They Came to Kill

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Clementine looked out from the back of the Wylie wagon, making eye contact with Jamie over Fletch’s shoulder. “Preacher told me to stay back here instead of riding on the seat. Do you agree with that, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “I sure do,” Jamie replied. “Those soldiers have probably caught a few glimpses of you around the camp, but I don’t think they’ve gotten a good look at you yet and it’d probably be better to keep things that way.”

  “Am I so beautiful that I’d drive them all mad or something?”

  Fletch smiled over his shoulder and told her, “That’s what happened to me.”

  “Oh, hush,” she said, but she smiled a little as she scolded him.

  Jamie said, “Beautiful or not—and you are, ma’am, I don’t think there’s any point in arguing that—you’re the only woman in a lot of miles. And I don’t know how long those troops have been out here on patrol. Taking all that together, I reckon it’s a good idea for you to lay low as much as you can.”

  Clementine blew out her breath in a frustrated sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll stay out of sight.”

  Jamie nodded his thanks and rode over to the surveyors’ wagon. Chester Merrick had the reins this morning and Noah Stuart sat beside him holding their rifle.

  “You fellas ready to go?”

  Stuart said, “I’m eager to get a closer look at those badlands.”

  “There could be anything hiding in there,” Merrick said with a sigh. “Savages, wild beasts . . . At least here, we can see trouble coming.”

  “Chances are, we won’t be making camp in the badlands,” Jamie explained to him. “We’ll just move through them and go into the hills on the other side.”

  “But what if we can’t get through them? What if it’s too rough for the wagons?”

  That was a possibility Preacher and Jamie had considered, but they thought the effort was worth a try, anyway.

  “I reckon we’ll have to see about that when we get there,” he said to Merrick.

  Preacher and Dog were waiting for Jamie to join them. The rest of the party was gathered in a loose group around the wagons. Jamie looked around, got nods from several of the men to signify that they were ready to go, and turned his horse south.

  Considering the desolate nature of the region, this had been a good campsite. They might not find one as favorable in the hills. But Jamie’s instincts told him that they had accomplished everything they could from there. It was time to move on.

  * * *

  As the wagons rolled past the mesa, Noah Stuart smiled and said to the man on the seat beside him, “I considered the idea of the two of us trying to get some of our equipment up there, Chester.”

  Merrick craned his neck to look up at the top of the mesa. “You mean climb up there?”

  “Well, sure. I made it to the top, remember?”

  “And if I’d been here, I would have told you that you’d lost your mind,” Merrick muttered.

  “I didn’t have any real trouble. And from up there, I was able to find our next destination.”

  “I’ll keep solid ground under my feet, thanks. Even when I was a kid, I didn’t like climbing trees and things like that.”

  Stuart had no trouble believing that.

  Once again, appearances proved to be deceptive in the thin air. When the expedition had covered what had to be more than the five miles Stuart had estimated, they still hadn’t reached the badlands, and the area wasn’t even in sight yet. They pushed on through the morning and into the afternoon, stopping only for a short noon meal of biscuits and salt pork left over from that morning. They took advantage of the halt to water the mules and horses, too.

  Jamie looked behind them and saw that the Mexican army patrol had stopped about a quarter of a mile away.

  “Our shadows are still back there,” he said to Preacher.

  “El capitan is an ambitious fella,” the mountain man drawled. “You can tell that just by lookin’ at him. He wants some more ribbons and medals to pin on that jacket, and he figures he can get ’em by roundin’ up ol’ White Dog and the rest of the Apaches.”

  Jamie squinted off into the distance and said slowly, “I’ve been doing some thinking about Perro Blanco.”

  “What about him?”

  “You remember the other reason we came down here? Besides surveying and fighting Apaches?”

  Preacher frowned and cocked his head a little to the side, just as Dog might have. “You mean findin’ out for sure that the ’Paches killed that young lieutenant? What was his name?”

  “Damon Charlton,” Jamie said. “The general’s son.”

