The Other Side of Life

by Andy Kutler

  Cal held his glare, defiant.

  Veras’ feigned humor was gone. “One more time, Teniente. It will be the last time. On…your…horse.”

  One of the nearby men cocked the pistol he was aiming at Cal’s head.

  Cal held his ground. If they wanted him dead, they would have shot him right there and then. He could feel his heart racing and though he had fired his weapons against the Navajos on several occasions, he had never before felt so…violent. He wanted this man’s blood. But reason began to take hold, forcing him to acknowledge that there was just too many of them. And if Veras was ever to receive the justice he deserved, Cal would have to relent for now. Defeated, he let go of Bruer’s body, the current quickly sweeping it away, and slowly climbed back on his horse. He never lifted his glare from Veras. The Mexican nudged his horse into the water, alongside Cal, a dark, taunting smile on his lips.

  “Cobarde,” Veras said to his men with a laugh.

  Cal didn’t understand the word but the tone told him everything he needed to know. With no other weapons, he spat at the Mexican. Veras’ hand went to his face, now twisted in fury. His men raised their weapons.

  “Alto! No disparen!”

  The Mexican removed a soiled cloth from his pocket and wiped the spittle from his cheek, throwing the cloth away. He hefted the shotgun.

  “Pity, after shooting your man, my weapon is now unloaded.”

  In one fluid motion, Veras flipped the shotgun in the air, the barrel falling smoothly into his gloved hand. He then slammed the heavy stock just above Cal’s knee. There was a sharp crack, painful enough to send Cal from his horse. He cried out in agony before falling into the water headfirst, the water muffling his screams. Two of the Mexicans lifted him to the surface, tying his wrists with a length of rope as he coughed the water from his lungs. He was clubbed in the head, knocking him unconscious, and thrown over his own saddle.

  Even from a distance, Hiram Travers could hear the striking of wood on bone. He looked through the sights of his carbine. He was a decent shot, and the Sharps he was shouldering was a good enough weapon. He was within range of Garrity and could have put him down for good with a single volley. But that would have brought unwelcome attention from the Mexicans and he wasn’t sure he could outride them.

  Besides, they’ll either hang Garrity or leave him to die in a cell.

  Hell, they may even torture him a bit.

  A smile crossed his lips. Fate was solving his problem for the day, and there was no need for Travers to risk himself further. He eased the hammer forward and uncocked the weapon.

  The group began moving southward. The corpse of Sergeant Ernst Bruer was no longer visible, and Travers knew that nature would eventually run its course, the animals sure to pick the man clean. Bruer was a good soldier but Travers felt little for him, too caught up in his own relief, feeling the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.

  The Mexicans were almost out of sight now and the rain started coming down in sheets again. Travers rose from his concealed position and returned to his horse, anxious to report the sealed fate of Lieutenant Garrity.

  ***

  Ethan raised his hand, bringing the column to an abrupt halt. Three riders were coming in fast. He was surprised at how quickly Travers had found Cal and the others. The column had not even made the first settlement yet.

  He had been stewing for hours now. Ethan truly had thought that his warning to the full company, stern but measured, would have made each man think twice about jumping a picket line. Clearly he had been wrong. Dukes would receive his just punishment but it was Cal who had him this agitated. His best friend, intent on deceiving him, clearly believing he could bring Dukes back before the man’s absence was noted.

  As the incoming riders drew close, Ethan could see Travers out front, but it wasn’t Cal and Corporal Bruer or even Leland Dukes trailing him. It was Terrell and the new man, Kelsey.

  Son of a bitch. Travers lost them.

  And then Ethan saw their faces. Something was wrong. Even the eternally cheerful Terrell was grim, and his lead scout would not leave the column without eyes unless he had good cause.

  “What happened?” Ethan demanded as the three reared up, their horses winded.

  “The lieutenant and Sergeant Bruer are dead, Sir,” said Travers, visibly upset.

  Ethan suddenly felt cold. “What?”

  “Dead, Sir. Apaches. I got there too late, Captain. It’s my fault. I should have picked up their trail sooner.”

