The riders reined to a halt. Frowns of anger showed on several faces in the crowd on the far side of the street. Nothing changed in the stance or expression of Lee Temple as he said, slowly and distinctly:
‘As I was about to say, you men put up your guns and let them through.’
As fast as he had drawn and aimed the Remington, Edge pulled it away from the flesh of the lawman and slid it back into the holster, easing the hammer forward.
‘Thank God, Lee,’ Reed rasped and sagged, leaning his shoulder against the door-frame of his bank.
‘Frig that!’ Cass Lutter snarled. ‘If you ain’t got the guts to—’
Like Edge, Temple did not have to shift his feet. He simply swung his left arm - out to the side and iron rigid - and his wrist banged against the undersides of the shotgun’s barrels. Whether by accident of the unexpected impact or because the short, fat man had been intent upon squeezing the triggers, both barrels discharged their loads. To send a great spray of leadshot, smoke and a spurt of flame towards the afternoon sky.
Jaroff’s horse made to rear at the sound, but the elderly sergeant skillfully got the animal under control.
‘I’m obliged to you,’ Costello said as he swung down from his mount, and it was impossible to tell whether he was addressing the lawman or the half-breed.
Among the men on the boardwalk and the people in the crowd, unspoken opinion seemed to be about equally divided between the relief Reed had expressed and the anger of disappointment which Lutter showed.
‘A fair warning for you, mister,’ Lee Temple said, watching the cavalrymen dismount and begin to free the prisoners from their ponies, but directing the words out of the side of his mouth at Edge, ‘I intend to kill you for what you just did.’
The crowd broke up into small groups, animated with tense conversation as they returned to their claims. Reed and the bespectacled man who ran the mining equipment store went back into their premises.
‘I ain’t feelin’ any too friendly towards you, Lee!’ Lutter snarled.
The man with a revolver had already gone into the stage line office.
‘It’s over, Mr. Rubinger,’ Temple told the rifle-toting, blond-haired, pot-bellied man who expressed the same kind of venomous disgust as Lutter.
Rubinger spat into the dust of the street. ‘For now?’
‘Waiting a little longer won’t hurt us, I guess,’ the sheriff pointed out.
Edge turned and went back into the Lutters’ place. While the Apaches were still being taken off their ponies and Sergeant Draper waited to gather up the reins of all the horses.
‘You done good, mister,’ Grace Lutter growled grudgingly as she watched the half-breed approach the bar counter. ‘If the sheriff was fixin’ to start the slaughter.’
She had put down her knitting while she listened to the tense exchanges outside. Now she slid off the stool and moved around the right angle of the counters to be by the beer pump when Edge hooked a boot heel over the rail.
‘Another?’
He nodded and she started to refill his glass.
‘Hey, I got the right as owner not to serve no one I don’t want to!’ her ruddy-faced husband growled as he entered. ‘And I don’t wanna serve him nor any of these soldier boys who reckon to come in my place.’
‘Hold your damn noise and go start a fire in the stove, you stupid man!’ Grace rasped at him. ‘They’re hungry, thirsty and their money is as good as anybody else’s.’
Her husband halted midway across the room, bristling with frustrated anger. ‘Don’t you push me too far, woman!’ he snarled.
She glared at him with sneering hatred as she set the brimful glass of beer down in front of the half-breed. And spat out words like they were foul-tasting pebbles. ‘There are times when I’d like to push you off the highest ridge in these here mountains, Cass!’
The man’s anger swelled into his throat and choked him into a coughing fit.
‘Best do like she says, feller,’ Edge said as he carried his drink to a table and pulled out a chair. ‘That sounds like it would be a real bad fall from Grace.’
Chapter Four
Edge sat at a table near the rear wall of the saloon, his back to the wall so that he was able to watch the doorway and windows.
Costello organized the pushing together of two tables so that he and his men and the Apache prisoners could all sit together in front of one of the windows.
‘We sell liquor, beer, coffee and chili to eat on the premises, gents,’ Grace Lutter offered them.
‘Seven of the chili, ma’am. Four cups of coffee and three glasses of water. Maybe seconds later.’
