Apache Sundown

by Jory Sherman

  Ferguson would pay for his part in all of this, Trask thought. The men in the line shacks were probably all dead, killed by Zak Cody. So he could not count on them. He needed every man he had left. But he would not hesitate to kill any one of them who questioned his authority or tried to run off.

  He would even kill Ferguson if he had to. The man was no longer needed.

  The men who worked for the freighter might no longer be loyal to Ferguson, but they would be loyal to Trask. Or more exactly, they would be loyal to the gun he carried on his hip.

  They would be loyal, all right, or they would die.

  Just like Jaime Elizondo.

  Chapter 11

  Corporal Scofield yelled, “Something’s comin’.”

  Zak heard it in between rumbles of thunder. He stood up and ran toward Scofield at the east end of the hill. The sound was unmistakable. He looked down but couldn’t see anything because the sky was too dark.

  “What is it?” Scofield asked.

  “Flash flood,” Zak said.

  “Lordy. It sounds like all hell is breakin’ loose.”

  “I think we’re high enough so the water won’t reach us, but stay on your toes.”

  Zak left Scofield standing next to his horse, shaking like a man in a quake. He ran to Colleen, who had crawled out from under her horse and was standing up, gripping her reins as if they were lifelines and she was on a sinking ship.

  “Is that sound what I think it is?” she said to Zak.

  “It should hit the road below us at any second.”

  Colleen cocked her head to listen. She could not exactly identify the sound, for it was like no other she had ever heard. It sounded, at first, like a giant’s whisper, like air whooshing through a blacksmith’s bellows. It did not sound like water. There was no watery sound. And then, as it got closer, it changed, and it sounded to her like a thousand distant hoof-beats, as if some stampeding herd of beasts were trampling the earth in a mad rush down the deserted road.

  “It’s such an odd sound, Zak. Isn’t it?”

  “You can’t hear the water yet, but it’s a flood. A flash flood. We’re high enough here so that it shouldn’t hit us.”

  The sound was louder now. Closer.

  “You’re very reassuring, Zak.”

  The rain blew against her back, rattling like dice in a cup as it struck her slicker. Not a soothing, steady sound, but ragged, uneven, reminding her at times of flung sand, at other times like buckets of water dumped from a great height.

  He wanted to hold her close to him, protect her from the rain and the chilling wind. Instead, he put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

  “You might get mud splashed on you, Colleen, that’s all.”

  The two did not have to wait long. As more lightning laced the rain-heavy black clouds, they saw the huge wall of water roar down the road, its muddy waters raging, tumbling, churning, washing over the ground, eating up everything in its path.

  She clung to Zak, leaning back against him, grabbing one hand in her own.

  Colleen said something, but he couldn’t hear her above the roar of the flood. He tightened his grip on her. It seemed that the hill trembled under the onslaught of tons of water, though he knew that was probably impossible. But he heard the terrible sound of the water as it splashed against the side of the hill, gouging out rocks and dirt, adding bulk to its dimensions.

  Someone yelled, either O’Hara or Rivers, Zak thought, but he gazed down through the darkness and was mesmerized by the awesome power of the flood, the tremendous force it exerted on the road, the side of the hill, like some liquid dragon gobbling up everything in its ravishing path.

  “Oh,” Colleen cried out.

  She was looking down, as he was, captivated by the sight of so much water traveling at such speed. The flood had a long downhill run, Zak knew, and would eventually fan out and subside. In the meantime, he wondered how so much water had built up and gathered so much strength. The rain was heavy, yes, but such a large flood was uncommon in desert country. He thought there must have been a lot of runoff to feed such a flood from higher ground.

  There was a lot of rain. He had seen more, up in the Snake country, over in Oregon and Washington. But there were large rivers there, and here there were none. Once the ground was soaked full, the water had no place to go except overland, pushing through dry creek beds, over roads, and into gullies and washes, arroyos and gulches.

