Rufus just grinned and said, “Why, in the old days, a feller learned to do that or die in Indian country.”
After shooting, we rode down the river looking for some good, deep fishing pools, but most of the water was gone. It was just too dry.
When we got back to Mrs. Darcy’s in the middle of the afternoon, her house was filled with the aroma of baked apple pies. She invited us to come sit around her kitchen table next to her cooking stove, warm up, and keep her company while she cooked the evening meal. We didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation.
As we sat at the table, Daddy and Rufus told stories and drank coffee while we ate pieces of pie so fresh it scalded our mouths if we didn’t blow on it first. We put butter and some hard sauce on it, and it was sweet and fruity all the way down. I had milk with mine, and I’ve never had better apple pie anywhere. Mrs. Darcy rattled around her kitchen getting chiles rellenos ready for dinner while we ate.
Rufus said with a chuckle, “You know, havin’ sugar in coffee’s a rare treat fer me. Why if’n I tried keeping sugar out’n a fancy sugar bowl on the middle of the table at my place, the ants and waspers would come fight me fer it. They’d probably win, too. I wouldn’t fight no wasper fer no sugar. No, siree.”
Mrs. Darcy came and sat down with us for a while and told Daddy and Rufus they were welcome to smoke or chew. Rufus excused himself to get his spittoon. He was back in two ticks of the clock and already had a chew started. He plopped back down in his seat and said, “This here is mighty kind of you, Miz Darcy, feeding us some of yore deelicious pie, then lettin’ us indulge in our nasty habits.”
She tilted her head down and looked up at him with a smile. “Your company is worth it all, gentlemen, especially young Henry’s. Now he’s a real gentleman.” I sat up a little straighter, a man among men. Daddy wet his cigar, grinning, and, with a wink at me, lit up.
Mrs. Darcy teased Rufus about carrying a spittoon during his scouting days, and that set him to telling us a story about a close scrape he had with an Apache named Caballo Negro (Black Horse).
Rufus said, “Back in ’fifty-five, I was a-scoutin’ fer Cap’n Ewell and his Sixtieth Dragoons. We was a-chasin’ and a-fightin’ Apaches down in Texas on the El Paso to San Antonio road. In those days, the Mescaleros was a-wipin’ out any freight outfits that wasn’t protected by soldiers.
“Cap’n Ewell was determined to have some satisfaction fer all the murderin’ and robbin’ they’d done. We chased those damned Apaches all over hell and half of Texas. We had a few running battles with them, but they never stood and fought till they was cornered. Then they was the devil to pay. We musta lost ten or fifteen men in those fights.”
“What if they captured you?” I asked, hoping to draw out some gruesome details, the sort I’d heard my older brothers tell. I wondered if their tales were true.
Rufus frowned and said, “Lord help ye, if they ever caught ye alive. They knowed how to torture a feller so’s he stayed alive fer days, and they did it so’s they’d git more power from his sufferin’. Ewell told us that in any Indian fight to always save one bullet fer our own use. We did, too. I knowed a few fellers that had to pull the trigger on their own heads, stuck the business end of those old Walker Colts right up against an eyeball and pulled the trigger, they did.”
I was thrilled to hear this story, told in graphic detail my mother wouldn’t approve of. Then I wondered if Daddy had forgotten I was there and decided with joy that he hadn’t, that he counted me man enough to hear this talk.
Rufus continued, “Well, sir, it got on into late fall, and we’d just about rode our horses to death a-chasin’ those red heathens. I found us a nice spot on the Rio Grande up in the Bosque about twenty miles north of El Paso. Ewell, he decided to hole up there to escape bein’ attacked by banditos and Indians and to rest the animals and men fer a while. I tell ye, I was mighty glad not to be in the saddle fer twelve hours a day in wind and dust that cut just as bad as any Mescalero blade.
“After we’d been camped fer four or five days, I reckin those Apache devils got lonesome fer us ’cause we woke up one morning with half the stock gone and the sentry with a second mouth cut across his windpipe. Nobody had heard a sound. That’s how tired we all was and how quiet them Apaches was in takin’ ’em. I ’spect the sentry just dozed off, and that there was the end of him. He was my friend, but he made a big mistake and paid fer it, so I didn’t have a whole lot of sympathy fer him. Ye just didn’t make those kinds of mistakes and expect to live in those days. Ye know what I mean don’t ye, Mr. Fountain?”
