The Vengeance of Ender Smith

by Tony Masero

  “Yeah,” Ender agreed. “She’s mighty strong in the mouth department and leaves a trail as wide as a prairie wagon.”

  “You should finish it, En-da. We will take Common Dog back to the People, they will make him well.”

  “No,” growled Common Dog, looking at them both from under lidded eyes, his voice full of resolution. “We have not done here yet. I will have blood for my sisters and this shame they have laid on me.”

  “We shall,” said Ender. “I have left a message on his pillow, he must buy back his woman. Then we will take him.”

  “They have many men out searching for us,” said Peyote. “It will be hard to get close.”

  “I’ll go back alone,” said Ender. “I need my Sharps anyway, I had to leave it when I went in. But I’ll set up a time for them to make the payoff. Can you watch her whilst I’m away?”

  Peyote nodded and he gave Caroline a quick sidelong glance as she made her way back to them.

  “Keep her alive, we need her,” Ender warned.

  “This is her work,” Peyote pointed at Common Dog, his meaning clear.

  Ender nodded. He doubted if Peyote would be able to contain the resentment he felt at Common Dog’s treatment and having suffered the same at the woman’s hand he had a great deal of sympathy for the attitude.

  Caroline came up to him and ignoring the Indians she held out the canteen at arm’s length.

  “Here,” she said abruptly, in a preemptory manner. “Take it but don’t expect me to go near that wretch.”

  Ender looked at her long, perfectly manicured fingers holding the canteen. He glanced at Peyote.

  “I need just one,” he said.

  Quinlan looked haggard. His head ached phenomenally badly and even the cool water towels one of the Mexican women were applying to his bruises did not help. It had been a hard knock Ender had given him and it did nothing to improve his mood.

  “Tell me,” he said to Cyrus Land standing beside him where he sat at a table in the long, stately throne room miraculously still intact after the dynamite raid.

  “We’ve lost ten fighting men in all, since this thing started. A parcel of cattle herders and some of the guards. The explosives killed a few and did a lot of damage and the fire afterwards didn’t help matters. One of the barracks rooms is totally destroyed; a storeroom took a beating with the wall and most of the roof gone. The well is going to take some fixing and they’re working on the gates now.”

  Quinlan ground his teeth and clenched his jaw. “One man did all this?”

  “No, there was another. An Indian, Apache the men say. He delivered the dynamite and released the prisoner whilst Ender took your wife.”

  “And where were you when all this took place?” spat Quinlan irritably.

  “Like you, sir,” Land answered calmly. “I was asleep.”

  Quinlan brushed away the tending Mexican woman and picked up the strand of Caroline’s hair laid on the table before him.

  “I want this bastard,” he whispered. “I want him bad, Cyrus. You understand me?”

  “Best wait until we get your wife back.”

  “I know that!” snapped Quinlan. “I have the gold, it’s ready and waiting, all one hundred thousand dollars worth of it. How do we make the exchange?”

  “That we’re waiting to find out”

  Quinlan bunched his fists, the skin drawing white across the bone. “If he harms her, if he so much as…”

  “He’ll keep her alive,” Land said confidently. “There’s no money without her.”

  “Yes,” breathed Quinlan. “You’re right. It won’t be worth doing her any harm. He wants the gold, that’s his objective. She’ll be alright. But afterwards…. afterwards, Cyrus, you will catch him and he will die, oh so slowly. Him and that blasted Indian scum that came with him.”

  “We’ll get them, don’t you fret. Fellow’s irritating the hell out of me,” growled Land.

  “About time too,” snapped Quinlan. “You heard any more from Emmett Crawford?”

  “No, I guess our messenger never got through.”

  “Smith and his damned Indians again, I suppose. Well, get someone to go to the railhead and send a telegram. Tell Crawford there’s a money transfer waiting for him at the bank in Tucson and there’ll be a bonus in it if he brings me Ender Smith’s head in a bag.”

  “What do you need him for anyway?” griped Land, his scarred lip tugging up resentfully. “We can handle this on our own.”

