by Jeff Guinn
“I won’t run,” McLendon said. “I’m in no condition.”
“I’m tying you anyhow.” When McLendon was safely trussed, Brautigan went out to check that the animals were secure. He came back under the rock, rearranged packs and the water cask, and lay down, positioning himself between McLendon and the Winchester. It was rapidly growing dark. The clouds filling the night sky overhead occasionally flashed pink with lightning; thunder rumbled, but there was no more rain.
“We’ll be going at first light,” Brautigan told McLendon. “No talk until then.”
McLendon instantly fell into deep, exhausted sleep. Brautigan meant to stay awake all night, to guard against any last tricks McLendon might try before they reached Silver City. The giant thought about St. Louis, how pleased the boss would be when he arrived there with McLendon. Maybe in Wichita he’d send a telegram ahead, announcing imminent arrival. No, the train to St. Louis might then be delayed, and Mr. Douglass would wonder if Brautigan had failed him again. Better simply to show up with McLendon, provide the boss with the most pleasant of surprises. Brautigan imagined the relief he’d feel himself, finally fulfilling his responsibility to Mr. Douglass, making up for the bungle in Glorious. And with that happy thought, he fell asleep himself.
—
BRAUTIGAN AND MCLENDON woke almost simultaneously just after dawn. McLendon lay where he was, still bound and thinking that his head hurt less; maybe he wasn’t concussed after all. Brautigan stood up and walked away from the rock, presumably to piss. He moved out of McLendon’s limited sight line. Moments later, he bellowed, “What?” McLendon, curious, tried to sit up but couldn’t. All he could do was lie there and wonder. Brautigan seemed to be walking fast in one direction after another. McLendon could hear his heavy boots thudding on the rocks and ground.
“Brautigan,” he called. “What is it?”
The giant stalked underneath the rock overhang and hauled McLendon to his feet. “Is this your doing?”
“What’s the matter?”
“The goddamned mule is gone.”
“I didn’t take it. You had me tied up all night so I couldn’t move. Maybe it pulled the reins free from where you tied them.”
Brautigan shook his head. “I tied them tight. Someone cut them. Part is still tied to the bush.”
“But who?”
“Damned if I know. I’ve looked hard and don’t see signs of anyone.” He untied McLendon. “Fill the canteen from the cask. We’ll take the canteen and one pack with feed and a few cans, leave the rest. We’re one day out if we move fast enough.”
“My legs are stiff from being tied so long. I need to bend, stretch them a little.”
Brautigan began saddling his horse. He told McLendon, “Your legs will get stretched as you walk.”
“Can I at least have something to eat?”
“Maybe when we’ve reached the mountains.”
McLendon asked, “Who do you think’s out there?”
Brautigan mounted. “I don’t know. Probably some miserable drifter saw the animals and a chance to take one.”
“Why the mule and not the horse? The horse is more valuable.”
“Shut up and walk, McLendon. That way, toward the mountains.”
As McLendon started walking, he remembered someone back in Glorious telling him, “Apache are powerfully fond of mule meat.” That was it. It had to be. And if Apache were lurking, they weren’t likely to settle for just a mule.
27
During his service as a Union officer in the Civil War, Major Mulkins always endeavored, before battle, to learn how many enemies faced his troops. Now, nearly a decade later and halfway up a mountain in southeast Arizona Territory, the habit reasserted itself and he tried counting Apache. It was difficult. They darted into dips and behind hills, seeming to blend into the land at will. Three for sure, Mulkins thought. No, two more there. Is that another one?
Behind him, he heard Joe Saint say, “Gabrielle, we have to go back now.”
Gabrielle started to reply, but Mulkins said, “Hush, both of you. I need to concentrate.” There was more scattered movement down below, Apache or jackrabbits, who knew what. It occurred to Mulkins that it would be easier to count horses. Four, five. All right.
“I think there are five Apache,” he said.
“Are they attacking Cash and Brautigan?” Gabrielle asked.
“Preparing to, it seems,” Mulkins said. “Five’s enough to overcome even Brautigan.”