  TJ and Whitaker rode up, sensing something was amiss. “What is it?” asked Whitaker.

  Ethan didn’t respond, his eyes distant and disbelieving.

  “Lieutenant Garrity,” answered Travers for him. “He and Bruer were caught by a band of Apaches. Butchered.”

  The officers sat motionless, each stunned into silence.

  “Are you sure they’re dead?” TJ asked finally.

  “Yes, Sir. Saw it myself.” He looked at Ethan. “I’m sorry, Sir, I know you and the lieutenant were friendly.”

  “What the hell happened?” Ethan said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

  Travers removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I tracked them down just on our side of the border. Maybe a mile, maybe less. The Apaches already had them. They was down on their knees, tied up, and I think the lieutenant had a shoulder wound. I stayed back behind the rocks, about a hundred yards away. I wanted to get closer, but even with the rain, there weren’t no cover, and my horse was acting up with all that thunder. Might have given me away. They looked like they were asking Bruer and the lieutenant some questions. Couldn’t tell if they was refusing to answer or just couldn’t understand. Apaches were already jumpy, but something the lieutenant said got them mad. Real mad. An older chief tried to keep those braves calm, but one young buck stuck a knife in Mr. Garrity. The others joined in. Started hacking the two of them with knives and tomahawks. They went down, but the Apaches kept hacking.”

  Travers shook his head. “I couldn’t keep watching.”

  “Why didn’t you do anything?” asked TJ in disgust. “You were in rifle range if you could see all that.”

  “Like I said, they was a hundred yards away, Lieutenant, and the rain was coming down in buckets. There was twenty of them. No way could I have saved them, and no way could I have gotten away.”

  “He’s right, TJ,” said Whitaker. “Nothing he could do. Ethan, I’ll take my platoon to recover the bodies.”

  Travers shook his head. “Won’t do no good, Lieutenant. As soon as the Apaches left, the buzzards set on them. Coyotes, by now. I thought I best get back here in case the captain wanted me to lead you to hunt down those heathens.”

  “What do we do?” asked TJ.

  There was no response.

  “Ethan,” prodded Whitaker softly.

  Ethan lifted his head, his eyes still glazed. His voice was low and flat, devoid of any emotion.

  “Sundown is less than an hour from now, we’ll have to bivouac soon. That means they’ll be at least a day ahead of us. We could be out here for a week or more, and we don’t have the provisions for that kind of pursuit. So we’ll double time back to Chance in the morning, re-supply, and flush the Apaches from wherever they’re hiding. We’ll cross that god damned border if we have to. Whit, TJ, we’ll camp right here. Feed the men, keep the pickets doubled. We’ll move out before first light. Travers, take command of Cal’s platoon.”

  The three men silently nodded their understanding and left to carry out his orders. Terrell cleared his throat.

  “Capitaine, I require a fresh horse.”

  Ethan regarded the Frenchman. “No. There’s too much cloud cover out there, you won’t have a moon. You’ll be no use.”

  “I will find the Apaches, and when you come back, I will bring you to them.”

  Ethan rubbed the back of his head, and after a few moments gave in. “Get a new mount. Draw whatever supplies you need. We’ll be back in three, maybe four day
s. Find those damned savages and then find us.”

  Terrell gave him the formal French salute, palm facing outward and fingertips to the temple. He rode away, leaving Ethan alone with Kelsey.

  “I can’t believe he’s dead,” said Ethan, his voice quivering. “Cal shouldn’t have even been out here. Should have been home in Virginia.” A pause. “What am I going to tell Emily?”

  “That her husband died in the line of duty. She doesn’t need the details.”

  Ethan nodded glumly. He turned his horse and Kelsey quickly did the same. Ethan waved him off. “Stay here. I need some time alone.” He spurred his horse forward and slowly made his way toward the setting sun, his head slumped forward.

  ***

  Kelsey was returning to his own bedroll when something caught his eye. Something in the shadows. It was mostly a silhouette, some fifty feet away, but even in the darkness Kelsey knew the large figure could only be one person.