Daddy took a pull on his cigar and, after blowing a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling, he said, “Yes, sir, Rufus. I’m afraid I know very well from long, hard experience.”
Rufus winked at us and said, “Yes sir, Mr. Fountain. Yore reputation as an Indian fighter runs a far piece in front of ye. Anyways, Ol’ Ewell just stood on the edge of the river and stared off in the distance toward the Organs and Franklins fer a long time. The rest of us jest sat around the fire tryin’ to get warm and cursed those red heathen fer their damned, slick trick. Finally, Ewell yelled, ‘Rufus Pike!’ I come a-runnin’ with a salute and said, ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Rufus,’ he said, ‘Go find where those Mescalero are. Then come back and get me if they ain’t killed all the stock they stole by runnin’ ’em to death.’ So I saddled up with the best horse that was left ’cause they’d taken mine, and I started after ’em.”
By this point, I tingled with excitement. “He sent you out by yourself?” I asked. “How did you know where to look?”
Rufus grinned and said, “Yep, I tracked ’em by myself, and them devils was smart. They rode about twenty mile up river then started across the desert toward Baylor Pass as a group. Then a rider with three or four horses would peel off the main group and head out alone.”
Rufus gestured first to the right, then to the left, with his hands. “Some went over the Organs by Baylor Pass; some, over San Agustin Pass; a few went through Bear Canyon; and some, through Soledad Canyon. Before long, the only tracks left was from four animals and three riders who finally split up.
“I knowed what was a-gonna happen when that first group split out. When I seen them last tracks I stopped and sat a spell, tryin’ to figger out where they’d rendezvous. I guessed it had to be near a spring over in the Jarilla Mountains since it was on their way to some camp up in the Sacramentos. Only a few old gringo desert rats like me knowed ’bout that spring, but all the Mescalero knowed where it was.
“I figgered I’d ride over there and set myself up a little ambush fer the early birds. Maybe get ’em all if they came in slow. At least I could keep ’em from water so’s the horses would move real slow. I knowed I’d get there first, ’cause they’s riding ’round the desert in all different directions tryin’ to confuse anybody that followed ’em. I wasn’t sure enough about their meeting spot to go back and get Cap’n Ewell, though. Ewell’s animals needed rest bad, so I went Apache huntin’ on my own. That there was a big mistake.”
Daddy was puffing his cigar and nodding as he listened. When Rufus paused, I asked, “Why was it a big mistake, Rufus?”
“Well, son, I got over to the Jarillas about dark and found me a good place to make camp up a little draw behind a mesquite thicket where I could watch the spring and not be seen. I was plum wore out and didn’t want to risk no fire, so I hid my horse and just rolled up in my blankets and went to sleep. ’Bout daylight, I felt this here sharp prick on my neck and thought some sticker had blowed on to me during the night. I opened one eye and looked into the narrow, slanty eyes of an Apache face that had the ugliest scar I’d ever seen on a man.” Rufus took a finger and drew its pattern down his face while I sat watching his every move. Mrs. Darcy fanned herself.
Rufus said, “That there scar run from his scalp line across his forehead, down by his left eye, across his cheek, and just kinda fell off the edge of his jaw. He had this big Bowie knife ready to cut my throat, and he was grinnin’ like a cat wit
h a cornered mouse. I found out a few years later his name was Fast Hand, and he had fought and killed two men in his own clan who’d objected to him takin’ a couple of Mexican women fer wives. That’s how he’d got that there scar, but nobody objected to the Mexican women bein’ around after the fight. No, sir. They shore didn’t.
“I knowed I was a-gonna die. In fact, I couldn’t quite figger out why I was still a-livin’. He had me dead to rights. I did a deadly stupid thing by going to sleep when Apaches was around, and I knowed I deserved to die. They’s nothin’ I could do about it ’cept die quick or, if I couldn’t pull that off, not scream too loud while he tortured me. He was a-grittin’ his teeth as he held that blade against my windpipe, and he motioned to a young man that was with him to come over beside him.”