“Then we have to warn them, help them get away,” Gabrielle said. “We have a Winchester, Major. Could you shoot some of them from here?”
“The range is too great and my marksmanship too minimal,” Mulkins said.
“At least the gunfire would startle the Indians,” Gabrielle said. “Perhaps it would frighten them away.”
“Apache don’t get frightened, and what good would shooting do anyway?” Saint said. “Even if they ran, Brautigan would know someone was up here. Then he might kill your precious McLendon on the spot. We tried. We probably couldn’t have saved McLendon anyway, and now with Apache it’s impossible.”
“We can’t give up,” Gabrielle said. “There has to be something.”
“There isn’t,” Saint said. “Look down there. The Apache are closing in.”
“I don’t think so,” Mulkins said. “They could have come right up on them if that was their immediate intention. Look at Brautigan and C.M.—they’re still going east, same pace, no glances around. They’ve no idea the Apache are there. They’d be taken easily. I think maybe the Indians want sport. They’re going to stalk them a little.”
“Which is of no consequence to us,” Saint said. “If we intercede, we die, too, and that serves nothing.”
“I’m not giving up,” Gabrielle said stubbornly.
“We need to do one or the other,” Mulkins said. “While we talk, they’re moving below.”
“A while longer, Joe,” Gabrielle pleaded. “We’ve come so far.”
“And what will we do?” Saint demanded. “Tell me something that makes sense.”
“I’ve a thought,” Mulkins said. “We do as we initially intended, ride south ourselves using this mountain to screen us for a while. Brautigan’s not keeping a sharp eye out, and the Apache are aware of him and C.M., but not us. The river’s ahead, then another set of mountains. Maybe somewhere in there we can separate C.M. from Brautigan, get our friend away, and leave Brautigan to the Apache.”
“Not much chance,” Saint said, sounding scornful.
“Joe, I’ll overlook your tone. I know there’s not much chance. So does Gabrielle. But we’re trying anyway. Like you’ve been told before—ride back home if you want. Come on, Gabrielle.”
Mulkins and Gabrielle got on their horses and began picking their way along the mountainside. Halfway down, displaced pebbles rolled down around the hooves of their mounts. Joe Saint was just behind them.
—
THEY RODE PARALLEL to Brautigan and McLendon and the pursuing Apache, keeping the mountain in between. Once they passed its eastern base, they had to keep a considerable distance away.
“It probably wouldn’t be impossible for the Apache to spot us, so we have to hope they’ve got their eyes locked on Brautigan and C.M.,” Mulkins said. “We’ll use these little hills as long as they last. It looks to me like the ground flattens right around the river. Say, Joe, you better take your spectacles off.”
“I can’t see without them,” Saint said.
“But we’re riding east and the sun’s in our faces,” Mulkins said. “A ray reflects off those lenses, the Apache might see the flash. So take them off, put them in your pocket. Long as you can see Gabrielle and me in front of you, you’ll be all right.”
After a while Gabrielle said, “Major, if we can’t see them right now, how do we know they haven’t turned in a different direc
tion?”
“It’s a matter of chance, guessing what’s most likely. Silver City’s almost directly to the east on the other side of the mountains. Brautigan’s got to be in a hurry to get C.M. there, then on to St. Louis. I figure he’s aiming this way.”
“But what if the Apache attack them? Perhaps they already have.”
Mulkins wiped sweat from his eyes. “If that happened, we’d hear shots, or whoops, or something. Sound carries out here. Whatever their purpose might be, the Apache are taking their time.”
“But they’ll . . . do something, certainly.”
“They’ll know where Silver City is, too, and won’t want to get too close. I figure they’ll try their luck either at the river or in the mountains. Probably the mountains. Though who really knows how savages think?”
—
BREAKFAST HAD only been canteen water. So when they came upon some scrubby patches of grass shortly before noon, Mulkins insisted that they stop to let the horses rest and graze.
“We’ll have a small bite too,” he said. “Animals and humans alike need replenishment.”