  The man made his way to a cluster of trees just inside the camp perimeter. Kelsey followed discreetly, carefully stepping over the sleeping men scattered across the bivouac site. When Travers stopped, so did Kelsey, pressing himself against a large cedar tree. He pulled his Colt revolver from the holster, his fingers gently twisting the cylinder. He knew it was loaded, and though it had been years since he had pulled a trigger, he knew he would not miss at this distance, even in the darkness. As chance would have it, he had fired quite a few Colts in his lifetime.

  Travers had stopped to chat with one of the guards. Pickets, Terrell had called them. He then moved further away from the perimeter, with Kelsey following, and began undoing his trousers.

  As Travers relieved himself, Kelsey crouched behind a large boulder, close enough to hear the man’s stream hitting the underbrush. Kelsey raised his revolver and pulled back the hammer, silently praying the sound of the metallic action would not carry across the short distance.

  He would be discovered immediately. Even in this moonless night he could not evade the sentries, and the warmth of his gun barrel would cement his guilt. No, there would be no escape from this.

  Do I give a damn?

  He stretched out his arm, taking careful aim as he squeezed his right eye closed. The target danced in his gun sight. But Travers wasn’t moving, and as Kelsey shifted his eyes, he could see his own hand trembling, unable to hold the barrel still. Travers had already finished up, turning around as he tucked his blouse into his trousers. Kelsey lowered the weapon, easing the hammer down so as to minimize the noise.

  A few long strides and Travers was back inside the picket line.

  Kelsey cursed to himself and slammed his fist to the ground.

  ***

  It was the middle of the afternoon when the company returned to Camp Chance. As the despondent column filed through the main approach and toward the stables, Ethan’s eyes darted anxiously across the camp. He dreaded the notion of this conversation, but he wanted Emily to hear it from him.

  He instructed Travers to have the horses fed and watered, and told Whitaker and TJ to requisition the needed rations and other provisions from the Quartermaster. Ethan hoped Gaylord would send him back out within a couple of hours. He handed his reins to Kirch and headed to the command post. His heart sank when he saw Emily waiting to intercept him, wiping her hands on a flour-covered apron tied around her waist.

  “Welcome home,” she greeted him cheerfully, giving Ethan a peck on the cheek. “Two days early. That’s a first.”

  “Emily.”

  She looked past him, to where his men were leading their mounts toward the water troughs.

  “Where’s Cal? He received another letter from home. Opened again, I might add.”

  “Emily.” Ethan was looking at his feet.

  “What—” She stopped suddenly, registering the catch in his voice. “Good Lord, Ethan, what is it?” Her smile vanished and she lifted his chin with her hand. “Where’s Cal, Ethan?”

  Ethan looked into her eyes and spoke in a whisper. “He was killed two days ago. Apaches.”

  Emily blanched, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Emily.”

  He expected tears. Perhaps denial or even hysterics. In Colorado, he had seen wives receive similar news. One had first vomited on a colonel’s boots before fainting. Another ran to the post commander’s quarters and inexplicably threw rocks against the door and windows.

  There was none of that here. Emily absorbed the news wordlessly, staring past him, her eyes vacant. Several moments passed, and then her mouth began to quiver, but still she made no sound, remaining motionless. Others were watching now, word spreading fast across the camp, and they stood still, respectfully, watching her, not one of them moving an inch. It was as if the entire camp was frozen in time, not a sound to be heard other than a dog barking in the distance.

  He needed to say something. Anything, to fill the silence, but there was nothing to say.

  “Emily,” he started, but she instantly raised the palm of her hand, cutting him off. And then the first tears appeared, and after that, it was as if the flood gates had opened, as she began sobbing uncontrollably, falling to her knees as her anguished wails carried across the grieving camp. A camp that was quickly enveloped by a pall of stunned sadness.

  ***

  Nathan Gaylord struck a match and pressed the flame into his pipe, inhaling the rich cherry tobacco. Ethan stood in front of his desk, having just presented his report, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice.

