Blaze! Bad Medicine

by Michael Newton

  Before that sentience faded out completely, Eagle lunged again, driving his knife beneath Wolf's gaping maw and up into his brain. The hostile eyes rolled back then, showing bloodshot whites, and only Eagle's blade kept Wolf upright until he wrenched it free, releasing more blood in a crimson tide.

  The man who would have killed him crumpled now, at Eagle's feet, no longer any threat to anyone. Looming above him, Eagle kept a firm grip on his weapons while they hung beside his legs. He scanned the faces of his ten surviving warriors, noting pride in Cougar's eyes, the bare suggestion of a smile on his full lips. The others kept their feelings to themselves, none obviously grieving over Wolf. If they were trying to deceive him, Eagle reckoned he would pierce those stoic masks in time.

  And until then, he'd watch his back, with help from Cougar.

  Nodding toward Wolf's corpse, he told nobody in particular, "Feed this to the atse'hashke." And why not? Why shouldn't the coyotes dine upon a wolf?

  After some hesitation, three young warriors moved in to obey. One took Wolf's feet, the other two his arms, and lifted him to haul him from the cave. When they first hoisted him, more entrails tumbled close beside the fire. Eagle stepped forward, kicking them into the flames, unmindful of the stench they raised.

  That done, after he watched the leaking corpse removed, Eagle turned back to face the rest. He felt the weight of the white woman's stare and shook it off.

  "Now that we are united once again," he said, "prepare the sacrifice."

  Chapter 12

  Watching from a corner of the cave's mouth, Kate and J.D. saw the bloody climax of the hand-to-hand combat. Kate made a small, disgusted noise as one brave's guts cascaded to the stony floor and he collapsed on top of them.

  "So, what was that about?" she asked J.D. A whisper.

  "Some kind of argument," he whispered back. "Beats me."

  They had the captives spotted, but still no idea on how to extricate them from their plight. A rush into the cave would spill more blood, and with the hostile odds at nine to one against them, it was likely to be theirs.

  "Wish I could understand what they were saying," Kate remarked.

  Before J.D. could speculate, the winner of the battle finished talking and three warriors from among the watchers stepped forward, hoisting the loser's bloody corpse. Kate made another little sound as more guts slithered to the ground.

  "They're coming out," J.D. cautioned, and pulled her back into deep shadows, pressed against his side. Their rifles had the cave's mouth sighted in before the burdened Indians emerged.

  They crouched and watched the small procession pass, headed downhill. When they were out of easy earshot, Kate advised, "If we can take them out, we're better off."

  "But only if it's quiet," J.D. answered. "Any shooting, and the rest will have us covered from the cave. We'd play hell getting past them, to the prisoners."

  "More knife work?"

  J.D. thought about it. None of the Apaches carrying the corpse were armed with guns, but all had knives and/or war hatchets on their belts. "That's three against us," he replied at last. "They're good with knives."

  "But if we take them by surprise, drop two before they know what's hitting them, that makes it easier."

  "In theory, anyway."

  The funeral party lurched down slope, grappling with their deadweight burden and leaving a slick trail of blood. After a glance back at the cave, J.D. and Kate began to follow them, Winchesters at the ready, even as they hoped no shooting would be necessary. It was pure dumb luck the trio was distracted by the corpse they carried, and had failed to notice that the outer guards were missing as they passed, but no such lapse could be expected when they started their return trip to the cave.

  They had to die—and silently, if that were even possible.

  J.D. had brooding doubts on that score, but unless they tried, their goose was gutted, plucked, and cooked. One shout of warning from the body haulers, and the other members of the raiding party would be down upon them, rifles blazing, tomahawks and knives rending their flesh.

  No doubt.

  J.D. knew he and Kate were good, but every shootist ultimately fell prey to bad luck or twisted circumstance. He could have counted all the well known gunmen who'd retired on his two hands, with fingers left over, and most of those had been lawmen. As for the rest...

