by Jory Sherman
O’Hara listened to this account and was barely breathing as he mulled it over.
He had been watching Trask the whole time and he had now found another one of the man’s weaknesses. Besides a lust for gold, Trask was afraid. Afraid of one man—Zak Cody.
The Shadow Rider.
It was something to keep in mind, and Cody just might turn out to be another ace in the hole.
The eastern sky was a ruddy daub on the horizon. The sun lifted above the earth and the clouds began to fade to a soft salmon color. But the warning was still there. A storm was coming that would turn the hard desert floor to mud.
Trask turned around and looked straight at O’Hara as if he had read his thoughts.
Ted O’Hara smiled, and he saw a sudden flash of anger in Trask’s eyes.
Well, Ted thought, now we know each other, don’t we, Ben Trask?
Trask turned away, and the moment passed. But now Ted felt that he had the upper hand and Trask had no control over the future. Some of the men Trask had counted on were dead. Julio’s wife was a prisoner, and ahead lay a bigger unknown than the location of Cochise’s rumored hoard of gold.
There was tension among the men now, and Ted knew that this was only the beginning. He was glad he was alive so he could see how it all turned out.
Red sky at night, ran silently in his mind, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.
“What are you smirking about?” Cavins asked when he looked at O’Hara.
“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking.”
“Well, don’t think, soldier boy. It might get you dead.”
“If you say so,” O’Hara said amiably, knowing that it was Cavins who was worried about death, not he.
Chapter 19
They rode through the night and into the dawn, Zak, Carmen, and Jimmy Chama. Zak felt the weariness in his shoulders, but there was a tingling in his toes, too, as if they were not getting enough circulation. He knew they had to stop and walk around, flex all their muscles, if they were to continue on to Tucson. It was just barely light enough to see in those moments before dawn. The world was a gray-black mass that had no definition, but still, he had seen something that gave him pause.
Carmen was sagging in her saddle, dozing or deep in sleep, he didn’t know which. Chama kept rubbing his eyes, and every so often his head would droop to his chest and he’d snap it back up again as if to keep from descending into that deep sea of sleep that kept tugging at him with alluring fingers.
The day before, the two had been locked in conversation, speaking Spanish to one another, their voices barely audible to Zak. He supposed it helped them pass the time and made nothing of it. Carmen was their prisoner, but she behaved well, and perhaps he had Chama to thank for that. He heard her mention her husband’s name a time or two, and Chama had spoken his name more than once as well. He figured Carmen missed her husband and welcomed having someone talk to her in her native tongue.
Moments later the dark sky of night paled, then turned bloodred as the rising sun glazed the clouds gathered on the eastern horizon. Light flooded the land with a breathtaking suddenness. Zak stared at the sanguine sunrise for a long moment, caught up in its majesty. He twisted his head and craned his neck to take it all in. A vagrant thought crossed his mind that it was like being a witness to creation itself, watching that first dawn billions of years in the past. Then he turned back to face the west and his gaze scanned the ground, picking up those hoofprints that ranged in the center of the road, bisecting the twin wagon ruts, dusted over by wind and glistening with a faint, ephemeral dew.
The first thing he noticed were the hoofprints. He’d filed them away in his mind a few days ago and had expected to see them, but was surprised at their appearance. They were fresher than they should have been. The edges should have crumbled and been more blurred. No, these were only a couple of hours old, at first glance. He reined in his horse and stepped down out of the saddle to examine them more closely.
Chama halted his horse and leaned out to see what Zak was doing. Carmen also watched, as a little shiver coursed up her spine, a gift of the chill that rose up from the earth.
“Something the matter?” Chama said.
“These tracks. Belong to a horse I watched ride off from one of the line shacks. A horse ridden by a man named Grubb.”
“Slow horse?”
“Maybe. It was kicking up dirt when Grubb rode off.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he should have been in Tucson a day or so ago.”
