hardly moved in the last seven years, hand talking with a displaced Perry County, Pennsylvanian. About what? That was the big question.
Ted translated aloud. "Off to the south, many horsemen. A day's ride to the south, I think."
"White men, Senor Ted."
"Uh huh, coming here, with many guns. What is he saying now, I lost it."
"A gun that shines like the sun. A gun to make jacals fall. A gun that horses pull . . . "
"Holy hell, he's talking about a cannon, Juan."
"They must be soldiers, senor."
"Soldiers wouldn't excite him. More to it than that."
"He looks at us again, Senor."
"All right. I'll talk back to him. What'll I ask? What's the sign for soldier?"
"Make button marks down your chest and place fingers on a shoulder."
Doing his best, Ted signaled, "Do soldiers come?"
The Watcher turned his head left and right and passed a hand before his face.
"The Apache says 'No,' Senor."
"Yep, and now he's showing bandoliers across his chest and making pistol signs with both hands. Bandits, sure as shooting, Juan. Bandits with a cannon?"
Ted asked, "How many?"
The Watcher held up both hands and began opening and closing them repeatedly.
"Great ghosts, can he mean five each closing?"
"Apaches do not count, Senor Ted, but they think in hands. He tells that many, many come."
Ted signaled, "Where?"
"At the bend with trees," The Watcher answered.
Ted extended thanks and Juan Santos added his own. By the time Santos had his telescope closed Ted was talking.
"Sounds unreasonable to me, Juan, but we'll have to find out. Pick another good man and extra horses. We'll have a look." He thought for a minute.
"Give that telescope to the best eyes we've got. Send 'em up the cliff to see what they can from there." Ted went in for his rifle and Santos ran for his horse.
Ted was waiting before the foreman returned. He called men to him and gave directions. A pair rode to return herders to the valley's safety. Others gathered close and when Juan stepped down beside him, Ted told what they would do.
"Could be a wild bunch from way south raiding up this way. Sounds doubtful, but there's somebody out there.
"Could even be the Apaches hope to suck us outside and then raid the valley, but that don't make a lot of sense either.
"Juan, Pablo Estaves, and I'll ride out and take a look. Meantime, I want houses closed up, water inside, stock out of the way, and guns ready.
"The men'll go to the wall, but
keep down out of sight till we know what we're facing. We just might not want 'em to know we've heard they're coming. Close the gate though. No outsiders come into this valley until we get back." He stood up, hearing Beth securing their own shutters.
"Father Gomez will say a few words and we'll be riding." He turned to the little priest. "Make it short, Padre; we might be running close on spare time."
Switching horses when needed, Ted led toward the river bend. There were short cuts that shaved a pair of miles and they rode hard, but night still came early and the first dusk could be seen to the east before the three came close.
Ted pulled up and his men drew alongside. For a moment the only sounds came from the hard ridden horses. Ted sniffed and said, "I smell woodsmoke." Testing the air his companions agreed.
Almost immediately a distant shot tightened hands on rifles. A few more sounded and Pablo judged, "Men shooting at targets, Senor."
Ted nodded agreement. He nudged his mount and they walked their horses toward the shooting.
The river curved, leaving a broad flood plain on which brush had flourished. Closer to the water cottonwoods rose high. The ranchers knew the place and even strangers picked it for an overnight stop. There was no high place to look down from and the approaches were rough traces smashed through rather than cleared. Ted couldn't see any easy scouting.
They were as close as they dared to ride. Ted climbed down and hung his rifle from his saddle. He shook stiffened muscles loose and cursed a little at his achy ankle.
"Juan, you and I'll go ahead on foot. Pablo, you'll hold the horses right here—unless you hear us yelling for 'em. If that happens, smash brush getting to us, 'cause we'll be hurrying."
Ted left his hat, so Santos did the same. Then they started through the brush toward the shooting. The going was noisy with winter dried twigs cracking and snapping at every movement. Almost as irritating was the soft wind as it switched to the west, carrying sound to their enemies. Feeling pushed for time and without another plan, Ted just went at it. The bigger the bunch, the less likely they'd be to have a lot of guards out. Shooting the way they were showed a lot of confidence. It could be that there wasn't a single lookout.
Voices rose unexpectedly close. They were loud and part of a continuing conversation. After an instinctive pause, Ted moved nearer.
As they approached the clearing that edged the river, the shooting stopped, probably because the light was dimming. Ted guessed the marksmen had been targeting bottles or wood chunks floating downstream. He wished they had kept at it because the gunshots gave direction for easing in.
Ahead, horses stamped and Juan signaled a way around. A drone of voices, punctuated by a few louder began to dominate natural sounds. Metal clinked and a pistol was emptied amid loud hoots and laughter. Firelight flickered through the brush and, almost without warning, Ted could see into the clearing.
The place was crawling with people. All men, gun-hung and hard-looking, their only uniform was an acquired naturalness in the out-of-doors.
"Banditos." Juan Santos' voice was a quiet curse.
"Must be a hundred of them." Ted sank to a knee and Juan squatted beside him.
Across the clearing men moved purposefully and wagons were parked together. Juan nudged Ted's elbow and handed across his saddlebag telescope. Ted took the instrument, kicking himself for not having thought of his own.
The telescope brought wagons and men almost into his lap. A bronze cannon was partly covered in a wagon bed, but its outline was unmistakable. Ted's scalp tingled.
