L'Amour, Louis - Novel 011

by Last Stand At Papago Wells

  Beaupre, aroused from partial sleep by the movement, picked up his rifle and joined them. Hidden behind rocks and in brush, they waited. Minutes ticked by, and nothing happened; the morning was still cool and pleasant, the desert was innocent of movement. Nothing stirred out there, not even a dust-devil. And there was no sound.

  Ten minutes, twenty minutes passed. A fly buzzed near and lit on a rock just ahead of Cates. He was getting stiff from holding his position.

  Half an hour went by and the waiting men were growing restless. A bird lit in the brush some fifty feet away and began preening his feathers. Down at the fire the breaking of branches for fuel made loud sounds in the still morning. Big Maria and Jennifer were talking, their voices carrying clearly to the watching men.

  Cates cleared his throat soundlessly and drew a deep breath. Zimmerman was getting out his tobacco and the tops of the western peaks were growing yellow and pink from the rising sun. Lonnie yawned and shifted his position a little.

  The bird suddenly took off, flying straight up and then away, and the Apaches came with a rush.

  They started out of the sand and brush where nothing had seemed to be, and they were not thirty yards from the line of defense in the lava rocks. They had been expecting one guard, at most two, and they ran head on into a withering blast of fire. Logan Cates fired at Churupati, whom he saw plainly, and the bullet missed, knocking down an Indian behind him. And then the Apaches were in the rocks and it was hand to hand and every man for himself.

  An Apache came over the rocks almost as Catess first shot sounded. He grabbed at Catess rifle barrel and Cates kicked him in the groin, then swung the rifle barrel sidewise and caught the Indian across the skull. He fired instantly at another, saw him stagger, and then suddenly they were gone and there was nothing in sight but a couple of trails of blood on the sand where Indians had been shot down and dragged away.

  They were gone ... even the one he had slugged with the rifle barrel. Somehow he had rolled over and lost himself in the rocks. There was nothing to indicate there had been an attack but the trails of bloody sand, the acrid smell of gunsmoke in the clear morning air, and Styles.

  Styles was down, an arrow in his chest. Lonnie was sitting sidewise, his back to a boulder, bandaging a burned wrist.

  "How manyd we get?" Conley wondered.

  "Two, three," Cates replied. "Maybe three or four wounded."

  "Howd you guess they were comin?" Foreman asked.

  "Hunch ... saw a bush move, figured maybe this was the place and time."

  "And what now?" Kimbrough asked, watching Zimmerman lift the wounded Styles to carry him to the fire.

  "We wait, and watch the horses. Theyll try for them again now."

  Beaupre had gone back to his bedroll. The desert was still. Jennifer climbed the rocks with a cup of coffee and a piece of beef. Squatting on his heels, Cates ate hungrily.

  Conley and Kimbrough had waited. Lonnie finished bandaging his wrist and took the coffee Jennifer offered him. "What chances have we?" Jennifer asked.

  "Better than even, Id say, if we sit tight."

  "Can they get at us?"

  "If we let down for a minute, theyll be in here."

  Conley got up. "Ill go down with the horses." He ducked from rock to rock, drew one bullet, seemingly from out of nowhere, but grinned over his shoulder at them as he dropped from sight, heading for the arroyo.

  Zimmerman climbed back up to the rocks. He moved with ease despite his size, handling himself without effort. Squatting down, he stuffed his pipe. His jowls were black with beard. "Styless losin blood," he said. "I think hes had it."

  "Big Marias working on him," Lonnie said.

  "Yeah," Zimmerman struck a light and drew deep on the pipe. "Notice them saddlebags of hers? Mighty heavy, Id say."

  Kimbrough glanced at him. "None of our business," he said.

  "Maybe. And maybe Im curious. Bags that heavyId say theyd have gold in em. Maybe they would."

  Nobody said anything, and Logan Cates kept his eyes busy searching the desert. He might have guessed Zimmerman would have noticed. There would be trouble now. To a man obviously out of tune with the Army, as Zimmerman was, the gold would offer an escape route.

  There was a burst of firing from the direction of the horses, then silence. Later, there was a single shot from where Lugo lay among the rocks.

  The sun was up. It was going to be a hot day. Taylor crawled up beside them. "Waters dropped," he said. "Two inches, anyway. Anybody think about that? Theres a lot of us here, theres the horses. We use a lot. It wont last forever."

  Logan Cates had been thinking about that water. All three tanks were wider at top than at bottom. The lower tank where the horses were watered was very shallow, and although there was water in the other tanks, they had a large party, considering the source of supply, and the water would not last forever.