  “You reckon Perro Blanco was leadin’ the band that wiped out his command?”

  “Not . . . exactly.”

  Preacher’s frown deepened. “I might have an idea what you’re gettin’ at, Jamie. And I got to say, it sounds plumb loco.”

  “Think about it,” Jamie said. “You know what that farmer, Sandoval, told us. Perro Blanco has only started stirring up trouble in the past year. It’s been a little more than a year and a half since Damon Charlton disappeared down here. The bodies of the rest of the soldiers were found, but his never was.”

  “Maybe not, but that don’t mean he survived. And it sure as tarnation don’t mean that a white, shavetail army lieutenant could somehow turn into an Apache war chief! That’s plain crazy, Jamie.”

  “Not completely. White captives have been adopted into Indian tribes before. You’ve probably seen that happen.”

  “I have,” Preacher admitted.

  “And once a man’s been taken into the tribe, he generally has the same rights as if he’d been born to it. Including the right to rise to the position of war chief if he can prove worthy of it. There’s the name, too . . . White Dog. The Apaches might have called him something like that if they made him a captive.”

  Preacher shook his head stubbornly. “You know good and well the only reason those varmints would’ve taken the boy prisoner was to haul him back to their village and make him scream his guts out by torturin’ him for a few days before he died. He’s been dead and gone for more ’n a year now.”

  “Likely. But I reckon there’s only one way to prove it.”

  “Find Perro Blanco and ask him.”

  Jamie nodded in agreement with that blunt statement.

  Preacher went on. “Well, you said you had a feelin’ he might be waitin’ for us in the badlands. Reckon maybe we’ll find out before too much longer.”

  However, it was late afternoon before the riders and wagons reached the edge of the dark-colored stretch Noah Stuart had seen from the mesa. As they came up to it, reined in the horses, and pulled the teams to a stop, the reason for that mysterious dark color became apparent. The ground itself was black rock in many places, although there were trails of hard-packed dirt winding through it.

  “That’s volcanic rock,” Stuart exclaimed in surprise from the wagon seat. “This whole area was covered in lava at some time in the past, and the black rock is what’s left.”

  Jamie and Preacher had stopped beside the surveyors’ wagon.

  “Like the malpais farther north,” Jamie said. “Mighty rough country. Those rocks are sharp enough to cut a horse’s hooves . . . or a man’s feet . . . to ribbons if he’s not careful.”

  Chester Merrick said, “I don’t understand. If it’s volcanic rock . . . where’s the volcano it came from?”

  “If it was active long enough ago,” Stuart said, “it could have been one of those hills, only time has eroded it down to the point that it doesn’t look impressive anymore. And sometimes a volcano’s cone will collapse until it’s not even a hill anymore, but a crater instead.”

  “All I know is that we’ll have to be careful goin’ through there,” Preacher said. “And as late in the day as it is, might be a good idea to wait until mornin’ before we try it.”

  “I agree.” Jamie hipped around in the saddle and called to the others, “We’re going to make camp right here.”

 
CHAPTER 40

  It wasn’t a particularly good place to camp—no water or shade, very little grass for the animals—but they would be there for only one night. The next morning, they could start following the torturous trails through the badlands and hope that one led to the other side where the low hills waited, showing enough green to indicate that there had to be some water available.

  Captain Garazano rode over, accompanied by a couple of troopers, to confer with Jamie and Preacher. They explained their plans to him, and he agreed that it was too late in the day to attempt crossing the badlands.

  They weren’t far from the Wylie wagon as they talked, and just as Garazano was about to mount up and return to his men, Clementine emerged from the back of the wagon, stepping over the tailgate and jumping lithely to the ground.

  It was the closest any of the Mexican soldiers had been to her, and Garazano stood up straighter as he got a good look at her. She wore men’s baggy trousers and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her tanned forearms. Her blond hair was tucked up under her hat.

  Despite the outfit, it was obvious that Garazano identified her as a woman at first glance.

