The Bounty Hunters
Page 19
“David…that’s a man.”
Flynn studied them, watching two warriors drag the limp form of a man between them. They held him upright then while another Mimbre threw a line over a tree limb above them. Flynn saw now that one end was fastened to the man’s wrists and as the Mimbreños walked off holding the free end, the line tightened, drawing the man’s arms up over his head and the next moment he was hanging above the ground.
Madora said, “Do you recognize him?”
Flynn shook his head. “His head’s down.”
“Get Deneen’s glasses.”
Deneen was staring at Flynn as he turned toward him. “What is it!”
“Take it easy. Let me have your glasses.”
Deneen’s left hand felt the case hanging at his side. “I’ll look first!”
Flynn shrugged. “You won’t like it.” And he thought: He’s not as bad as at Chancellorsville. Maybe he thinks there’s still a way out.
Deneen looked through the glasses. When he brought them down his face was drawn tighter than before and for a moment Flynn thought he was going to be sick. Madora jerked the field glasses from his hands without ceremony. “He told you,” the scout said, and handed the glasses to Flynn; and after he had given Flynn time to study the man he asked, “Who is he?”
Flynn lowered the glasses, handing them back to Madora. “I don’t know. His head’s still down…what’s left of it.”
Looking through the glasses Madora said, “Scalped. And nekked as a jaybird.” He was silent. Then, “He’s alive, David.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“What’s that?” Flynn watched the Mimbres nearing the man again.
“They got knives,” Madora said. He grunted. “You see that?”
“Enough,” Flynn said quietly.
“They cut the tendons in his arms.” Madora waited, and winced holding the glasses to his eyes. “Now both his legs.”
Deneen turned away.
Flynn said, “That’s for our benefit.”
“You bet it is.” Madora lowered the glasses. “They’re telling us what’s coming up about an hour from now.”
“Next time they’ll rush until they get us,” Flynn said.
Madora nodded up and down. “The first time they found out what they wanted to know…though it cost them more than they figured. Your side was the natural, cuz of the cover, just fooled around mine. Next time they’ll come mounted, all of them…like a twister and run right through us.”
Flynn didn’t know what to say, but he said, “Well…” and in his mind, rapidly:…but most of all for having offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of…“Joe, what if we run?”
“Which way?”
“Back.” He nodded into the trees.
“We wouldn’t get ten feet.” Mildly, Madora said, “David, the only thing we can do now is think about all the things we shouldn’t of done before.”
Flynn half smiled now, thinking of Nita. “And all the things you’d like to have done.”
“What would you do, David, besides kick his francis from here to Prescott?” He nodded toward Deneen.
Flynn said vaguely, “Maybe stay around here.”
“And prospect?”
“Maybe.”
“For what?”
Flynn smiled. “She’s a nice girl.”
“I thought so,” Madora said. “Well…it’d be a nice living.” He looked at Deneen again. “And I wouldn’t see how you’d have anything further to prove as far as he’s concerned.”
Flynn said, “Only nothing like that will happen now.” Still, he thought of Nita Esteban, until she was forced suddenly from his mind—
“David…here they come!”
Flynn had time to recognize Soldado, though it was a quick, fleeting glimpse—first Soldado, then his warriors riding out of the trees, coming out bunched, separating in the open, the rumble of their ponies, dust rising—then he was whirling back to face the dense pines. He heard a pistol shot close behind him, but it went in and out of his mind for he was tensed waiting for something else, then Madora’s voice—
“David!”
Nothing moved in the trees. He glanced around quickly seeing Madora and beyond him the Mimbreños swerving their ponies, racing down through the wide aisle between the pines and the trees they had come out of.
“They don’t want us!”
And off to the left, far out, were mounted men. They had been coming along the road that, ahead, would skirt the cemetery, but now momentarily they stood holding their horses, almost a dozen riders, watching the Apaches bearing down on them…then as one they spurred, breaking for the village off beyond the trees.
“They were waiting for them all the time!”
“Joe, that’s Lazair’s men!”
“God Almighty they don’t have a chance!”
“Joe!”
Madora’s head jerked toward Flynn, seeing him pointing off to the right, the other direction, and as he followed Flynn’s gaze his eyes opened in amazement.
“God Almighty…rurales!”
Flynn screamed through the din of the horses that had swerved around from the right side of the trees, “And Bowers! Look at him!”