  Could they outlast the Apaches? Knowing them, Cates had no desire to try, and yet there might be no alternative. Zimmerman was hatching some idea in that heavy brain of his, Taylor was surly, and Beaupre was watching Taylor like the tough old wolf he was. Trouble could break loose at any moment. As for Big Maria, she made Cates uneasy, and he could not tell exactly why.

  The sun was higher now, and it was hot. He mopped sweat from his brow and cursed the heat, the dust, and the situation, cursed under his breath, for whatever happened he must not let them see anything but a good face and a confident one.

  "I wish theyd attack," Kimbrough said.

  Cates glanced at him. A little of the polish was gone. Without a shave he looked irritable and somehow weaker than he had. The clothes that had been so dressy now looked worse than his own, and somehow it made the whole man seem shabby, down-at-heel.

  The heat waves shimmered in the distance and overhead a lone buzzard wheeled, waiting.

  Chapter Nine

  Styles was dying, and he was delirious. They all knew he was dying, and by now the Apaches knew it also. Sometimes he cried out, his voice rising in a thin, wavering wail in the still, hot air of the desert. Junie sat beside him, putting damp cloths on his brow and sponging his face at intervals.

  Grant Kimbrough paced restlessly. His coat was thrown aside and his shirt sleeves rolled up. The gun he wore was visible now and Logan Cates noticed it thoughtfully. It was a gun that had seen much use. Kimbroughs face was haggard and he was unshaven. There was an impatience in him that had not been obvious before.

  The heat, the waiting, the expectation of attack and the cries of the dying man were affecting them all. Overhead the buzzard had been joined by another ... they swept in wide, loose circles against the heat-glazed sky. Nothing happened.

  Kimbrough turned suddenly on Cates. "Weve got to get out of here!" He was almost shouting. "We cant stay any longer!"

  "Sorry."

  Kimbrough glared at him, then strode away, his back stiff with fury.

  Jennifer came to him from near the fire. "Logan," her use of his first name startled him, "theres not much food left."

  "How much?"

  "Enough for today, and a little for tomorrow."

  He should have been thinking of that. Nobody had carried much food and they had been stretching it out as far as possible. That it had lasted this long was surprising, and at least partially due to the fact that there was too much else to worry about and so nobody had eaten more than a few bites. It was necessary to maintain a constant watch. Their position was secure only so long as they were vigilant, for they were in the arroyo and once an Apache was able to reach the edge of it all their positions became untenable.

  So then ... they might have to make a run for it after all.

  How slim their chances would be once they left this trough in the rocks he well knew. Beaupre and Lugo knew also, and Sheehan. How much the others knew he could only guess, but Kimbrough, Taylor and Zimmerman all wanted to be moving. Yet once in the open, tied down by the few horses they had, they would be sitting ducks for the Apaches. All the Indians needed to
do was hang off on their flanks and pick them off as opportunity offered.

  No ... they must stay here.

  Even as he made the decision, he kept his mind open, hoping for a chance, for some other way out. South, as had been suggested? But what then? There was no place to go for many, many miles. Only an empty, deserted shore, sandy and miserable with intense heat, doubtful water supplies and only the faint hope of sighting a fishing boat from the south or a steamer headed for the mouth of the Colorado.

  "Well," Zimmerman asked, "what do we do? Stay here and starve, or make a run for it?"

  Grant Kimbrough glanced up at him from his seat by the fire, his face expressionless. "Yes, leader," there was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, "wed like to know? What do we do now?"

  "We sit tight."

  "Damn it, man!" Taylor sprang to his feet. "Are you crazy? Well all starve to death or be picked off one at a time, like that poor soldier! I move we hit the desert and hit running!"

  "What about the women?" Cates asked mildly.

  Taylors eyes shifted, and he looked angry, but he was a Stubborn man. "I move we run for it," he said.

  "How much chance would we have in the open?" Cates asked. "Not much, Id say. And how much water could we carry?"

  "Im ready to go any time," Webb said. "I dont believe theres more than half a dozen Paches out there."

  "We stay," Cates said. "We sit tight."

  "You stay!" Zimmerman was ugly. "Im goin and Im goin now!"

  "And Ill go with him!" Webb declared.

  "If you go," Cates said, "youll have to walk. No horses are leaving here."

  Zimmerman turned slowly. He looked at Cates with a slow, measuring glance. "I say Ill ride out of here," he said softly, "and I think Ill ride that zebra dun."

  Grant Kimbrough leaned back on his elbow, a faintly amused expression on his face.

