CRAZY HORSES: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 2)

by David J. West

  “I’m so sorry,” said Roxy.

  “We’ll make them pay,” said Quincy. “Count on it.”

  “Do you want to bury her?” asked Roxy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  They waited while Redbone composed himself, managing to speak. “She was not my daughter. But I knew her. Her name was Lozen. She was a trouble maker, but did not deserve this. They wanted to make an example of her.”

  Porter dismounted and stared shoveling sand.

  “We have no time for that,” said Redbone. “We must hurry.”

  “You hurry, I’m gonna bury this little girl you were just crying over,” growled Porter.

  “It breaks my heart to see her,” whispered Redbone.

  “Me too, me too.”

  They buried the girl in a shallow grave, and then stacked rocks over the top to keep the coyotes and vultures off. Porter said a quick prayer and Quincy gave a loud amen. Redbone and Roxy remained silent. It took only a few minutes, less than they might have wished to spend, and they were back on the trail.

  They kept as swift a pace as Porter would allow, being cautious every time they came around a bend in the hills or crested one of the rolling rocky slopes. It wouldn’t do to rush headlong into Matamoros and the slavers unprepared. Last thing they needed was to be ambushed.

  Just as they were near the top of some sweeping dunes, Porter made them stop again.

  Roxy especially appreciated the stop as she needed a long drink of water. She dismounted and stretched her aching legs. Quincy jumped down and ran off behind a bush, only because Roxy was present.

  Redbone, on the other hand, almost jumped out of his skin in excitement. He turned around and signaled, let’s go. He ran back to his horse and kicked its flanks to race over the crest.

  “Wait! You damn fool!” cried Porter.

  Roxy was left watching as the two of them vanished over the top of the red hill.

  Quincy peered out from around a juniper bush. “What?”

  “Let’s get after them!” hollered Roxy. She cursed, as struggled to clamber back on her horse. Being horribly saddle-sore wasn’t going to keep her from the fight.

  Quincy had time to mount up and start out after Porter and Redbone. He pulled his buffalo gun out of its scabbard and made ready for a fight.

  Below the ridge, there were a string of women and children being led by a dozen horsemen. They stopped in their tracks soon as they saw the riders coming.

  Redbone had a good lead on Porter. He kicked his horse to top speed, running straight at the Matamoros, his Apache henchmen and his daughter.

  Matamoros, still dressed in his fancy black outfit with silver bells and Spanish accruements, though it was now dirty, faded, and scuffed. “Kill them! Shoot! Shoot!” He drew his six-gun and began shooting at the oncoming riders. At first, he felt nothing but irritation when he saw the two men cresting the hill, but when he saw two more after that, his sense of panic rose. Sure, that there must be a train of men coming after him. He fired his six rounds at them, then lunged for what he deemed was his prize slave, a raven-haired girl of perhaps thirteen.

  He grabbed the girl, despite her violent protests, and struck her across the face and neck until she went limp. He strung her over his saddle and took off riding hard.

  Redbone rode straight at Matamoros, his Sharps rifle in one hand, reins and trigger in the other. He fired precisely at the Apache so he would not hit the prisoners. He hit one and yelled with glee to see the red bandana and skull beneath it explode with his bullet.

  They fired back, missing their incoming target, who was whooping like the devil.

  Porter wasn’t too far behind, shielding Redbone and keeping their heads down with his own thunderous Navy Colt.

  But then the Apache hit Redbone’s horse. It screamed and tumbled end over end. Redbone was thrown to the earth, lucky he wasn’t crushed by the reeling animal. A cloud of dust erupted, giving a scant amount of cover for him behind the dead horse.

  Porter swooped in behind him, but wasn’t about to let his horse be a target. He dropped down beside Redbone, urged his horse away and ducked against the dead horse as cover. The stallion instinctively ran back the way it had come, away from the flying lead. Porter took careful aim with both of his Navy Colts and dispatched an Apache rifleman with deadly accuracy.