  Somewhere, sometime, there'd be a faster gun, steadier shooting hand, a sharper eye. In this case, if they couldn't drop their targets, it would be nine men against the pair of them. Not hopeless, but long odds for anyone to test and walk away from in the end.

  Darkness enveloped him and Kate, as they eased down the mountainside, ready to kill again.

  * * *

  Eagle addressed his captives, speaking English in his most authoritative tone. He did not feel he owed them any explanation for the fate about to claim them, but his own sense of completeness forced him to press on.

  "Moving onto Apache land was a mistake," he said. "I do not blame you personally, since your government encouraged it, as it encourages the theft of all things from the human beings who preceded it. We cannot reach the men in Washington who sent you here, however. We must work with what we have."

  "Why not just let us go?" the woman asked. "You've killed my husband. There is nothing left to hold us in this godforsaken place. We'll go back East. I'll happily tell anyone who asks me that the move was a mistake from the beginning."

  Eagle nearly laughed aloud at that. "And who would listen? Possibly your kin, but not the newspapers that lie for money, or the soldiers who would slaughter peaceful villages for sport. The men who make your laws...what do you call them?"

  "Congress?"

  "Congress. Yes. Those liars and your president, the 'Great White Father,' as he calls himself, are worst of all. They claim our lands are theirs by right and steal whatever simple-minded fools don't hand to them as willing gifts. They understand nothing but war."

  He'd thought the woman might be weeping now, but she was dry-eyed, answering him with a steady voice. "Do you believe you can defeat the U.S. Army with this tiny band of men? Already killing has begun within your own ranks. Who will stay to fight beside you when the soldiers come with Gatling guns and cannons, thousands of them, sent to take no prisoners?"

  Eagle stiffened. Told her, "My men and I are but the sharp point of a spear. Our message will go out to all the Dine caged on reservations. They will rise. Whether we live to see the final battle makes no difference. The human beings will prevail."

  "Dine?"

  "The people," he replied. " 'Apache' is a Spanish word taken from other tribes who called us enemies. We never chose that name ourselves."

  "There seems to be a great deal we don't know," the woman said.

  "And never took the time to learn. For you, at least, it's now too late."

  "What are your plans, exactly?"

  "To present you and your chagáshé as lessons to the indaa. Whites. They will not hesitate to fight, and when they kill the innocent, as usual, my people will arise to strike."

  "So, you would sacrifice your own, as well as us?"

  "I follow indaa rules when it is helpful. And once the war begins..."

  He let the sentence trail away. Eagle knew he had said enough already—possibly too much. There was no chance the woman would survive to spread a warning, but the shaman feared that he was wasting precious time.

  "Prepare yourselves," he said. "If there is something you would ask or offer to your gods..."

  "One god," she said, correcting him. "The one true god."

  "Brought from your Europe on a boat to rule this land as well," he said, dismissively.

  "Creator of this land and all others," she answered back, defiant. "He will judge you for your sins one day."

  "Or maybe we judge him," Eagle replied. "One thing I know. You will not be around to see it, either way."

  * * *

  The good news: the disposal team kept moving down the mountainside until the cave's mo
uth disappeared from view. At last, they reached a precipice, peered down below, and then began to swing the body—counting, Kate supposed, although she couldn't understand the words. On what she took for 'three,' they suddenly released the dead man's wrists and feet, allowing him to drop from sight. Again, they craned to look over the edge, recoiling slightly as a wet, almost explosive sound rose from below.

  "Now!" J.D. grated, and they charged as one, rushing the three startled Apaches from behind.

  The first who turned to face them was a young man, roughly Kate's height, who cried out to his companions, reaching for the sheathed knife on his beaded belt. Mindful of holding down the noise, Kate swung her rifle like a club, its walnut stock cracking against the warrior's jaw and dislocating it, knocking his lower face askew. The brave lurched backward, stumbling, both arms flailing empty-handed, as he lost his balance at the edge and kept on going over backwards, following the dead man out of sight.

  But unlike the first man who had made the drop, the second did not exit silently. His dying wail came up to catch a strong breeze, warbling to the night and swiftly echoing among the Casa Grande crags.