Zak stood up. He looked at the dawn sky, the clouds beginning to redden as if splashed by barn paint.
“Light down, you two,” he said. He had seen Carmen shiver. “We all need to stretch our legs.”
“I am cold,” Carmen said.
“You will warm up once you get out of the saddle,” Zak said. He looked down at the hoofprints again, measuring them against the age of the wagon tracks. They each told a story, and he could gauge the passage of time. Thoughts flooded his mind. Why had Grubb delayed his journey to Tucson? Had he been following them, watching them from a distance? Why?
Whatever the answers were, Zak felt sure that Grubb would tell Ferguson and Trask that he was coming. He might even know that he had Carmen and Chama with him now. It was likely.
Chama walked around, leading his horse, flexing his legs. Carmen stood there, stamping first one foot, then the other, restoring circulation to her feet. She shook with the chill and flapped her arms against her body like some rain-drenched bird. The coolness rose from the ground as the sky raged in the east, a crimson tapestry so bright it seemed as if that part of the world was drenched in a fiery blood.
Zak stood up and faced the west, peering down the old road. Ahead he could see the place where it converged with the regular stage road between Tucson and Fort Bowie. He walked toward the intersection, leaving Nox standing there, reins trailing.
“I’ll be back, boy,” he said softly, and he caught a sharp look from Chama, who quickly looked away. Zak thought it was an odd look, and he wondered why Chama tried to conceal it. But he shook off the thought as he walked toward the convergence of the two roads.
All of the tracks led there, and he noticed that Grubb’s horse had struck a different gait a few yards down the stage road. Clearly, Grubb had put the horse into a gallop, suddenly in an all-fired hurry, Zak thought.
He glanced briefly back to where Chama and Carmen were waiting. He heard Chama’s voice as he spoke to her. She replied and Zak realized that they were speaking in Spanish. He caught only a word or two, but they made his skin prickle slightly. He heard amigo, followed quickly by its opposite, enemigo, then he heard Chama say, “el gringo Cody,” which surprised him. They were talking about him, he realized, and the knowledge was disturbing. Why were they talking about him? And behind his back? He decided to wait before returning to his horse. The two had their backs turned to him, then he saw Chama step close to Carmen. He glanced over his shoulder back at Cody, then passed something to Carmen, something Zak could not see. He saw Carmen’s arms move as she tucked whatever it was into the sash she wore around her waist. At least that was the way he saw it. Then Chama and Carmen turned and he could see their faces in profile. Carmen glanced his way, then averted her eyes quickly as she said something to Chama.
Her voice carried and Zak clearly heard a single question word float from her lips.
“Cuando?” she said.
And Zak translated instantly. When?
He did not hear Chama’s reply, which was only a whisper, but he tried to fathom what Chama said by studying his lips. As near as he could figure, Chama had said, “Espera.”
“Wait.”
Wait for what? Zak wondered. What had Chama given Carmen, who was their prisoner?
Zak knew they were not far from Tucson. Another two hours ride, maybe less. But he was on his guard now. Something was going on between Chama and Carmen. And it was very puzzling at that early hour. He started walking
back to his horse, and the two of them separated. Carmen walked around, stretching out first one leg, then the other. Chama ran a finger under his cinch, grabbed his saddle horn and rocked it to see if it was still on tight.
“What do you see down there?” Chama asked.
“Just where the two roads join up into a single road. Where the stage runs to the fort.”
“Yes,” Chama said.
“You and Carmen had words?”
“I spoke to her. She misses her husband. She is afraid.”
“She will see him soon enough. Tucson’s not far now.”
“What will you do when you get there?”
Carmen turned and drifted closer to the two men. The sky was bloodred, sprawling over the entire eastern horizon like a burgundy banner, the red deepening to a crimson stain.
“See Ferguson. Call him to account. See if Lieutenant O’Hara is a prisoner there.”
“You might be walking into something bad. Something dangerous.”