  Nor did he stop at one glance. Rather, he looked intently at Clementine until she became aware of his scrutiny and stepped quickly around to the other side of the wagon.

  “You need something else, Captain?” Jamie asked with an edge in his voice.

  Garazano shook his head. “No . . . No, I suppose not.” For a moment it seemed as if he were going to ignore the incident, but then he said, “Some of my men told me you have a woman traveling with you. I found such a thing difficult to believe, but now I see that it is true. Tell me, Señor MacCallister, why would you bring a woman into such a country as this? Especially a woman who looks like that one?”

  “Bein’ a mite plainspoken about it, ain’t you?” Preacher grated.

  Garazano returned the mountain man’s chilly stare. “I see no reason not to speak my mind, señor.”

  “It’s a long story,” Jamie said, “and it doesn’t really have anything to do with why the rest of us are here. When this mission is over, Mrs. Wylie and her husband will be moving on, along with Preacher. He’s going to help them get to California.”

  He wanted to make certain that Garazano understood Clementine was a married woman and therefore off-limits. The rest of the soldiers needed to know that, too, so Jamie went on. “None of us over here would take it kindly if anybody was to cause trouble for the Wylies. Anybody.”

  “There will be no trouble,” Garazano said stiffly. “I was merely surprised. I thought perhaps you had brought an older woman along to cook for you and your men.”

  “Clementine’s a fine cook,” Preacher said, “but that ain’t why she’s here.”

  “Clementine,” Garazano repeated with a slight smirk on his face. “A lovely name. It suits the señorita. I mean, the señora.”

  Preacher groaned. “Now, don’t you start that!”

  “Que?”

  “Never mind,” Jamie said. “As long as we understand each other.”

  Garazano nodded. “Of course.” Still acting stiff-necked, he swung up into his saddle and rode away, followed by the soldiers who had come with him.

  Preacher watched them go and shook his head. “You reckon that’s gonna cause some trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Jamie said. “The captain doesn’t strike me as the sort of hombre who’d go back and share what he just saw with all the others. He might tell his second in command, but that’s all, I figure.” He rubbed his chin. “Question now is, just how taken with Clementine was the captain himself ?”

  The young woman they were talking about came back around the wagon then and said, “Mr. MacCallister, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Captain Garazano was here in camp. I’ve been trying to stay out of sight most of the time, like you suggested.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I appreciate that. Don’t worry too much about what just happened. We’re all liable to have other things on our mind before too much longer.”

  Clementine summoned up a smile, but she said, “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel all that much better, Mr. MacCallister.”

  * * *

  Everyone was on edge, for various good reasons. Jamie posted a heavy guard. From what he could tell, Captain Garazano did the same. Night fell suddenly, like the dropping of a curtain, as it did in that part of the country, and the darkness just made everyone more nervous.

  Even though no one got much sleep, nothing happened during the night.

  Early the next morning, after a hurried breakfast, the hollow-eyed travelers saddled their horses, hitched up the wagon teams, and started through the badlands as soon as it was light enough to see where they were going.

  The gray and black landscape was so bleak and barren they might as well have been on the moon, Jamie thought as he and Preacher led the way. Not that he knew what the surface of the moon was like, of course, but he could imagine it, and he figured it looked something like this malpais.

  The moon was probably as empty and deserted as these badlands, too. He hadn’t seen a bird, a snake, or even a lizard moving as they made their way along the twisting trail.

  The sun climbed above the horizon, but the garish red light that spread over the badlands just seemed to make the landscape even more ugly. At least it was easier to see where the trail was and not wander off it into the dangerously sharp and jagged rocks.

  The path never ran straight for more than twenty yards, and at times it was so narrow the wagons could barely travel between the mounds of ancient lava. After running into a couple of dead ends, which, luckily, were wide enough for the vehicles to turn around, Jamie and Preacher began ranging farther ahead to make sure the trail they were following continued.