  Colleen’s horse spooked when it saw the water. It bolted away from the rim of the hill, and Zak reached for the reins. Colleen held on, but the reins were slipping from her grasp.

  “Whoa, boy,” Zak said, jerking down on the reins, digging the bit into the back of the horse’s mouth. The horse fought him, bobbing its head up and down, twisting its neck. Zak bent the horse’s head as he struggled with it, until its nose was almost between its front legs. He backed the horse away from Colleen and out of sight of the flood, then patted the animal’s neck while still exerting pressure on the bit.

  “You take it easy, boy,” Zak said, his voice low and soothing. “Steady down.”

  The horse stopped fighting the bit, and Zak eased up. The animal shook its head, ran its tongue under the bit. The metal clacked against its teeth.

  “He’ll be all right now, I think,” Zak said to Colleen, who had walked back over to him. “Just keep him away from where he was. Keep a firm grip on the reins, though.”

  “I will,” she said. “Thanks, Zak. You sure know how to handle a horse. How are you with women?”

  A bold statement, he thought. And from the way she was looking at him just then, he knew she expected a frank answer.

  “Not much experience,” he said. He was close enough to see her eyes, and his gaze did not waver.

  “So you say. Not much difference between women and spirited horses. I mean their dispositions are similar.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Colleen.”

  “With a horse,” she said, “sometimes you have to be firm and sometimes you have to be gentle. It’s the same with a woman, isn’t it?”

  “No argument there. But I wouldn’t know.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” That teasing tone in her voice again. Teasing, somewhat playful, he thought.

  “Maybe a woman tells a man how she wants to be treated,” Zak said.

  “Oh, and do you always comply with a woman’s wishes?”

  “No.”

  “Zak, you don’t mean that.”

  “A woman, same as a man, can be mighty unreasonable sometimes.”

  “So, if a woman’s wish is unreasonable, you treat her differently?”

  “I treat a woman the way she wants to be treated. I hope I do the same for a horse or a man.”

  “My, you are a mystery man, aren’t you? A very mysterious man.”

  “No more than any other,” he said.

  She moved closer to him, until their faces were scant inches apart.

  “I also think you are an experienced man. With women.”

  “What do you mean by ‘experienced.’ That word seems to be packed with dynamite when you say it.”

  She laughed, and the rain made her eyes sparkle as a ragged fence of lightning streaked across the sky.

  “I think you know full well how to handle women, Zak. And, I think you—”

  “Don’t accuse me of anything you can’t prove, Colleen.”

  “Ah, you think I’m going to accuse you of something.” It was a flat statement with a wicked curl to it. More teasing, he thought.

  “I didn’t say that. Look, Colleen, this talk doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. We’re in the middle of a big storm and there’s a flash flood raging down on the road. This might not be the best place for a serious conversation.”

  She squeezed his hand with hers.

  “You’re the only real man I’ve spoken to in months. We schoolmarms have to take our conversations where we find them. I admire your honesty, if not your evasiveness.”

  “I wasn’t bei
ng evasive. I truly have not had much experience with women. I’ve been a scout and a soldier for most of my grown life. Soldiering is about all I know. I don’t go to any pie socials or afternoon teas.”

  “No, you don’t. But I don’t think you’d be out of place in a fine home with a bunch of flirting women surrounding you.”

  “I would be uncomfortable,” he said.

  She laughed again, and the sound of it was soft and pleasant to his ears. He was not uncomfortable with her, but was wary of falling completely under her spell. She was a very alluring woman, and for now, and probably for some time to come, he could not allow himself to be distracted by her charms.

  The truth was, he had known a number of women, many of them almost as attractive as Colleen. Others were either too obvious, too shallow, or too brainless to attract his interest. The few good women he had known were either married or widowed, and the latter were often too eager to marry again and didn’t much care who the husband might be.

  “I think you could handle yourself, Zak. In almost any situation. And if you couldn’t, you would say so, right out loud.”