“If so, I’ve walked that way before, Chama.”
“Yes. I am certain that you have.”
“You don’t have to be with me.”
“I, too, wish to find the lieutenant.”
Zak knew Chama was lying. He spoke, but his words were empty, without conviction. Odd, he thought. Why would Chama lie about such a thing? And why now?”
“You don’t know O’Hara, do you, Jimmy?”
“No, I don’t know him.”
“Why should you care what happens to him?”
Chama shrugged, as if to get Zak off the subject of Ted O’Hara.
“I guess I don’t know you, either, Chama,” Zak said. He would push Chama a little, see what he had in his craw.
“How can one man really know another?”
“Sometimes a man has to make quick judgments,” Zak said.
“And how do you judge me, Zak?”
“I don’t even have to think about that one. You come out of nowhere, with a story about being a half-breed, and I can either accept that at face value or carry a big suspicion around with me.”
“And do you carry a big suspicion with you?”
Carmen walked over to the two men, stood some distance away from them. Zak noticed a slight bulge under the sash she wore around her waist. He couldn’t tell from its outline what it was, but it looked a lot like a small pistol, a Derringer maybe, or a Lady Colt, or one of those small pistols Smith & Wesson made for women.
“I didn’t,” Zak said, “until you started lying about O’Hara.”
“Lying?”
“It looks that way to me. I don’t think you give a damn about O’Hara, and I think if you did run into him, you’d probably shoot him dead on the spot.”
“What makes you think that?”
“A dog has reasons for running after something. I think you ran after me for a reason and it has nothing to do with the lieutenant or the Chiricahua.”
“A man can’t fight suspicion. It’s like a shadow when the sun is shining. It moves, but it will not go away.”
“Maybe you’d better make your intentions plain, Chama, before we go any farther down the road.”
Chama stiffened as if slapped. The skin on his face tautened and a hard look came into his eyes, like a shadow drifting across the sun.
“This is as far as you go, Cody,” Chama said. He cocked his right hand so it hovered just over the butt of his pistol. Zak saw Carmen jerk straight and her right hand brush against the top of her sash.
Zak looked at the two without making a move himself. Seconds ticked by, and it was so quiet, it seemed all three were holding their breaths at the same time.
“Maybe you’d better think about that for a minute, Chama,” Zak said evenly. “Words like you just said can shorten a man’s life real quick.”
“I have thought about it, Cody. End of the line for you. Sorry.”
“Any reason?”
Carmen spoke, to both men’s surprise.
“You killed his brother, Cody, you bastard.”
“That so?” Zak said, looking straight at Chama. “It’s news to me.”
“Felipe Lopez,” Chama said.
“He was your brother?”
“My half brother. We had the same mother. I loved him.”
“Like you, Chama, Felipe had a choice. To live or die.”
“I do not know how you did it. I know I found him dead, and your tracks.”
“So, you tracked me, and waited. Why now?”
“Because you will not get to Tucson alive. There is too much at stake. I want Hiram to win this one. The Apaches are our enemy.”
“You are not Apache,” Zak said.
Chama spat, his features crinkled in disgust.
“Filth,” he said.
“You have the Indian blood.”
“Not Apache. They killed my parents, held me and Felipe prisoner until we both became men and got away from them. I have the Comanche blood.”
Suddenly it all became clear. Zak understood. He had allowed himself to be duped. He had believed Chama’s story. But there had been no reason to doubt it. He took a man at his word until he proved out as a liar. Now Chama had proven out.
“I guess you got cause to hate, Chama,” Zak said.
“You are in the way, Cody, and you killed my brother. Now you will die.”
Zak looked at Carmen, then back to Chama.
“Two against one, I reckon.”
“Yes,” Chama said, and gone was the sleepiness, the fatigue. Carmen had brightened up, too, was licking her lips like a hungry cat.
These two meant to kill him, for sure, gun him down like a dog and leave him for wolf meat.