And there it was. Cavalry! Cavalry out of the Manual. Charging, full-glory cavalry used the way it should be, the way you dream about it but seldom see it. Something out of Cooke’s Tactics. And it was all there as Flynn had seen it before—only here were straw Chihuahua hats and the full-throated battle screams were in Spanish. Flynn felt the excitement in him and screamed at them as they rode by bearing down on the Apaches who were milling, turning in confusion and not all the way around when Bowers hit them. He hit them with gunfire, carbine butts, sabers and a will…a rawhide cavalry will to hit the enemy, slash him hard in the first few seconds and use the rest that makes up a minute to mop up, chase the stragglers, run them to the ground.
And as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Some Apaches, perhaps a dozen, had broken free and were streaking off in the distance; many were on the ground, horses and men, scattered over the meadow; and there were those who had given up. They sat their ponies sullenly with their hands raised in the air, herded into groups, rurales circling each group with carbines ready.
Then Bowers was coming toward them, holding his mount to an easy trot, the saber flashing in the sunlight; but he saw the naked figure hanging from the tree and he guided the left rein in that direction.
Madora was grinning broadly in his gray-streaked beard. “Where’d he get that saber? David, I think he might do.”
Flynn was smiling, but then he turned quickly remembering Deneen…there, by the tree. “Colonel…” The word hung by itself with none to follow. Flynn stared, feeling the cold shock of what he saw, then gradually realizing what had happened—remembering the pistol shot right after Madora had yelled that the Mimbreños were coming.
That was enough, just knowing they were coming, and knowing what they would do from seeing the man strung up across the meadow. That finished him, Flynn thought. At Chancellorsville it was a shelling. That had been bad. But what the Mimbreños had in mind would have been much worse. So…
“Joe…look here.”
Madora was silent for some time looking at Deneen slumped against the tree. The face was beyond recognition, the pistol barrel still jammed into his mouth, his hand still on the trigger. Then Madora shook his head slowly. “When did he do that?”
“Right after you yelled. I remember hearing a shot close, but I thought it was you.”
Madora shook his head again. “Just think, if he’d a put that off one minute he’d be bitchin’ at us for something right now.”
“Maybe,” Flynn said, “he’s done everybody a favor.”
Madora said, looking up, “Here comes Bowers,” and moved out to the edge of the trees.
Flynn started to follow, but he stopped, glancing back at Deneen thinking of Bowers. What good would it do him to see that? Flynn thought. Throwing
it in his face that Deneen was a coward…a Colonel, United States Cavalry. And suddenly he had hurdled the fallen tree trunk and was dragging back the nearest of the dead Mimbreños, lifting him over the trunk, dropping him to the other side, dragging him up facedown over Deneen’s body. He pried Deneen’s hand open, closed the Mimbre’s fist around the gun butt and placed the barrel back—gently—against the gaping teeth-shattered expressionless hole.
Madora was calling, “Red, where in hell did you get that sword?”
Bowers was dismounting as Flynn reached him. He pushed the sword point into the ground, taking the extended hand, grinning, feeling the glory of it, but not wanting to show his excitement.
Flynn smiled back at him, saying, “There was no room for cavalry, but it was cavalry that won after all. How’d you do it with Santana?”
Bowers smiled half self-consciously, even in his cavalry pose, hand resting on the sword hilt. “Santana and I talked for a long time last night,” he said. “We discussed again the battle of Cinco de Mayo at Puebla. We talked of Santana’s military ability—about which he wasn’t the least bit restrained—then we got around to Gettysburg—the second day, if the memory of my father’s words serves me correctly—and I told him about an incident during the Culp’s Hill skirmish.”
Bowers squinted. “Now I think it was Geary’s division of Slocum’s XII Corps holding the hill, with Ewell’s rebel division pinning them down. Ewell couldn’t climb his division up the hill, but neither could Geary get out…and Meade, that’s General George G. Meade, wanted part of Geary’s division over to reinforce Sickles’ end of Cemetery Ridge where Longstreet was hammering. Now there was a fellow named Gregg with some cavalry sent to help out Geary, but he couldn’t see how to get at Ewell, until, from the hill, they spotted a supply train coming up along Rock Creek. They knew Ewell’s scouts would tell him about it and from then on it was timing. Ewell started for the supply wagons and Gregg hit him while his pants were down with umpteen troops of Union Cavalry.” Bowers’ eyes were alive, smiling. “I’ve always considered that would have been some sight to see.” He said then, “Now just casually I mentioned to Santana, ‘If Lazair’s men were to come down that road in the morning, Soldado would sniff him and it would be pretty much the same maneuver, wouldn’t it? And for a military man of your ability, it would be easy as walking.’ That did it. He even dug sabers out of Duro’s storeroom. We knew the Mimbres were in the trees…no other place they could be; so we waited until there was a sign of Lazair’s men far out, then swung out a side street and barreled around that grove of trees.”