The woman went to a door, cracked it open and yelled the order through to the kitchen. Her husband cursed, but did not voice a refusal to supply what was needed. Then she made to return behind the counter, changed her mind and came to the half-breed’s table.
‘You mind if I join you, son?’ she asked.
‘If you don’t call me son, lady. I’m as old as I look.’
She nodded curtly, pulled out a chair and sat down on his left. And said: ‘When I first laid eyes on you, mister, I didn’t like you one little bit.’
‘It showed.’
Aged between fifty-five and sixty she still showed, in the bone structure of her flaccid, pocked face a suggestion of once being beautiful. But the disease which scarred her and too many years of hard living had brought her close to ugliness. But now, as her eyes - not quite so grey as her straight hair - peered hard into Edge’s face, they showed a deep sadness and the sourness went from her mouthline, and it was for a few moments, a pleasant countenance upon which to look.
‘Yes, you are older than Frank was,’ she allowed with a sigh, and bitterness took command of her features again.
‘Son?’
A nod. ‘You have no idea about what you’ve gotten yourself into, have you?’
‘Stopped Temple from having a lot of sleepless nights is all, ma’am.’
‘None of us sleep nights much as it is,’ she replied, then nodded. ‘But I know what you mean. If them soldiers was gunned down, Cass and the others would’ve been able to ease their consciences by recallin’ that the sheriff give the order.’
Edge said nothing.
‘Be six months ago next Sunday, mister. Night time, like Lee said out there. Middle of the night. Hard to say how many Apaches came. Twenty, thirty, maybe forty. They came in over the crest of the hill behind this place, yellin’ and shootin’. Some of them lettin’ loose with fire arrows. Lee lost his wife, Betty, son Patrick and his baby daughter Anne. We lost Frank. Seth Reed who run the bank with Ross lived a couple of days, but then he died. Bob Sweeney has to run the mining tool company alone since the Apaches killed his Ma and Pa both. And all over the hill, people were killed or hurt real bad. San Lucas cemetery is just over the ridge behind us. You can count more than a hundred and fifty markers in there now. Were less than sixty - most over people who died old and peaceful - before the night the hostiles hit us.’
Her voice was evenly pitched and low. But with no other sound except for the angry clatter of pans in the kitchen to invade the saloon, Grace Lutter’s words could be overheard by the soldiers. Once, as she was speaking, Sergeant Jaroff attempted to point out that he had already related this story to the others. But Lieutenant Hillenbrand scowled the non-com into sullen silence.
‘Just for the hell of it?’ Edge asked.
The woman had paused and was staring into space - or perhaps into the past. She needed to shake her head to rid her mind’s eye of vivid images.
‘No, mister. They reckoned they had good reason, to their way of thinkin’. And who are we to argue with the reason. See, this hill where the town is, one time it was an Apache cemetery. A sacred place to them. But if anyone knew about that when the silver lode was found, they sure didn’t give much of a damn about it. Any old bones they come across when they was digging for silver they just tossed aside or loaded on the wagons with the rocks to go to the c
rusher plant up in Silver City.’
‘Way I hear it, ma’am,’ Costello put in, ‘you people were warned by the military of how the Indians felt about this place.’
‘Ain’t no one gonna deny that,’ Grace Lutter admitted with a brief glance towards the soldiers and Apaches. ‘But when we were warned people were diggin’ out paydirt easy as findin’ sand on a beach. And there wasn’t but a handful of Apaches around here after the army from Catlow herded them all on to rancherias east of the Cedars.’
‘I was at Catlow way back when that happened,’ the veteran Jaroff said, and looked pleased that on this occasion he wasn’t scowled or scolded back into silence. ‘Them Injuns were real mad at what we done to them. Said they’d come back and they have.’
‘Grace, come out here and give me a hand with this grub!’ Cass Lutter yelled from the kitchen.
The painfully thin woman got to her feet with a grimace, looking as old and ugly as before. ‘Folks here nowadays make just about enough to keep alive. Most were fixin’ to leave before the Apaches hit us so hard. Still plan on takin’ off for country where the livin’s easier. But too many need to get back at the Apaches first.’