Mulkins took three strips of jerky out of his saddlebag and handed one each to Gabrielle and Saint. “Tough as they might be, they’ll still fill our stomachs some,” he said. Saint tried to give his jerky to Gabrielle, who refused.
“You need food as much as I do,” she said. “Don’t be a fool.”
“I can’t stand you being hungry.”
“I know, Joe,” Gabrielle said, her voice softening. “I do know.”
They drank some water but didn’t give any to the horses.
“They can drink when we reach the river,” Mulkins said. “Won’t be long now.”
Clouds began piling overhead. They were darker than any on previous days.
“Rain again, more of it this time and harder,” Mulkins said. “Never saw so much this late in the season. At least you can put your specs back on, Joe.”
“Already did,” Saint said. “You know, if it rains really hard and long, we’ll have to worry about floods.”
“I’ll confine my concerns to Brautigan and Apache,” Mulkins said. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Joe. But one way or the other, it’ll soon be over.”
—
JUST BEFORE they reached the river, the land completely flattened out. Very faintly, more than a mile to their right, moving dots approached the bank.
“We can see them, they can see us,” Mulkins said. “Down off the horses, stay still as you can.” As they crouched—there were some cacti to duck behind, though avoiding the spines was a challenge—the rain began, hard-pounding drops. They peered through the watery curtain. The ones on the bank were clearly McLendon and Brautigan. They were too far away to be certain what they were doing, beyond that they weren’t crossing the river yet.
“Horse problem,” Mulkins guessed. “The mount C.M.’s been leading may have folded up altogether.”
Then they saw McLendon fall. Gabrielle gasped and put her hand on the butt of Ike Clanton’s pistol, which she still had tucked in her waistband.
“Be still, Gabrielle,” Mulkins said. “The range is far beyond that gun’s capacity.” Finally, McLendon stumbled into the river, Brautigan riding behind him, leading the mule.
“Now we should cross, too,” Gabrielle said.
“Wait,” Mulkins said. “Don’t be forgetting the Apache. They’re likely right on C.M.’s and Brautigan’s tail.”
“But Cash and Brautigan are going to get too much ahead of us,” Gabrielle protested. “Silver City’s not that far beyond the mountains. You said so yourself.”
“I know they’re going to get up a lead, but I might have an idea about that,” Mulkins said. “Tell you in a bit. It all depends on what the Indians do next. We need to sit tight.”
They watched McLendon and Brautigan cross the river. Gabrielle moaned as McLendon kept falling in the water. Once as he did, Mulkins happened to glance at Saint. Saint was watching intently, too, and it seemed to Mulkins that every time McLendon briefly disappeared under the water, Saint looked hopeful, then disappointed when his rival reemerged.
The rain stopped abruptly about the same time that McLendon and Brautigan reached the far bank. They kept going east, toward the base of the mountain range. Just after they disappeared over a low hill, the Apache appeared at the river. This was the first time Mulkins had a clean look at them. Five, as he’d suspected. One turned to the horse left behind by the white men and shot it with an arrow, then cut its throat.
“They may stop to dine on horseflesh,” Mulkins predicted, but the Apache left the dead horse where it lay and crossed the river themselves, leading their mounts behind them. They reached the opposite bank and continued east in the same direction taken by Brautigan and McLendon.
“All right,” Mulkins said. “Let’s ease our way over to where they went across.”
“Why not go into the river here?” Gabrielle said. “If the Indians attack them now and we’re on this side, we’ll never get there in time.”
“I’m thinking the Apache will still wait awhile,” Mulkins said. “If they wanted to kill them now, right there on the riverbank would have been the place. So where they’ll do it is in the mountains tomorrow, with plenty of cover. After the mountains, it’d be too close to Silver City, too much risk of being caught in the act.”
“You don’t know what the Apache are thinking,” Saint said crossly.
“No, Joe, I don’t. You’re the smart man, not me. But I’m guessing as best I can so maybe we can yet save our friend’s life. If you have some better way, other than quitting and going home, tell us.”
Saint didn’t reply. He took off his rain-spattered glasses and tried to dry them on his shirt.
“All right, then,” Mulkins said. “Let’s move down there along the bank.”