“How did Duro react?” Flynn said.
“Duro’s dead. He ran for it during the night. Hilario was watching then…he told him to stop, but Duro kept going, so he shot him. Hilario said someone else ran out ahead of Duro. We’ve been trying to figure out who it could be.” Bowers jerked his thumb over his shoulder vaguely pointing across the meadow. “We didn’t even think of him, but that’s who it must have been.”
From Flynn, “Who is it?”
“Lazair.”
Flynn paused, surprised. “Is he dead?”
Bowers nodded. “Dead as a stone.”
Madora half smiled in his beard, noticing the new, sure-of-himself tone of Bowers’ voice along with the hip-cocked cavalry way he stood. He said, “Red, you might do at that…with a little seasoning.”
Bowers smiled, though he was thinking: Damn, how you have to listen to old men and smile just because they are old men. As if a few more years just naturally makes them wiser. Then he said, because he had to say something, “I hope so, Mr. Madora. I do hope so.” And then, remembering, Bowers said, “Where’s the colonel?”
Flynn stepped aside and nodded into the trees and followed Bowers as he walked in among the pines.
“My God—”
Flynn said nothing. And suddenly, watching Bowers’ face, he was more than glad he had done this—seeing the young lieutenant looking at a soldier’s death—no, more than that, looking at a colonel of cavalry killed in action. When a colonel dies, it’s a bigger thing, Flynn thought. No matter how he dies.
Bowers was saying, “This will head the report,” his voice heavy with respect, “for it isn’t often that a colonel dies this way.”
Flynn looked at him quickly, but only awe and respect were on Bowers’ face and Flynn said, “No, thankfully, it isn’t often.”
Madora came up behind them. He glanced at Flynn after looking down at Deneen, but he said nothing to him. Then to Bowers, “I see Soldado survived…him and about two dozen others. Counting his women up in the hills somewhere, you’ll have about seventy people all told. Red, how do you propose to get ’em to San Carlos?”
“I was thinking of talking Santana into helping as far as the border…have cavalry come down to meet us there.” Bowers smiled. “Hell, Joe, all the fight’s out of those Mimbres. The three of us could take them up, for that matter.”
“You mean the two of us.”
“Two?”
“David here’s talking about doing some prospecting.”
Flynn smiled, but he didn’t deny it.
About the Author
ELMORE LEONARD has written more than three dozen books during his highly successful writing career, including the bestsellers Mr. Paradise, Tishomingo Blues, Be Cool, Get Shorty, and Rum Punch. Many of his books have been made into movies, including Get Shorty and Out of Sight. He is the recipient of the Grand Master Award of the Mystery Writers of America. He lives with his wife, Christine, in Bloomfield Village, Michigan.
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The Bounty Hunters
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Books by Elmore Leonard
Tishomingo Blues
Pagan Babies
Be Cool
The Tonto Woman & Other Western Stories
Cuba Libre
Out of Sight
Riding the Rap
Pronto
Rum Punch
Maximum Bob
Get Shorty
Killshot
Freaky Deaky
Touch
Bandits
Glitz
LaBrava
Stick
Cat Chaser
Split Images
City Primeval
Gold Coast
Gunsights
The Switch
The Hunted
Unknown Man No. 89
Swag
Fifty-two Pickup
Mr. Majestyk
Forty Lashes Less One
Valdez Is Coming
The Moonshine War
The Big Bounce
Hombre
Last Stand at Saber River
Escape from Five Shadows
The Law at Randado
The Bounty Hunters
A Coyote’s in the House
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE BOUNTY HUNTERS. Copyright © 1953 by Elmore Leonard, Inc.; copyright renewed © 1979 by Elmore Leonard, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2004 ISBN: 9780061836794
First HarperTorch paperback printing: April 2002
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