  “I might,” he said, and felt the powerful magnetism of her as she pressed against him, her face upturned to his, a wet face with moist eager lips and eyelashes that batted at the trickles of rain that seeped into them.

  “What would you say if I told you right now, this very minute, Zak Cody, that I want you? I want you so much that I’m willing to forget my proper upbringing and fling myself shamelessly at your feet and let you take me, let you fulfill me as a woman, even though I’m a virgin and have fearlessly protected my virginity all my life. What would you say, Zak Cody? What would you do?”

  He felt her arms grasp him around the waist, felt her pull herself into him, pressing so close that she aroused him. She rubbed against his manhood until it rose like an iron stalk between his legs and throbbed with engorged blood, surging against the bonds of his trousers like some ravenous beast desperate to penetrate cloth and canvas and break into her guarded portal and slake its lust on her willing body.

  “I—I’d say,” he croaked, “that the rain must have leaked into your skull and wet down your brain.”

  “No,” she breathed, her breath hot against his lips, “I’m not mad or crazy. I’m burning inside with a womanly fire that I’ve never felt before. I want you so much I’m devoid of all shame and caution. I want you now, Zak, in the rain and the wet and wind, and I’d prostrate myself at your feet if only you would take me and quench these fires so deep inside me.”

  “Colleen—”

  She flung her arms around his neck and pulled herself up, kissing him hard on the lips, taking his breath away. She burrowed into him with that kiss, and he felt the fire within her, the fire within himself. Her body ground against his and he wanted her then, wanted her as badly as she wanted him. He put his arms around her and held her tight against him. He pushed against her womanhood, thought that he could feel its softness past all the material that stood between.

  He closed his eyes and blotted out the storm. He no longer felt the needling rain, the bruising wind, or heard any thunder but the thunder pounding in his temples, his ears, and all through his body.

  He felt her body soften and begin to fall away from him. He knew she was dragging him down to the soaked ground and the rocks, and on the edge of that cliff, he felt himself following her, stepping off into space, into a dark abyss where only lovers go, a place where all time stood still and nothing mattered but the moment, the desire, the fierce animal coupling natural to all sentient beings.

  Then he heard a shot. He heard it through the thick fog in his brain, the cotton in his ears, the crush of her body on his senses.

  “Halt, who goes there?” Scofield cried out, his voice carrying on the wind, like a warning klaxon.

  It galvanized Zak out of Colleen’s arms, out of that seductive web of hers, and jolted him back to the precipice, into the world of the living, where danger rode the lightning, charging through his veins, electrifying his warrior self into being once again, where the only law was survival of the fittest.

  The only thing that mattered.

  Chapter 12

  Scofield bellowed into the rain and the night, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “Halt, or I’ll shoot.”

  Zak stood Colleen up straight. He squeezed her arms as if to make sure her feet were firmly planted.

  “Stay here,” he said to her. “Keep your horse between you and Scofield.”

  “Be careful,” she warned as he drew his pistol and started running toward the sound of Corporal Scofield’s voice.

  Ted O’Hara was yanking his recently acquired rifle out of its scabbard.

  “Back me up, O’Hara,” Zak said as he jumped past the lieutenant. “Stay here.”

  O’Hara did not reply, but Zak heard the rifle click as Ted jacked a cartridge into the chamber. Scofield was standing up near his horse’s rump, a pistol in his right hand.

  “What have you got, Scofield?” Zak was breathing hard, but he wasn’t entirely winded.

  “Somebody’s comin’ up this side. I thought I saw a horse. He won’t stop. And he’s comin’ mighty slow.”

  “Stand easy,” Zak said. “I’ll take a look.”

  “You watch it, Cody. Could be more than one.”

  Zak said nothing. He bent over and stalked to the edge of the hill, where he stopped, cupped his left ear and listened.

  He heard what sounded like the snort of a horse. He thought he could see a dark shape near the base of the hill. The animal seemed to be well away from the raging flood waters, but unless it climbed the hill, a surge might wash it away.