  “Yeah,” sneered Quinlan. “Like you’ve been doing so far. Half my place blown sky high and my wife abducted. I don’t think so, Cyrus. This calls for an expert and Crawford’s our man. Have you heard anything of him? Do you know what he’s capable of? I have report of his work and they say he is most effective.”

  Land nodded. “They call him ‘Ear-Man Emmett’. He collects them, they say, the ears that is. Has a string in his saddlebag, two from every sucker he’s nailed. Just your man if you’re short of hearing, I guess,” he added cynically.

  Quinlan ignored the quip. “Just get it done. One way or the other Smith goes down hard.”

  There was a tentative cough from behind him, “Er, excuse please, jefe.”

  It was the over-dressed and officious gate guard Pedro, his fine clothes were rumpled now and dust streaked one side of his face.

  “What is it?”

  “This was left, senor,” he handed Quinlan a bead laden leather tube that the Apache used to keep their awl for punching out leather. “We find it pinned to the gates just now. Nobody saw anyone leave it there. It just appear and I think it best to bring straight to you.”

  Quinlan looked curiously at the decorated tube of buckskin. “What is this?” he asked, fingering it disdainfully.

  Land took it and upended it. A roll of shirt cloth fell out and unrolled on the table.

  Quinlan blanched as the material revealed the thing inside. “Oh, my God!” he gasped. “It’s Caroline’s.”

  The forefinger had been sliced off clean at the knuckle joint and the bloody stump stood out ugly against the perfection of the rest of the digit.

  “There’s something written,” said Land, pushing the finger aside.

  Scratched onto the cloth in charcoal was a directive and Land read it aloud: ‘Bring the cash. Noon tomorrow. Wait at gate.’

  Quinlan was gnawing on his fist in distress as he stared at the spectacle on the table, his face was white and drawn as if every drop of blood had suddenly left it. His body began to tremble and his jaw worked but he was speechless, his eyes locked on the pallid dissected finger with its perfect nail.

  Then he screamed, a long woeful cry that echoed down the long hall.

  “Caroline!”

  Chapter Nine

  Ender was pleased to have the Sharps back in his hands again and he cradled the weapon as they waited.

  The four of them crouched out of sight behind the pile of boulders at the end of the ridge overlooking the ranch and waited for the appointed hour.

  Ender had not been sure about bringing Common Dog with them, he was in a bad way and his wounded leg was particularly serious but he had insisted he be there and Ender had finally relented and allowed it. Peyote waited beside him, grim-faced and silent. Caroline crouched down to one side. Pale and sour looking, she looked crushed and held her bandaged left hand couched protectively in the other. She had never believed Ender would allow such a thing to be done to her and the shock had diminished her once haughty disposition into a cowering and stunned acceptance of her circumstances and now she merely waited to be told what to do next.

  Ender looked up skywards at the sun and estimated the time. “Any moment now,” he said. “You have the rope?” he asked Peyote and the Indian silently raised the ready loop. “Common Dog, do you think you can hold an eye on that tower. Anyone tries anything from there, you keep their head down.”

  Common Dog raised his Winchester and gave one brief nod of acceptance. Ender was not sure about him, Common Dog had barely spo
ken and Ender was sure he was not functioning too well, his body and mind operating on a low level of efficiency as the constant pain got to him.

  “They come!” Peyote breathed and Ender looked down to see the gates swinging wide open. A group of riders jostled out with Quinlan at their center.

  “That boy sure likes to travel in company,” Ender observed. “Looks like he’s got nigh on twelve men with him down there.”

  The group of riders keeping close around Quinlan carried their rifles at the ready and the group moved in restless union outside the gates.

  “You there, Smith!” Quinlan bellowed.

  “We’re here,” Ender answered, his voice ringing down from the hilltop.

  “Is Caroline with you?”

  Ender turned to Caroline, “Climb up on top these boulders, show him you’re here.”

  “Up there?” she said, looking nervously at the unstable looking pile rising above them.