  Porter noticed a sizeable difference between white women he had rescued a couple weeks ago and the Utes. The Ute hostages didn’t scream and cry out during the gunfight. They bided their time and when the moment struck, wrapped their bonds about their captors to strangle the life out of them.

  One of the Apache’s was pulled down and pummeled to death by the squaws, but three more fought their way free of the enraged captives. They gained their horses and left in a mad dash after Matamoros.

  Another was trapped by the revenge minded Ute’s and kept them back swinging his rifle. He killed three, but that gave Porter time to close the distance and put a bullet through his brain. Smoke from Porter’s Navy Colt encircled him like a devilish halo.

  Two more ran to their horses, sensing they had lost this fight with their chief already fled. Porter took aim and blasted one as he was mounting his horse. The man flew over top of the panicked beast and hit the rocks with a sickening crunch.

  Quincy got the other one from a spectacularly good distance. He taunted the rest as they fled. This caused one of the Apache to turn in the saddle and send a bullet frighteningly close. The bullet ricocheted off a rock less than a foot from Quincy’s head. But this only made him laugh in triumph as he shot at them again before they vanished over the hill.

  Roxy stopped to see to Redbone.

  He was already struggling to his feet and stumbling toward the women and children.

  “Kimama,” cried Redbone. “Where is she?”

  One of the squaws pointed in the direction of the fleeing riders.

  Redbone seized the reins of one of the horses left by the Apache and struggled to mount it. He fumbled with the stirrups and finally succeeded in getting on, only to be bucked off by a mount that knew he was not its master. This time he didn’t get up right away but lay upon the ground gasping for air.

  Quincy examined him and pronounced, “He has a concussion. He has got to rest.”

  Porter spat, “Damn it, but we were close too! Almost had him, and now he ain’t got to slow down for a bunch women and kids.”

  Roxy was back on her horse, “Let’s get going then.”

  Quincy agreed, “We can catch them Porter, let’s go.”

  Porter shook his head. “No, we whittled ‘em down real good but Redbone has got to do this. We are just support.”

  “You sure? We can get ‘em.”

  Porter was adamant. “No. Right now we could run right into a guarded spot with good cover for them and a death trap for us. They’re hurting, they’re spooked. We got ‘em between a rock and the Colorado River. We got ‘em, we just gotta be patient and not make any fool decisions.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Roxy.

  “I do. Redbone must be the one to save his daughter. Otherwise he’ll lose face with his tribe. That is, unless they kill him and they damn near did.”

  Neither Quincy nor Roxy liked that, but they agreed and it was plain to see that Redbone needed some help recuperating.

  “I don’t like it though, we know they are close,” said Quincy.

  Porter said, pointing in a southerly direction. “We got them trapped. The way they are going is going to get them stuck against the cliffs above the Colorado. There’s no way down. We can take the time.”

  One of the old squaws made a poultice from plants nearby and took to caring for the delirious chief. They made camp for the evening with Porter or Quincy keeping a good eye out for Matamoros and his men, just in case they doubled back.

  A lone coyote gave a howl and it was a happy evening for those that had been rescued but bittersweet for Redbone once he came to.

  “We’ll follow their t
rail in the morning. We’ll get ‘em. No worries about that. Soon enough this will all be ‘Wheat in the mill’,” said Porter.

  5. Nightmares

  Roxy woke from a nightmare to the sound of voices, soft and fearful. The squaws were speaking with Redbone in hushed whispers.

  Redbone listened stoically, only occasionally responding with a word or two in adamant opposition to what the women urged.

  Roxy couldn’t understand what they said, but she could understand the fear sure enough. Something in said the conversation made her blood run cold though she had no idea why. What were they talking about?

  After a time, the women went quiet and lay down to sleep. Redbone on the other hand got up and strode away into the gloom.

  Roxy followed.

  He sat upon a ledge of rock pointing at the moon.

  “Redbone? Tell me what that was all about. What did they tell you that brought them so much fear? Are they afraid that Matamoros will come back?”