  A peal of thunder died away, and he heard a low moan. A man was on that horse, he thought. He held his pistol at the ready.

  “H-Help me,” someone said.

  A man’s voice. Very faint, barely audible against the constant tattoo of the rain, the blustering lash of the wind.

  Zak eased down the slope, crouching, setting both feet before he took another step. He sidled toward the horse at an angle. He wanted to flank the animal and the man. He stepped like an Indian, careful not to make noise or to kick loose any dirt and rocks. Slow, short steps brought him around to the horse’s left flank. He stopped to listen after every few steps.

  The horse was pawing the ground, trying to get a foothold, Zak thought. The water had loosened some of the soil, and the horse didn’t have sense enough to follow a switchback course. And the man was obviously too hurt to take charge and guide the horse any farther.

  Zak took a few more careful steps. He was close now.

  He could hear the horse wheezing. He heard, also, the low groan of the man. As he stepped still closer, he saw that the man was slumped over the saddle, hatless, his arms hanging loose and straight down.

  “Mister,” Zak said, “you want help, you just stay where you are. You make a move, and I shoot you out of the saddle.”

  “God’s sake, man. I’m hurt. Hurt bad.”

  “I have a gun on you. Just wait.”

  “Hurry,” the man gasped.

  Zak came up on the side of the horse, from behind. He stopped, reached over for the man’s pistol. It was still in its holster. He slid it free, tucked it inside his belt. The man heard the rustle of Zak’s slicker and looked over at him.

  “Who—” the man said.

  “Never mind. Stay on, and I’ll lead your horse up to the top of the hill.”

  “Oh God, it hurts.”

  “Where are you hit?” Zak asked.

  “Don’t know. I hurt all over. Belly, maybe.”

  “I’ll take a look after we get up top.”

  Zak grabbed the reins with his left hand and pulled the horse on a straight line, parallel to the slope.

  “You all right down there?”

  Scofield’s voice.

  “Comin’ up,” Zak yelled back. “Wounded man.”

  “Come on,” Scofield said.

  When he
reached the top, O’Hara was there with Scofield to meet him.

  “What you got here, Zak?” Ted asked.

  “Wounded man. Worn-out horse. Let’s get him down and see what we can do for him.”

  “I recognize him,” O’Hara said. “That’s Al Deets. One of Trask’s men.”

  Deets was moaning. He cried out when Scofield and O’Hara lifted him off the horse. By then, Colleen had rushed up.

  “Take his horse, Colleen,” Zak said. “Tie him to Scofield’s over there.”

  She took the reins and led the horse away. In a few moments she was back, looking down at the wounded man. O’Hara and Cody were squatting next to him. Scofield stood watch, the rain battering him, the wind whipping his slicker so it flapped against his legs.

  “Where’s the most hurt, Deets?” Zak asked.

  “Side. Belly.”

  “This man was shot,” O’Hara said. “When you rescued me, right?”

  “Probably,” Zak said. “Hold his arms while I look for a bullet hole. This might hurt, Deets.”

  Zak unbuttoned the wounded man’s slicker, then worked the buttons on his shirt, exposing his side and belly. It was dark and he couldn’t see well, but he thought there was a stain across the man’s abdomen. He rubbed there and then tasted the tip of his finger.

  “Blood,” he said.

  Deets winced as Zak put his fingers to work, exploring the man’s stomach and side. He felt something give. Deets jumped as if electrocuted when Zak probed the soft spot with his right index finger.

  “Damn,” Deets said. “That hurts like hell.”

  His voice was weak, barely audible against the relentless drumming of the rain, the angry whooshing sound of the flood along the road.

  “Just lie still,” Zak said as he continued to feel around the wound. He slipped his hand underneath Deets’s back. The flesh was sticky with fresh blood, crusted with blood that had already dried. He finished his examination, tapped O’Hara on the arm and stood up.