She shuffled across to the kitchen door and went through. The appetizing aromas of chili and coffee wafted into the saloon.
‘What’s a stranger like you doing in a place like this, sir?’ Captain Costello asked.
Edge finished his beer and dug out the makings of a fresh cigarette. ‘Passing through, captain.’
‘Real glad you were around awhile ago,’ the square-faced, broad shouldered Hillenbrand said as the Lutters came out of the kitchen, carrying laden trays. ‘I have my doubts about what would have happened if you hadn’t held the gun on the sheriff.’
‘If Lee Temple said he was gonna let you through, he’d have let you through, soldier boys,’ Cass Lutter growled, slopping chili out of the bowls as he banged the tray down on the table. ‘He’s a man of his word.’
‘And the best man around San Lucas,’ Grace added, setting down her tray more gently as her husband ambled across to take up his accustomed position behind the bar counter. ‘You goin’ to cut the ropes on the Apaches so they can eat, captain?’
The prisoners were only tied by the wrists now, seated alternately with their captors around the pushed-together tables. Their attitudes of calm withdrawal from events around them had not changed.
‘We’ll eat, then we’ll feed them, ma’am,’ Costello replied. ‘Don’t intend to give them the least chance of escape.’
As the soldiers distributed the food, coffee and water amongst themselves and the Indians, Grace Lutter returned to her seat at Edge’s table.
‘He probably meant what he said to you, mister,’ she warned.
‘Who?’ Edge asked on a stream of tobacco smoke.
‘Lee Temple.’
‘I’ve been bearing it in mind.’
She nodded. ‘And if he tries it’ll cost him his life, I reckon.’
‘Lee can take care of himself,’ Cass boasted.
‘He talks a lot,’ the woman growled, with a curt inclination of her head towards her bald-domed husband. ‘Like a lot more around here. The rest of them ain’t got what it takes to talk much at all. Temple’s the only one worth a damn in time |of trouble, Reason we elected him peace officer. Hadn’t been for him, a lot more folks would’ve died the night the Apaches come here. But he ain’t no quick-draw gunslinger, mister.’
‘I said I’ve been bearing it in mind, lady. I got no reason to do anything about it unless the sheriff makes trouble.’
‘Best you people forget your personal differences,’ Costello advised. ‘Way things are shaping, there’s going to be big trouble with the Indians.’
Booted feet sounded on the boardwalk in front of the saloon as the captain spoke. The beanpole thin form of Temple moved in front of the window on the store side of the building and the sheriff came to a halt on the threshold. His Whitney .38 was now in a holster hanging low on the right from a gunbelt fully stocked with shells. The white Stetson was on his head now. There was an expression of strained patience and subdued anger on his gaunt features.
‘Are you willing to tell us how great you think the danger is?’ he asked.
While the lieutenant and two non-coms looked at the lawman with animosity, Costello merely shrugged.
‘I can understand why feelings against the Apaches run high in San Lucas, sheriff. So I don’t hold any grudges.’ He finished a final spoonful of chili and started to feed the wall-eyed brave seated between himself and Draper. The Indian accepted the food and water stoically, without enjoyment. ‘Can only give you the army’s considered opinion, though. There’s nothing concrete.’
Temple nodded his acceptance of this as he approached the bar counter. Then nodded to Lutter who grudgingly transferred the bottle of tequila and a shot glass from the shelf to the bar top.
‘Two months ago,’ Costello began as Hillenbrand and Jaroff started to spoon feed the other Apache prisoners, ‘three wagon-loads of repeating rifles and revolvers were ambushed south of Santa Fe. Army issue weapons, from Department of New Mexico Headquarters scheduled for delivery to Catlow and Forts Craig and Stanton. It was a bunch of Americans and Mexicans who stole the wagons. But we heard the guns were taken to be sold to the Apaches.’
‘And the Injuns sure don’t want them weapons to practice drill with,’ Jaroff growled sourly.
‘Obviously,’ Costello said, absently giving the sergeant’s comment attention it did not deserve. ‘Following the hostile attack on San Lucas, the Apaches who had drifted west from the rancherias scattered.’