With the telescope's magnification, Ted recognized a few men, but most were strangers. Bad hombres to any eyes, their outlaw breed was clear. Jud Carp appeared and spoke seriously with a man Ted took to be a leader. Until he saw the missing hand, Ted did not recognize the saloon keeper, John Snyder. The man was also Captain Snyder of The Volunteer Horse. Ted swung the telescope around and immediately picked up men with the bright ribbons tied at bicep and calf. So, the Captain's men were also a part of this bunch.
On their hard ride, Juan Santos had speculated that the gathering might be some sort of rendezvous, the way the old mountain men had assembled, to trade furs and ruin the devil's sleep for a few days. Thin though that hope might have been, it was gone with the sight of the encampment. Wanted men lurked here and Ted saw no respectable citizenry to balance things. The questions were: where was the villainous gang bound and what was their purpose?
Juan Santos took a turn with the telescope. A number of times the foreman's breath hissed and he muttered in quiet exasperation.
"Many bad ones there, Senor Ted. If he caught them all a man could grow fat on rewards."
Ted nodded, aware that the difficulty lay in not being taken themselves. There seemed no way to get closer so he signaled a swift but cautious withdrawal.
Slightly winded, with Ted rubbing at his sore ankle, they paused at their horses and Santos described their findings to Pablo Estaves. The hurried retreat and welcome respite gave Ted thinking time. He needed it because everything, including all of their lives, might hang on his decisions.
What they had seen supported The Watcher's signal that Falling Water would be the wild bunch's destination. Where else was there a target requiring a hundred men? Could Snyder know of their gold, hidden deep within the cave behind their house? Perhaps, over the years, awareness of his raw gold had filtered through. What else could Snyder's mob seek in this barren land?
Specially ominous was the bronze cannon. Where in Hades had they come up with such a gun? Shipped from the war, Ted supposed, then by wagon across the plains. Hidden from prying eyes until now? What other use than to batter down adobe walls? The Valley of Bones had to be their goal.
Granted, but how could a raid of such magnitude be disguised? The immediate answer had to be, no survivors. No witnesses to make claims or to testify. Ted's skin crawled and his muscles tightened. Like hell his people would be sheep for slaughtering. In fact . . . Ted Shatto began thinking mean.
+++
Ted did not weigh Santos or Pablo Estaves with his worries. He told them what he had decided and what they would do about it. As expected, he received no dissent. In heavy dusk only eyes glittered, but big hats nodded and fingers flexed in anticipation.
"There is no other game out here. They're coming for us.
"When men like these ride you can't expect mercy or any kind of decent behavior. If they can, they'll kill us all and I don't need to remind you of what they'll do to the women."
Ted paused to gather his thoughts. "Best way I can put it is that we're not sitting still and hoping things will turn out.
"Now, these hombres probably figure on riding in and wiping us out before we know what happened. So we'll confuse 'em a little right now and then ride for the ranch as though our tails were on fire.
Ted held up a dampened finger to test the breeze.
"Wind's still blowing from the west. We'll touch off the brush and let the fire run 'em into the river.
"While they're reorganizing, Juan and I'll head for the ranch. Pablo, you'll stay between them and our valley. Way I figure it, this bunch'll think Apaches fired the brush, so stay out of sight and let them believe it. Keep watch and when they start our way, bring us word. They'll still expect to surprise us." Ted grinned through the heavy dusk. "Which won't be the case.
"I'll ride south and light first. Juan, you fire due west of them, and Pablo, you touch off this area when you see my fire going. We'll meet up the trail where you ride through the big cactus bed."
Pablo took the extra mounts and Ted and Juan rode into the undergrowth. Firelight from the outlaw camp reflected from the higher trees and occasional shouts and bellows came distantly through the night.
Pablo Estaves gathered creosote twigs that would burn well and wrapped them into a tight bundle. He roped a dead bush and jerked it free. Then he stood on his saddle looking to the south, waiting the first glint of Ted's fire •
Ahead lay fighting with guns aga
inst men who had done it before. Within the outlaw band would be robbers and murderers. Some would be veterans of war. Pablo Estaves could feel his stomach flutter and sweat break at the thought of what was coming. From their wall their guns would flame and answering would be a hundred rifles and . . . the cannon. Estaves' wiped nervous sweat and wished they had built their wall twice as high and many times thicker.
A half mile to the south flame flickered. Pablo dropped to his saddle and got his creosote lighted. He tossed the fire into dry brush and, as it flared, he dragged his roped bush through the flames. He walked his nervous horse a hundred yards before the bush burned out. Behind, a wall of fire was already rolling with the wind.
Pablo returned to the extra mounts and again stood on his saddle to look. Three flame walls marched on the outlaw encampment. Already the fires' roar overwhelmed camp sounds, but Estaves suspected their enemy still had not detected what was about to swoop among them.
They met at the cactus bed and wasted a few minutes watching the seemingly solid band of fire reach and begin to consume the cottonwoods along the river.
Juan Santos said, "This year, grass will grow green in there."
Ted nodded, "Maybe we ought to burn the whole place each winter."
He settled in his saddle and took his spare mount in tow. To Estaves he said, "Don't get close, Pablo. All we need to know is that they're on their way. We'll be waiting."
Ted tipped Estaves' hat over his eyes as he gigged his horse into motion. "We'll save you a good shooting spot, amigo."
Warmed by Ted's confidence, Pablo Estaves found himself smiling and looking forward to it—a little.
Ted wished he was that sure of what should be done. Unless he could divert a straight out battle, he and his people would be in the middle of a war. Even counting the women, he was heavily outgunned and that damned cannon might shoot the length of the canyon, for all he knew.
Shatto's Law (Perry County Frontier) Page 18