  “No,” he said.

  “What then?”

  “You should not worry. It is the talk of old women.”

  “I know you’re lying. You aren’t any good at it.”

  “It is not good to say. It invites evil.”

  Roxy stared at the sleeping camp. “We are friends. You need to let us know what we’re up against. We are here to help you. You can’t let us walk into anything blind. What were they telling you?”

  Redbone nodded, stood up and drew a circle in the dirt around them, while chanting in a low hushed tone. He then burned a small bundle of sage and waved its smoke all about them. “What I say is for the circle only. I am afraid. The women tell me Matamoros is afraid.”

  “Him? Of what? Us?”

  Redbone shook his head. “He does not fear men, not me or my Blood Brother. He fears the dark, the spirits that call and command. One has called for him and demands sacrifice. It tells him he must bring my daughter to him or he will die.”

  Roxy tried to make sense of the words. “Spirits can’t do that. What do you mean.”

  Redbone scowled at her. “Just because you cannot understand a thing does not mean it is not so.”

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please tell me again. We are still in the magic circle,” she prodded.

  Redbone nodded at her logic. “A dark spirit calls for blood of the innocent. The girl, Lozen, was left as a sacrifice to the dark powers.”

  “Are you saying she wasn’t just tortured, but was part of some witchcraft?”

  Redbone nodded. “He wants my daughter and other innocents. If Matamoros does not bring him blood, he will kill him. Matamoros will stop at nothing to deliver.”

  “Who is this dark spirit? What do you mean by that?”

  Redbone searched for a way to say what he meant. “Old, very old, black magic haunts this land. Witches call here and demand sacrifice. Is a bad thing. I fear one of us will die to bring my daughter home. If it has to be anyone, it should be me.”

  “No. I won’t let that happen.”

  He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “It is not your call.”

  6. On the Midnight Trail

  Shaw led his posse over the rough, yellow ground til it turned red. He was a good enough tracker he had no problem following Porter’s trail no matter what the Mormon gunslinger had done to try and confuse him. It was almost dusk when they came upon a small cairn of stones.

  “What in tarnation is that?” asked his deputy, Matty. He scratched at his belly a moment before quenching his thirst.

  “Don’t know yet,” said Shaw, as he dismounted. “There’s a fair amount of blood on the ground nearby though.” He examined the crimson earth. Patches of dark purple were spilled here and there. “Someone bled out here. There too much for anyone to have lived.”

  “You sure it’s a person and not game?”

  “I’m sure. This is a burial.”

  “Who? Should we open it up?” asked Matty.

  Shaw pondered. He hated the idea of defiling the dead, but he needed answers.

  “That’s desecration,” argued one of the others.

  “Yes, it is, but were looking for evidence to convict that worst killer in the west, and we must leave no stone unturned. Open her up.”

  The posse got to work removing the stones and scooping back sand until they discovered the horrid state of the body.

  “Dear Lord in heaven!” exclaimed Matty. “You think Porter did this?”

  “He did. It must be some kind of sick joke to keep slowing us down,” said Shaw.

  “What do you think? Do we just add it to the list of his crimes?”

  “Yes. But bury her back up. We aren’t keeping a body like that as evidence, I’ll not be called a Levite cutting up his concubine for my justice in Mormon lands.”

  “Huh?” asked a deputy.

  “Judges 19,” answered Matty.

  “Who is that?”

  Matty huffed in exasperation with his partner. “You call yourself a Bible reading Christian?”

  The slack-jawed deputy thought a moment then responded, “No, not really.”

  “You ought to be in this god-forsaken country.”

  “Enough!” shouted Shaw. “We’re all witnesses and that’s evidence enough. We’ll keep on Porter’s trail and get more answers. He can’t out run justice forever.”

  “It’s getting awful dark, Boss,” said Matty. “I got my doubts on following a Midnight Trail.”