‘That ain’t news,’ Lutter growled. ‘We looked all over for the bastards and never saw not one of them.’
‘Just listen, why don’t you, Mr. Lutter,’ Temple said, and poured himself another shot of tequila. Then glanced at Costello. ‘They’ve started to mass again?’
The captain nodded. ‘Be more accurate to say, sheriff, that they have been regrouping. In small bands all over the Cedars. To make it hard for army patrols to find them. But easy for them to mass when the word goes out.’
‘That the guns have arrived,’ Temple rasped.
‘Correct, sheriff. And at least one of the stolen wagons is in the area.’
‘With the guns spread around among the bastard Injuns by now, after you let it get away from—’ Cass Lutter snarled.
‘We didn’t have a chance, mister!’ Sergeant Draper flared, his pale blue eyes abruptly blazing with anger. ‘Some fine men died tryin’ and we done friggin’ well to capture these braves!’
‘I said to just listen!’ Temple snapped at Lutter. Then moderated his voice to address Costello: ‘They won’t tell you anything, you know.’
The captain tried to give his features a determined set, but then weariness and defeat won out. And he shrugged as he rattled the spoon down in the empty bowl. ‘We were almost out of rations and water and ammunition. It would have been pointless and perhaps suicidal to try to track the wagon. I consider I took the only practical course open to me.’ Now he did manage to get hardness into his eyes and it remained in the stare which he shared out among the civilians in the saloon. ‘And I will only accept criticism of my actions from my commanding officer at Fort Catlow.’
‘Ignore what Cass says, captain,’ Grace Lutter offered. ‘It’s what everybody else does.’
‘Take care, woman!’ her husband countered grimly.
‘I’m grateful for the information,’ Temple said evenly, ignoring the Lutters. ‘The people around here will be glad to know they have a chance to take their revenge.’
‘Or get slaughtered, mister,’ Jaroff pointed out. ‘Brand new Spencer repeaters, new Army Model Colts and a whole lot of ammo!’
He whistled through his teeth.
‘And you must be aware, sheriff, that the people of San Lucas can expect no protection from the military,’ Costello added.
‘Not after they refused to heed advice to leave th
e area,’ Hillenbrand augmented.
‘And this community will be just one target in an Apache uprising, Mr. Temple,’ Costello said. ‘According to intelligence reports, the hostiles are intent upon raiding every American outpost. Including army forts.’
‘White outpost, captain,’ Edge said.
‘Excuse me?’ the senior officer said, puzzled.
‘You said American. The Indians were Americans before anybody else, feller.’
‘Injun lover,’ Cass Lutter muttered vehemently, to end the tense silence which followed the half-breed’s comment.
Costello cleared his throat and said: ‘Yes, quite so.’ Making it plain that he was agreeing with Edge rather than Lutter.
‘You said you might want seconds,’ Grace offered.
The captain looked at his men, saw each shake his head, and then yawned. ‘It would seem we have had enough, ma’am. What we would appreciate is accommodation where we may rest until nightfall. In safety?’
This last he addressed to Temple and his expression added the query.
‘You and your prisoners have nothing to fear from the people of this town,’ the lawman assured without enthusiasm. ‘Though I’m not going to apologize for what happened when you rode in. Feeling was running high, but now the folks here have had time to cool down.’
‘I’ll show you the way to the rooms,’ Grace Lutter said, getting up from the table and shuffling towards a doorway close to the entertainments platform at the end of the saloon.
The soldiers got to their feet and the Apache braves responded without need of an order being given.
Only Cass Lutter watched the exodus, a sneer of contempt on his ruddy-complexioned face. Temple stared down at the brimful glass of tequila, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to drink it. Edge gazed across the room and out of the doorway, across the broad street which was almost entirely in the long shadows thrown by the buildings, to where the air above the slope was smudged with the smoke of many cooking fires.
As Sergeant Draper, the back marker of the prisoners and escorts, went out of the saloon, Temple raised the glass to his lips, tilted his head back and took the liquor at a swallow. It was his third of the day and this time he did not shudder.
EDGE: Red Fury (Edge series Book 33) Page 4