  “A tragic loss, Captain,” said Major Thatch, seated in a worn leather chair facing Gaylord. “But you handled things correctly, returning to the post. Why don’t you take tomorrow off, allow Mr. Whitaker to handle your duties.”

  Ethan didn’t respond, instead keeping his attention on Gaylord, who had swiveled his chair around so he could stare out the large window. He puffed away on his pipe, seemingly disengaged from the discussion.

  “Colonel, I’ve already begun re-provisioning my company, and with your permission, we can move out within the hour.”

  “Permission denied, Captain,” said Thatch.

  Ethan turned to him. “I’m asking the colonel.”

  “What exactly do you intend to do?” persisted Thatch. “Ride into Mexico? Because if those were Apaches, that is most certainly where they fled. And what happens when you come into contact with the Mexican Army? Do you think Washington wants us stirring up that sort of trouble at this moment? Goodness man, are you aware of what is happening on the other side of this country?”

  “This is about justice!”

  “It sounds more like it is about vengeance, Captain, and good judgment clouded by blind friendship.”

  Ethan glared at the man.

  You priggish, condescending weasel, he wanted to say.

  Instead, he wisely held his tongue and turned back to Gaylord. “Damn it, Sir, we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  He waited for Gaylord to endorse his request. How could he not? Instead, the old cavalryman just sat there, calmly sucking his pipe as he continued to gaze out at the parade ground, not a solider in sight on a Sunday afternoon.

  “Yes, we can, Captain,” responded Thatch for him. “What purpose would your actions serve? Lieutenant Garrity is dead. It is a damn shame, and I am truly sorry, but there is indeed, nothing we can do about it.”

  “Colonel?”

  Answer me, damn you.

  Gaylord finally swiveled around to face them and tapped a communiqué on his desk. “This arrived yesterday from General Cardin. Until further notice, there will be no excursions in force. Only extraordinary exceptions. We are not to engage the Indians unless absolutely necessary. You can surmise that would include Mexican soldiers as well.”

  “That undoubtedly originated with the general staff in Washington,” Thatch added, a note of triumph in his voice.

  “Moreover,” continued Gaylord, unhappy with the interruption, “we are to begin preparations for offering discharges to
the enlisted men from the states that have seceded. That will, as you know, reduce our strength significantly.”

  “Sir, I am sure the men from the South will be among the first to volunteer to join me.”

  “Orders, Captain,” said Gaylord, with resignation in his voice. “Orders.”

  He would not give up. “What will it say, Colonel, when a highly respected Army officer is murdered by Apaches, and there is no response and no reprisal? What about the personal risk now to every soldier in this territory? What message are you sending the Apaches?”

  Gaylord began to respond but it was Thatch again who spoke first. “General Cardin has made clear—”

  “General Cardin is two hundred miles away,” Ethan said, his voice taut. “Cal was our brother officer, for God’s sake.”

  “Enough!” shouted Gaylord, slapping his desk with an open palm. “Enough. Major Thatch is correct. We have our orders. Your company will stand down.”

  Ethan stared in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Surely—”

  “Watch your impertinence, Captain,” snapped Thatch.

  Ethan bit off his words. He was seething now, gripping his saber handle tightly as he considered running Thatch through with it. But he was more dismayed by Gaylord’s apathy. This wasn’t the man he knew. The man he admired so much.

  But the colonel’s tone made clear there was no room for further discussion and Ethan’s shoulders sagged in defeat. There was nothing more he could do here. He came to attention, barely, offering a salute that was half-hearted at best. Gaylord returned it, avoiding Ethan’s eyes as the junior officer turned on his heels and moved to the door. He stopped as his hand came to rest on the doorknob.

  “What the hell is happening to this army?” he asked to no one in particular, without turning around. He marched out, slamming the door behind him.

  That was a final straw for Thatch who moved to follow.

  Gaylord held up a hand. “Let him go.”

  “That is borderline insubordination,” sputtered Thatch.

  “Nothing borderline about it. And I agree with every word he said. Give him some space, Major. That is an order.”