  Shaw nodded without answering. With every moment lost he knew Porter was still moving, pushing his people hard to elude justice. But what was out here? Shaw knew just enough about the area to reckon what a death trap it was. What if that’s what this was? A trap for him. “We had better wait ‘til morning for some amount of light. But we aren’t staying near this corpse. We’ll move on a little and run a cold camp.”

  They mounted up and went another quarter mile in the dark before stopping for the night.

  7. Red Lands

  In the early morning, Redbone bid the women and children to make their way back to their own clan’s territory. He spoke in hushed whispers to them, to Porter and the others it sounded like he didn’t think he would come back at all. If he couldn’t rescue his daughter, he would die in the attempt.

  To these instructions, the women and children agreed without complaint or question. They bid him and the others farewell beginning their journey back to their tribal grounds.

  Matamoros’s trail was easy to follow. The sandy ground betrayed his every move. They followed the trail through stark canyons and tall towering monuments of red rock, many with wondrous designs and features to be found nowhere else on earth. In one spot, there were no less than three great arches of stone, vaulting out of the rusty hills. Roxy had never seen such a beautiful piece of nature, but remembering Redbone’s words in the night gave her pause. She rode up beside Porter to talk to him. She watched to see that Redbone did not notice.

  “Porter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Redbone told me some things last night that he learned from the squaws.”

  “What? Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Well, he drew a magic circle around us before he told me. Said it was sacred and had to be repeated there where it was safe, I guess.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t be telling me outside the circle,” he said, with a laugh.

  She looked puzzled. “I can’t tell if you are serious or not.”

  “I am serious. I’ve seen a lot of things ain’t nobody gonna ever be able to explain, but yeah tell me. What did he say?”

  “He said the girl was a sacrifice to dark magics. That there are bad spirits that want us dead and I guess Matamoros is afraid and supposed to deliver the girl to . . . well, something.”

  Porter sneered and wiped at his mouth, then rubbed his chin, like he always did when he was thinking.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “I thought you’d have an answer.”

  He laughed
out loud, making Redbone look back at him. “No, I don’t have hardly any answers, but I can’t say I’m surprised there isn’t something like that attached to all of this. I’ve seen some strange things in my time and this is just another one. We just got to make our own way in this world and keep strong.”

  “He was afraid it would invite doom on us. That one of us would die getting the girl back.”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “That’s not helping.”

  “I am helping. I’m saying we can’t worry about that crap. We just gotta do the right thing and trust in the Lord that we’ll be all right.”

  “That’s pretty easy talk from a man who was blessed that no bullet nor blade can harm him.”

  “Trust me, Little Sister, there’s plenty other ways to die out here and when it’s your time—it’s your time. But living with the fear of it won’t help anybody.” He gave spurs to his horse and trotted ahead to Redbone, saying, “Don’t scare the Lucky Woman no more.”

  Redbone glowered at Roxy, his eyes flashing.

  “Damnit, Porter, you ruined our bond!” cried Roxy.

  Porter shrugged.

  The trail continued almost due south, six horsemen moving together like a murder of crows, flitting one way and then the other across the rocky, rough ground.

  They found the camp Matamoros had used in the night and one Apache lay there dead. He must have been wounded in the gunfight and left to die. He had been picked clean by his companions left with no knife, ammunition, or anything else of value.

  “They still heading to the river?” asked Quincy.

  “Yeah. They’ll need water just as bad as we do. But this route is crazy. We’re heading straight to a sheer cliff face overlooking the river. I’m surprised he’s painting himself into a corner.”

  “What if he has a secret way down to the river?”

  “They’ll still have to swim a helluva torrent; I expect we’ll have ‘em somewhere along the bank.”

  Sure enough, despite Matamoros trying to conceal his trail, they found his route down a notch in a gulley, leading to a red escarpment and down to the mighty Colorado River.

  It was a precarious ride, forcing them to dismount and lead their horses down over the broken bits of shale and flint. Once a horse nearly slid over the side and would have surely been killed, but Porter held onto the reins while Redbone and Quincy pushed her back.