Rufus paused, looked at me, and said, “That young man was older’n ye are, must have still been in his teens, probably on his first raid. He didn’t have no shirt, and he had streaks of black running the full length of his arms and on one side of his face like the man’s scar. That damn Indian who had me at knife-point was a-wantin’ him to cut me. Fast Hand motioned fer him to pull out the skinning knife he was packin’. The cutting wasn’t a-gonna be just around my face and neck, either, if ye know what I mean.”
I saw Mrs. Darcy blush, and I knew why. My brothers had told me that Indians would cut a man’s cojones off. Rufus said, “Lordy, lordy, I knowed I was a-gonna suffer, and I decided when the cuttin’ was about to start I’d try to kill myself by pushing my throat against that big blade against my windpipe. Then the young man turned to Fast Hand and said something in Apache I couldn’t understand. Fast Hand nodded and, without a word, pulled the blanket off me. He took my big hawg leg Walker Colt and my skinning knife, checked me fer other weapons, and motioned fer me to take off my boots, shirt, and pants. Now it was cold, let me tell ye, and I wondered if they’d decided to let me die naked, a-freezin’ to death.
“Then Fast Hand asked, ‘Habla Espanol?’ ” Rufus paused and explained to Mrs. Darcy, “He wanted to know if I spoke Spanish, and I told him I did a little. Then Ol’ Fast Hand told me that the boy had said there was no power in killin’ me this way. He wanted strong enemies to defeat. He said I looked as weak as a woman and told me, ‘Go, get strong, and come again if ye can survive in the cold. We’ll kill ye when it’s worth our trouble.’
“I said, ‘Gracias, hombre. I’ll come again in the spring to get yore hair.’ Fast Hand nodded and said, ‘Bueno. Come. It’s good to kill ye then. Tell Ewell we look fer him, too. Now go.’ I got up real slow and started a-shiverin’. I was curious about the young man who didn’t seem to be cold at all. I asked him in Spanish what his name was, and he said, ‘Me llamo Caballo Negro,’ meaning, my name is Black Horse.”
Rufus paused for a moment to spit and cut another chew, and I waited, spellbound for him to finish his story.
After he got his chew started, he said, “Well, sir, I’m here to tell ye he might be called Black Horse, but he shore as blue blazes stood in my book as White Horse fer not killin’ me. I was mighty grateful he’d decided not to practice cuttin’ on me. Why, he’d made a friend fer life after the fool stunt I’d pulled. Didn’t matter none, though, ’cause I knew we’d probably try to kill each other the next time we met.
“They took everything I had ’cept my long johns. I knew there was a little ranch about twenty miles away over toward El Paso, and I figgered if I trotted the whole way I could keep warm enough not to freeze and could probably make it in four or five hours if I didn’t run into no more Indians.
“Well, sir, I got to that ranch before midday. I reckin it must have taken me ’bout five hours, and onct I got there, I could barely walk. I’d run through so many sticker plants there wasn’t a place on my body that wasn’t bleedin’ a little and hurtin’ like hell, but, by God, I was alive. The Morales family pulled the stickers out, washed me up, fed me, and put me to bed. Sometime into the next day, I got strong enough to head back to Ewell. Mr. Morales let me take a horse, some clothes, and a pair of boots, and I promised to come back and pay him later. Then I lit out to Ewell’s camp.”
I giggled and said, “It’s a good thing you didn’t have to ride back to Ewell’s camp in your long johns, Rufus.”
He smiled, spat into his spittoon, and said, “Yeah, and it’s a darn good thing I had that horse. My feet wasn’t in no condition fer me to hafta hoof it back.” He cut another chew of tobacco and said, “I found Ewell and the troops late the next day. Ewell was glad to see me. He didn’t look too disappointed when I told him I hadn’t been able to find the stock. Said he’d decided he was gonna ease on up to Mesilla now that I was back and rest the company till after the spring winds. I was glad to hear that. So I collected my pay, rode back and paid Mr. Morales, and joined them at Mesilla. But by this time, I’d decided I was done scoutin’ fer the army. I quit after I got to Mesilla, telling Ewell it was just too hard and risky. Ewell said he hated to lose me but understood why I wanted to leave.”
Rufus sat silent for a moment, apparently finished with his story.
“Did you go back and look for Caballo Negro that spring? Did you take his scalp?” I asked.