  “Do it!” snapped Ender and slowly, favoring her damaged hand and climbing on all fours Caroline scaled the rocks up to the flat platform of an overhanging boulder.

  “You see her?” Ender called. “You’ve got a rope coming down to you, fasten the gold to that and we’ll pull it up. Then she comes down; try anything and its goodbye Mrs. Quinlan. Are we clear?”

  Peyote tossed the line down and Quinlan watched it snake through the air. “Are you alright, my dear?” he called.

  Caroline stood shivering on the rocks, her whole body trembling as she looked down the long drop to the gathered riders below.

  “They hurt me Able,” she whimpered.

  “I know,” sighed Quinlan. “I know. We’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.”

  Vaqueros were tying the boxed crate of bullion to the rope and awaiting Quinlan’s signal to release it.

  Quinlan gave a nod. “Here’s your gold, Smith. Damn your eyes for what you’ve done to my woman!”

  “Yeah,” answered Ender. “It’s kind of different when its one of your own, ain’t it?”

  Both he and Peyote hauled on the heavy box and dragged it slowly up the sixty feet of sheer rock face until they pulled it up over the lip and it rolled towards them.

  “You want to see inside, En-da?” asked Peyote.

  Ender shook his head. “No, I don’t give a damn about that now I have Quinlan in my sights.” He lowered the barrel of the Sharps, his eye peering through the telescopic sight and centering on the rancher’s upturned face.

  “You have your money now let her go,” there was an almost pleading tone to Quinlan’s voice and Ender watched his mouth work through the close-up vision in the sight. Slowly he began to depress the trigger.

  “This is for Catowitch and Delsay,” he whispered, steadying his aim.

  The booming shot echoed over the valley but it did not come from Ender’s rifle.

  He heard the cry and looked around to see Common Dog flying backwards, his arms spread wide blood flying from a great hole punched in his chest.

  “No! No!” screamed Quinlan, spinning around towards the tower. “I said no shooting,” the men around him were milling in confusion at the rifle shot, the ponies buffeting against one another.

  Ender swung up the Sharps and peering through the scope spotted the figure of Cyrus Land, long rifle in his hand as he aimed again from the tower lookout point.

  Land’s Sharp boomed and a spout of stone chips leapt from the boulders. As the rolling sound died away Ender heard Caroline above him cry out in terror. He felt the vibration shiver through the rock as the bullet struck with the force of a hammer blow and quickly he fixed Land in his sight and fired, the big gun leaping in his hand. It was an impossibility but he almost believed he heard the howling whistle of the flying lead as it looped towards its target and then he saw the heavy caliber slug strike home and watched Land’s small head disappear in a puffed cloud of crimson.

  “Chew on that, pinhead,” he muttered in satisfaction.

  The ground moved and for a moment Ender was confused, it seemed as if the world was shifting beneath him.

  “Get back, En-da!” Peyote called, turning wide-eyed from where he leant over Common Dog’s limp body.

  Ender saw the change then, the trickle of dust and pebbles as the pile of boulders began to move. The largest boulder of all tilting in a sudden lean outwards, the soft earth around it slipping away and being joined by others in the pile, the combined weight letting gravity take the lead and tug it away.

  Caroline was screaming hysterically, on hands and knees she clutched desperately onto the moving pile. The great boulder beneath her began to slide, the stone shaken loose by the blow from Land’s Sharps. Slowly, the stone heaved up and almost majestically started to tumble, dragging the lesser rocks below with it. Imperceptibly at first, the entire rock face began to go. In a cloud of flying dust and riding on a platform of stone, a screaming Caroline sailed outwards and vanished from view over the edge.

  Ender and Peyote backed away in panic as the ground beneath their feet dropped away like soft silt, the whole spine’s edge beginning to follow the boulders in their downwards collapse. In a great tumbling rush the rocks cascaded towards the valley floor, dust rose in blossoming clouds and the noise was a great growling roar that continued in echoes as it ran up the valley.

  Ender heard one last pitiful cry from Quinlan before he and his men were engulfed in the down pouring of tons of rock.