  So much for stealth.

  J.D. had come to grips with yet another of the renegades, his Bowie slashing buckskin, probing for the flesh beneath. His adversary swung a tomahawk, but J.D. blocked it with his left forearm, kicked out to bruise a shin with the sharp toe of his left boot, then plunged his long blade deep into the adversary's rib cage. One more kick, and number three was airborne like his two late friends.

  The last decided not to stand and fight. His war axe hissed across Kate's line of vision, two, three inches from her face, and as she stepped back out of range, he sprinted up the slope, bound for the cave and reinforcements.

  "J.D.!" she called out, but he was there ahead of her, already running in pursuit and leaving her to catch up if she could.

  At times like this, she cursed her shorter legs but blessed her lighter weight, as she began to put on speed. A slip could send her tumbling back downhill, perhaps over the cliff's edge, but she put that out of mind and ran as if her life depended on it.

  Which, in fact, it might.

  And when the runner started shouting, gasping in between his cries for help, she knew the jig was up. Unless the other renegades inside the cave had all fallen asleep, the warning calls could hardly be ignored.

  J.D. must realize that too, because he stopped dead in his tracks, lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and squeezed off a single shot that struck their man between his pumping shoulder blades, slamming him facedown on the rocky slope.

  "That tears it," J.D. said, as Kate drew level with him, breathing heavily. "We need to get back there and make some kind of move before it's too damned late."

  "Keep moving, then," she said.

  And wondered if it was already too damned late for all concerned.

  * * *

  The scream came first, then shouting in a breathless voice, swiftly cut off by the sharp crack of rifle fire. Eagle and Cougar reached the cave's mouth simultaneously, peering out into the darkness, cursing as firelight behind him ruined their night vision.

  "Back!" the diyin snapped, and ran directly to the fire, kicking its embers far and wide within the cave. Some came to rest on Wolf's blood and internal organs, giving off a reek of cooking no sane man would taste, unless he were about to starve.

  The other warriors snatched up rifles, crowding toward the cave's entrance, forming a double-layered defensive line. Before they had a chance to open fire on shadows, Eagle snapped out from behind them, "No shooting! Wait for my order!"

  He turned at once to Cougar, asking, "How could anyone approach us? Where are the guards you posted?"

  Cougar scowled and shook his head. "I do not know, Diyin. They gave no warning of an enemy's approach." And then, reluctantly, "I will go out and find them, if you—"

  "No," the shaman stopped him short. "They must be dead, if they did not alert us—or they ran away into the night."

  Another head shake from his war chief. "I do not believe that. Neither was a coward, Diyin."

  "Murdered, then. As are the three I sent to deal with Ba'cho's body. Is it possible that any soldiers still survive?"

  "It cannot be. I counted them, Diyin. We brought their scalps back to the cave."

  "Then someone else. Perhaps from town?"

  At that, Cougar could only shrug.

  There was another exit from the cave, but it was awkward, narrow, and would take time to negotiate, one warrior following another, sometimes creeping on his belly, other times on hands and knees. Eagle knew it would be impossible to force the captives through it. Any measure of resistance whatsoever could prevent escape for those who mattered. They would have to die without the ritual he had intended, but their deaths might still be put to use in terrorizing whites and driving them to war.

  "We must prepare to slip away," he told Cougar, voice lowered so the other warriors would not overhear him. "One or two will stay behind to hold the cave and stop pursuit."

  "And what about the prisoners, Diyin?"

  "The ritual takes too much time, Ndlokah. We will execute them, leave them marked for the white eyes to find, and choose another family for sacrifice."

  Cougar nodded once. "So be it, as you say."

  "This is not the end," Eagle assured him. "We shall not be robbed of glory, in this world, or in the next."

  "No, Diyin."

  Turning to the prisoners, eagle unsheathed the knife with which he'd finished Wolf and stood before them. "Rise," he ordered them in English. "Now! Your time has come."