Still, Zak did not move. He knew he did not have to, just yet.
The hand had been dealt. And, in death, as in life, the hand had to be played out.
He was ready.
Fate would decide who had the better hand.
Zak knew that when it came to a showdown, most men often made a fatal mistake in that moment just before a gun was drawn or a trigger pulled.
And that gave him the advantage. Always.
Chapter 20
The eastern sky drained its blood, turned to ashes. Tiny mares’ tails began to etch the sky with Arabic scrawls of stormy portent. Zak did not look up at the wisps, but kept his gaze fastened on Chama and Carmen. A slight breeze began to rise, its fingers tousling Carmen’s hair as she stood there, her face a mask of defiance and determination.
“Tell me, Chama,” Zak said, “did you have anything to do with Lieutenant O’Hara’s capture? You carry yourself like a military man.”
“I was there, yes. I told Ben where the patrol would be and when the best time would be to take O’Hara prisoner.”
“You’re a deserter, then,” Zak said.
Chama shrugged. “I have done my time in the army. I was a sergeant. A good place for a spy like me, do you not think? That is finished. I go now to fight the Apache, to help Hiram and Ben wipe them out. To take their gold.”
Zak caught the boastful tone in Chama’s voice. Let him brag, he thought.
“The Chiricahua have no gold.”
“Cochise has gold. Much gold.”
Zak suppressed a laugh. This was far too serious for humor.
“That is an old wives’ tale. A lie,” Zak said. “Rather, it is a lie made by white men to turn the settlers against Cochise. He has no gold, beyond a few trinkets.”
“That is not what Trask and Ferguson believe. And I think O’Hara knows where that gold is. He will tell us. We will find it.”
“Not a good reason to die, Chama. For a pile of gold that is only a fairy tale told by white men.”
“As I told you, Cody, this is as far as you go. We are two against one, Carmen and I. You can drop your gun now and I will let you walk away. We will keep your horse.”
“My horse is worth more than any Apache gold,” Zak said softly.
“He is not worth your life, Cody.”
“Chama,
let me ask you something before you draw your pistol.”
“Ask,” Chama said, flexing the fingers of his gun hand. “You do not have much time, gringo.”
It was funny, Zak thought, how quickly people could change, how swiftly they could change their colors, like a chameleon. Chama had all these pent-up emotions inside of him that he had been carrying for many miles. Now, in the light of a new day, he had reverted to what he always was, a lying, scheming, shifty sonofabitch with murder on his mind.
“Ever stand on a high cliff and look down, wonder what it would be like to fall about a hundred feet onto the rocks below?” Zak asked.
“No, I never have done that. You ask a strange question. Why? Do you have the fear of falling, Cody?”
“No. I was just thinking to myself about you. And me.”
“There is nothing to think about,” Chama said.
“Chama, I’m that tall cliff, and you’re standing right on the edge of it, about to fall right off. Only in your case, you’re never going to see the ground before you hit it.”
The expression on Chama’s face changed as he realized what Zak had said. In that moment, he knew that Zak had turned the tables on him. Zak was calling him out, not the other way around.
“All right,” Chama said, and went into a crouch. As he did, his right hand stabbed downward for the butt of his pistol.
Zak was facing the sunrise, but he did not look at it. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on Chama, and in the periphery of his vision, on Carmen. He was aware of Chama’s intentions with the first twitch of his hand, which echoed on his face like a tic.
Zak stood straight, his gaze locked on Chama’s flickering eyes. But in one smooth motion his hand snaked down to his pistol, drew it from its holster as if it was oiled, his thumb cocking it before it cleared leather.
Carmen was slow to react, but she saw Chama grab for his pistol and she became galvanized into action. Her hand slid inside her sash, grasped the butt of the pistol Chama had given her and began to slide it upward. She appeared to be moving fast, but in that warped time frame when death dangles by a slender hair, her motion was much too slow, like an inching snail trying to escape a juggernaut.