  In their desperate scramble back there was no time for Ender or Peyote to save either the gold or Common Dog’s remains and both were sucked away over the collapsing brink. Finally it stopped and Ender and Peyote got to their feet and stood to look over the new end to the valley spine. In a descending sloping pile the fall had filled the area between valley end and the ranch walls, breaking through the adobe and covering the gate from view whilst it buried everything that had lived beneath it.

  Dust hung in the air and rose up above the ranch tower encasing it all in a yellow haze.

  “Shame about Common Dog,” said Ender.

  “He will not mind, he is with his enemies. It is a fitting grave.” Peyote answered solemnly.

  “Pity about the gold too.”

  Peyote shrugged. “What need have we for it? Let it rest with those that favor the yellow stone so much.”

  Ender nodded agreement. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  Chapter Ten

  Fort Bowie was in a state of excitement. That much was obvious as Ender and Peyote rode back in through the fort gateway.

  The southerly sirocco had picked up again and flurries of dust blew across the parade ground in blustery waves that sent oddments of litter scattering.

  Teams of mules and saddle ponies were being herded through the whirling clouds and men in uniform half hidden by the dust storms scurried everywhere carrying equipment. A photographer stood in the center of the parade ground, his tripod before him and his head under a flapping black sheet as he tried vainly to focus on the activity in the blasting wind. The tents were gone from the parade ground and it was apparent the fort was packing up for some kind of military action.

  Curious, Ender and Peyote rode through the maelstrom of wind over towards the headquarters offices. A red-faced Sergeant Giltrap stood sweating before the office porch as he shouted out orders to a squad of men lined up before him.

  “There you are!” he called as he squinted against the wind and saw the two. “Get in here, the Major will have words with you.” He tugged at Ender’s arm as he dismounted and whispered into his ear. “Did you get your little matter settled?” he asked.

  “It’s done,” Ender said simply.

  “Good on you, boy. Now get along inside there, the Major’s all of a tizzy as it is. He’s been asking for you.”

  Ender turned and looked up questioningly at Peyote who still sat astride his horse.

  “I will go to the reservation,” said the Indian. “I will bring news to the People of Common Dog and how his spirit and his sisters’ shall rest in peace now thei
r killers are no more. You have done well, En-da.”

  With that, he kneed his pony and rode off slowly to vanish in the clouds of blown dust flying across the busy parade ground.

  Ender was tired and his body ached, he stood watching the departing Indian for a moment before climbing the porch steps with a long sigh. It was done, that was for sure. But at what cost? Many men had lost their lives so the balance of his brand of justice could be satisfied. Not least, the instigator of it all, Common Dog. He slapped at the dust on his clothes then pushed open the office door letting a sudden gust slam it back on its hinges.

  Inside he found a group of three men who started at the sound and turned away quickly from a large wall map of the Territory they had been studying.

  “Ah,” said Major Bowmont as Ender entered. “About time Smith and shut that damned door, will you? Where the devil have you been? We’re to be on the move. Brigadier General Crook is making a major push against the hostiles and we need every man.” He waved a hand at the sober looking figure wearing a goatee beard that stood next to him and introduced the man as Ender pushed the door shut. “I don’t know if you know Mister Seiber, Chief Scout for the General.”

  “Maybe not,” said Seiber coming forward, his hand outstretched. “But I have heard of you, Ender Smith. They say you’re next to none as a scout.” There was still a slight German edge distinctive in his voice, almost lost now over the years since his immigrant arrival as a child but still there nonetheless. His eyes were sharply incisive as they appraised Ender but they showed genuine pleasure at the meeting.

  “Sure,” said Ender, taking the offered hand. “Who ain’t heard of Al Seiber?”

  Seiber chuckled. “Don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Look here, Ender, I’d like you to meet Tom Horn,” he introduced his mustached companion, a handsome smiling fellow in his mid-twenties with an early receding hairline and a quiff of hair remaining across his brow. Horn was casually leaning back against Giltrap’s desk and toying with a braid of horsehair. “I’m kind of showing him the ropes,” Seiber explained.