  Chapter 13

  Compared to following the three Apache braves downhill, the run back to their cave was grueling, seemed to take forever. J.D.'s legs felt wooden as he homed in on the spot where he was sure they'd left the cave, but it was dark now, just another mountain crag looming above them in the Casa Grandes.

  "Damn! They doused the fire," Kate said.

  "I noticed that."

  "All right, smart guy. How do we find them, then? We can't just wait around until the sun comes up, and if we start to poke around, they'll pick us off."

  "We're close, okay? We know that much. If we can just—"

  The boom of a heavy-caliber rifle cut off J.D.'s words in mid-sentence. He rolled under cover, behind a boulder to his right, while Kate found sanctuary in another's shadow, to his left. J.D. had missed the muzzle flash and hadn't heard the heavy bullet strike, but knew the sniper's hasty shot had missed him.

  As for Kate...

  "Are you okay?" he hissed, still trying not to give away their position.

  "Fine," she answered. "Did you spot the shooter?"

  "No, but—"

  Two more rifles thundered almost simultaneously. That time, J.D. glimpsed one of the muzzle blasts and heard the slug whine off a boulder several feet uphill from him.

  "I got it that time," he told Kate.

  "Me, too. That has to be the cave."

  "Or somewhere close beside it. Scratching off the five Apaches that we've taken care of, what's your guess on how many are left?"

  Kate hesitated for a moment, then replied, "I made it nine inside the cave, after we took the lookouts down. One killed inside, during the knife fight, and the three that hauled him out. Say half a dozen, now."

  "It could be worse," he said. "Of course, they're using Sharps carbines."

  "Good rifles," Kate agreed. "But still, they're single-shots."

  "Times six," J.D. reminded her. "Plus any weapons that they took from the patrol."

  "We've got them trapped, though."

  "Right. Unless they have a back way out of there."

  "You could've gone all night without thinking of that," she groused.

  "Trying to see all sides, you know?"

  "We need to move in, either way," Kate said. "Before they take it in their heads to start killing the hostages."

  "So, cover fire?" he asked.

  "Seems like the only way
to go. Who's bolting first?"

  J.D. hated to say it, but he had to play it straight. "I think they've got me spotted, more or less. You're also faster."

  "He admits it!"

  "I can cover you, and when you find another vantage point, move up to join you."

  "Right. On three?"

  "Sounds good."

  In fact, he thought it sounded anything but good. J.D. wished they were back in town, tucked up in their four-poster bed at the Hotel.

  Too late for that. The night was literally shot to hell.

  "One," he counted.

  "Two," she echoed.

  "Three!"

  He came up firing, three quick rifle shots toward where he'd seen the muzzle flash a moment earlier. Kate rolled out to her left and scampered up the mountainside, angling in toward their target without blocking J.D.'s line of fire. Holding her own, to keep from drawing any heat until she'd found more cover, farther up the slope.

  They made a good team. Always had, going way back to when they'd met for the first time. Now, as he squeezed off two more shots and ducked back under cover, J.D. hoped their history was not about to end tonight, amid the Casa Grandes in this godforsaken territory, underneath a gibbous moon.

  While that morbid thought flashed through his mind, Kate opened up with her Winchester, hurling .44 slugs at their adversaries in the mountain cave. She aimed high, trying not to put the hostages in too much danger while her husband made his move.

  Down slope, J.D. sucked in a ragged breath and burst from cover, sprinting up the slope and hoping he'd be fast enough.

  * * *

  Some of the posse men were groggy when they turned out with their guns and horses, gathered on the main street of Inferno, but a dozen of them made it, and while that was less than Marshal Dill had hoped for, it was twice the number Colonel Hungate had dispatched the day before.

  Those soldiers were still missing, and Dill didn't like to think what had become of them, but he was doing what he could to make things right, however late he was arriving for the game. He knew this might turn out to be his final day on Earth, and even if he managed to survive, he reckoned he was finished as a lawman in Inferno. Who would cast another vote for him, the way he'd stalled around, making excuses, while so many men, women and children had been massacred?