They reached the spot where the dead horse lay. Overhead, buzzards swooped.
“The rain kept them off until now,” Mulkins said. “Lucky for us.”
“Why for us?” Gabrielle asked.
“Because this horse is going to provide our dinner, and they’ll have to settle for leftovers,” Mulkins said. “Horse meat’s not a delicacy, I’m sure, but it’s food and we need some.”
“Gabrielle can’t eat horse,” Saint protested.
“No, the Major is right,” Gabrielle said. “I suppose we’ll eat it raw?”
“The Apache will be keeping all their attention on C.M. and Brautigan, and they’re also some distance away now. We can risk a small cooking fire—that is, if we can get one lit. I’ve got matches, if we can collect any dry kindling after that rain.”
“Building a fire will take time,” Gabrielle said. “Have we any to spare?”
“We’ll eat first, then I’ll tell you the rest of what I’m thinking,” Mulkins said. “Gabrielle, you find some small sticks, the driest you can. Joe and I will try to get some burnable brush gathered.”
Their fire was a poor one, small and sputtering. Mulkins had occasionally butchered deer shot on hunts, but never a horse. He cut through the hide on one hindquarter and hacked out hunks of bloody meat.
“Not pretty, but still edible,” he said. They cut and sharpened sticks, then skewered the meat on the sticks and held them over the fire. The meat cooked unevenly. The meager flames were just high and hot enough to sear the outside, but the inside remained raw.
“I want to build a better fire but fear I can’t,” Mulkins said. “There’s just not enough dry wood. We need to eat this meat as it is, and then there’s much more to do.” He, Gabrielle, and Saint gnawed at the chunks of meat, tearing off the better-cooked bits as best they could. Then they bit tiny pieces of nearly raw flesh, swallowing these without chewing, trying not to think of what was sliding down their throats.
“Now a hearty drink of river water,” Mulkins said. “Our belli
es won’t grumble for a while, and we’ve still got some somewhat-cooked meat for a future meal. Let’s bring up the horses and get them well watered. I know it’s full dark, but now comes something difficult.”
As the horses drank, Mulkins explained.
“C.M. and Brautigan are no doubt camped somewhere up ahead. Brautigan will figure on getting through the mountains in daylight, and then on to Silver City. He doesn’t know the Apache are behind him, or that we are, for that matter. The Indians will wait through the night and pounce sometime in the morning. I’ve been thinking they’ll do so in the mountains and I still believe that’s their plan. So I’m figuring this—we’ll move straight through the night, try to circle around Indians and C.M. and Brautigan and get to the mountains ahead of them all. Then in the morning we find the best place in there to set up. Maybe we try to take C.M. from Brautigan ourselves, maybe we sneak up if the Indians finally get Brautigan’s attention, I don’t know. We’ve got the Winchester and the shotgun and two handguns. None of us are crack shots, but we’re well enough armed to put up some sort of scrap. We ought to have the advantage of surprise. That’s all I have to offer. I’d welcome your thoughts.”
Gabrielle said, “Thank you. That sounds like the best option.”
“What if the Apache kill them tonight?” Saint asked.
“I pray they don’t. If they do, if I’ve guessed wrong, I suppose we’ll go on to Silver City ourselves, wire friends in Mountain View to send us money for supplies, and make the long trip home.”
“That’s reasonable,” Saint said. “Now, this keeping on in the night. Isn’t that going to be hard?”
“Terribly hard. We’ll need to be as quiet as we can. We don’t know where the Apache are exactly, or C.M. and Brautigan either. We can’t be stumbling right onto them. The night sky’s all clouded up, so we can’t determine direction by the stars. All right, first thing to do is cross the river. Ready?”
“In a moment,” Gabrielle said. She turned away and vomited up undigested shreds of horse.
—
CROSSING THE RIVER at night would have been tricky enough, but Gabrielle’s injured shin proved an additional complication. Saint and Mulkins put her up on one horse and tried leading all three animals at once, but reins immediately became tangled. The horses themselves were uncooperative. They shied away from getting in the water.