  On the surveyors’ wagon, a tense and pale Chester Merrick handled the reins while Noah Stuart kept his pencil moving on his pad of paper, sketching not only the route of the trail they followed but also the various rock spires and other features he could see.

  By midmorning, it seemed to a frustrated Jamie MacCallister that they should have come ten miles and be on the far side of the badlands by now. He had no idea how many miles they actually had covered, but he didn’t believe they were actually that much closer to emerging from the desolation. The way they were constantly twisting and turning, they weren’t making much actual headway toward the hills.

  Now that they were in this maze, though, there was nothing they could do but keep going.

  While they were stopped to let the mules and horses rest, a clatter of hoofbeats came from behind them along the trail. The men all rested their hands on their weapons as they turned to see who was approaching.

  Captain Enrique Garazano rode around a bend in the trail between two looming boulders of volcanic rock and came toward them. He appeared to be alone for a change, with no troopers following him. Jamie motioned for his men to relax and strode out to meet the Mexican officer.

  As Garazano reined in, he said, “I have decided to join you, Señor MacCallister, leaving my patrol in the competent hands of Lieutenant Bernardo.”

  Jamie could have pointed out that nobody had asked Captain Garazano to join them, but the politeness ingrained in every Westerner kept him from doing so. He just nodded and said, “All right. We’re resting and watering the animals right now, but we’ll be moving on again pretty soon.”

  Garazano dismounted. “These badlands, they are like something out of a nightmare, no?”

  “It’s not the prettiest place I’ve ever been,” Jamie said dryly. “I’m surprised you’d leave your men, Captain.”

  “As I said, Lieutenant Bernardo is quite competent.” Garazano smiled and led his horse toward the wagons.

  Preacher ambled over and cocked an eyebrow at Jamie, who said quietly, “I expect you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking.”

  “El capitan there figures on gettin’ another look at Clementine,” the mountain man said. “Maybe even flirtin’
with her a mite. Like Ramirez, he ain’t overly worried about her bein’ hitched to Fletch.”

  Jamie looked around. “Where is Ramirez? I saw him just a minute ago.”

  “When he saw the cap’n comin’, he got on his horse and rode out. Told Audie and Dupre he was gonna scout out the trail ahead of us. I figure he just don’t want Garazano gettin’ a good look at him. He’s probably wanted by the law down here and don’t plan on gettin’ caught by the army.”

  Jamie grunted and shook his head. “I don’t think Garazano would give a hoot in Hades about that. Arresting a minor bandido won’t get him a promotion. Capturing or killing the Apaches’ new war chief might.”

  They kept an eye on Garazano as he loitered around the wagons, talking to Noah Stuart and Chester Merrick. Jamie knew that was just an excuse to try for another glimpse of Clementine. She must have noticed Garazano approaching, and stayed in the wagon. The canvas flap at the back was closed, cutting off the officer’s view into it.

  After only a few more minutes, Jamie called for everyone to mount up. They started off with Jamie and Preacher in the lead, as usual, but Preacher looked over his shoulder and said, “Garazano’s ridin’ next to the Wylie wagon now, talkin’ to Fletch. And from the looks of things, Fletch don’t much cotton to it.”

  “Better drop back and see if you can settle things down,” Jamie said.

  “Just what I had in mind.” Preacher slowed Horse and pulled to the side of the trail as the Wylie wagon came closer. He could hear Fletch and Garazano talking.

  Garazano was saying, “. . . an excellent driver. Give me the reins, Señor Wylie, and I will show you.”

  “I can handle my own wagon,” Fletch replied with a scowl on his face. “No offense, Captain, but I don’t need your help . . . with anything.”

  “Oh, but you do, señor.” Garazano moved his right foot from the stirrup, placed it on the floorboards of the driver’s box, and moved agilely from horseback to the wagon seat. He reached for the reins in Fletch’s hands, but at the same time, he turned his head to look into the back of the wagon. “Let me—”