“Naw, Henry, I figgered that would be a little hard and risky, too. Instead, I found me a spot in a canyon up in the Organs behind Tortugas Mountain. It had good water, and there was enough grass so I could do a little ranchin’, just enough to get by. I didn’t want a big spread. I stocked it with some wild cattle rounded up outta Mexico, and, in a couple of years, I had a poke big enough to live on and had built myself a comfortable, little shack outta timber I hauled up from Las Cruces. One of these days, I’m a-gonna make a house outta rocks and a little lumber jest like old Frenchy Rochas made over to Dog Canyon.”
Forgetting the manners Mama had taught me, I asked, “Can I come and see you at your ranch sometime?” Then I saw Daddy’s disapproving eyes on me.
Daddy reminded me, “Son, never invite yourself. Let someone else do the inviting.”
Rufus just laughed and said, “Henry, why don’t ye come out to see me at my ranch sometime? Ye can bring yore daddy if’n ye like. Ye can even bring yore mama, but I doubt she’d think much of it.”
“Could we do that, Daddy?” I asked.
Daddy chewed his cigar for a moment and said, “I reckon so, once we get our business squared way.”
CHAPTER 9
YELLOW BOY
That evening, Mrs. Darcy had a special meal of steaks, fried potatoes, chiles rellenos, and southern-style cornbread with butter. I’d never eaten southern-style cornbread, but I liked it, especially with butter melted into a piece. While we were eating, I asked Rufus, “Did you ever hear any more about Fast Hand or Caballo Negro? I mean, do you think they’re on the reservation now, or did they ride with Geronimo and get shipped off to Florida?”
Daddy took a swallow of coffee and looked over at Rufus. Apparently, he was wondering the same thing. Rufus said, “Naw, they didn’t ride with Geronimo. Ol’ Fast Hand wasn’t so fast after all. A Mexican army patrol run into him by accident when he was leadin’ a raiding party tryin’ to steal women from Aqua Blanco, a little village he’d terrorized for years. The Mexicans shot him and his raiders so fulla holes all they had left to bury was air.”
I giggled, trying to imagine how an Indian might look and be nothing but air. Rufus said, “Caballo Negro is dead now, too, but he had a son called Muchacho Amarillo.” He glanced over at Mrs. Darcy, who was listening, and said, “That means ‘Yellow Boy’ in English. Yellow Boy must be close to thirty-five or forty now, and he stops by my place fer water ever month or so. He eases down into Mexico to visit his second wife for a moon. She’s a-hidin’ in a camp of Apaches in the Sierra Madre. That bunch includes about all what’s left from those that run off with Geronimo in one of his breaks from San Carlos, a few from other bands, some banditos, and even an Americano or two who’s after cattle owned by rich Mexicans. Them from Geronimo’s band is still there ’cause they played it
safe and didn’t come back across the border with him on his raids.
“Yellow Boy has this old, lever-action Henry rifle with a brass receiver.” Rufus looked at my daddy and said, “You know the gun I’m talkin’ about, don’t you, Colonel Fountain? It loads by droppin’ cartridges down a tube under the barrel.”
Daddy nodded, his eyes twinkling, and said, “You know I do, Rufus. I used to own one. How did Yellow Boy come to get his rifle?”
Rufus spat, wiped the dribble from his beard, and said, “Black Horse took it off some poor pilgrim that was wiped out a-tryin’ to get to California. The Indians call those rifles with brass receivers Yellow Boys, and they call Black Horse’s son Muchacho Amarillo, ’cause they’s no difference ’tween him and that old rifle. Wherever he points, that’s where the bullet goes, and it hits dead center ever’ time. I was teachin’ him to shoot, an’ he’s pretty fair shot. Then he has this here vision up on the mountain behind my ranch and I ain’t never seen him miss since then, and that be over twenty year. Never seen anybody shoot as good as him. When he was still a pup, Yellow Boy scouted fer the army against the Chiricahuas on the Crook expedition down in the Sierra Madre in ’eighty-three but he quit ’fore Geronimo surrendered in ’eighty-six. He’s still got his army coat and a hat like mine. He splits his time between his wife on the reservation and the one in Mexico, who is his first wife’s sister.”
Mrs. Darcy pushed a strand of hair out of her face and said, “If I were one of those sisters, I don’t believe I’d like that sort of arrangement.” She paused and asked, “Where did you meet this character?”
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