  Sheehan, Beaupre and Lugo were away on watch or sleeping. Lonnie Foreman was up in the rocks. Those who remained were against him, except perhaps the women. Logan Cates stood flatfooted, his feet a little apart. He was going to have to kill Zimmerman ... he could see it coming and he did not want to do it. The big soldier started forward and Webb moved a little to the left and Logan Cates stepped back a little, his hand poised over his six-shooter. "Id get back if I were you," he said coolly. "I dont want to kill either of you. We need you."

  "We dont need you!" Zimmerman said, grinning. "And you wont draw."

  "Thats right," Kimbrough said quietly, "he wont."

  It was unexpected ... Kimbroughs pistol covered Cates.

  "Grant!" Jennifer cried out. "No!"

  "Theyre right, Jennifer," Kimbrough said, "weve got to ride out of here. Its our only chance. Take his gun, Zimmerman."

  "No."

  Junie Hatchett had Big Marias shotgun and she was holding it as if she knew how to use it. The shotgun was aimed at Kimbrough and the range was no more than thirty feet.

  "You drop that gun, Mister Kimbrough, and you drop it now. You make yourself a move and Ill cut your head off. The second barrel goes for him." She jerked her head to indicate Zimmerman. "And if you dont think Ill do it, you just hold that pistol until I count two. One, t"

  Kimbrough backed up, his face sullen. "You better not go to sleep, Cates," he said. "If you do, Ill kill you."

  "When hes asleep," Junie said, "Ill be awake, mister."

  As they moved away, Cates turned to Junie Hatchett. "Thanks," he said simply.

  She glanced at him. "If anybody can get us out of here," she said, "itll be you."

  Jennifer looked after her as the girl returned to the fire. "I see what you meant," Jennifer said. "There is iron in her." She hesitated. "Do you think she would have shot Grant?"

  Cates nodded grimly. "Shed have shot him. She would have done just what she said she would, and whats more, they both knew it. Her finger was taking up slack when he dropped that pistol."

  "I cant understand it." Jennifer said, frowning. "What could have come over Grant?"

  Logan Cates let his eyes wander along the edges of the arroyo. "Maybe he got carried away," Cates suggested dryly. "Its times like this that bring a man face to face with himself."

  The sun flared like a burnished sword and the sky was like a white-hot sheet of steel. Around them the lava grew too hot to touch and they led the horses to water, and returned them again to the thin shade in the lower arroyo. During all this time the desert stirred with no sound, the Apaches gave no indication of their presence and no quail called nor did the wind blow, nor did any stone rattle in the parched silence. The thirsty sky drank of the pools, and the people at the water holes drank, and the water seemed to fall away beneath them.

  In the late afternoon a restless Conley, tired of sitting and watching where nothing was, lifted his head a little to peer at a cluster of rocks and brush. The report of the rifle was thin in the great silence and distance, a little, lost sound in the emptiness. The young soldier fell, tumbling down among the rocks, and there lay still.

  Jennifer was first to reach him, then Big Maria and Cates.

  Maria looked up. "Just burned him," she said. "Hell be all right."

  Cates descended into the lower arroyo. Beaupre was resting in the shade. Lugo was crouched immovable against a rock face. Cates squatted beside him. "What d you think? How many are out there?"

  Tony Lugo shrugged. "I think twenty ... more, maybe. I think Churupati wont attack with less."

  "We need food," Cates said. "Ill try it tonight."

  "You get kill."

  "No." Cates indicated a thin spot in the brush near the base of a smoke tree. "I go down the arroyo, tell nobody but you. I can go like an Indian. With the glasses I have seen some mountain sheep south of here. They want to come for water and they wait to see if we will go away. I think I can find them."

  "Theyll hear the gun."

  "No. Im going to use a bow and arrow. I have used them many times when I lived among the Cheyenne."

  "I make. You let me go."

  "No, Ill go. But you can make it. If I started, they would be wondering why. I dont want anyone to know where I am, you understand?"

  The need for food was serious. A few days might make all the difference, and Logan Cates knew that by now there was doubt in Yuma. The sheriffs posse had not returned, and already there would be talk of sending out another group to find the first ... or their bodies.

  The disappearance of the soldiers at the same time would immediately alert the people at Yuma to the probability of an Indian attack. All travel from the east would have ceased also, and these indications would be sufficient to allow them to understand what had happened. There were not enough men at the Fort to send out an expedition, but combined with what civilians could be sent out there would be a good-sized party.

  There was every chance for survival if they could wait the Indians out. Up to now the fight was all on the side of the defending party. Styles was dyinghe had even ceased to cry out nowbut otherwise they were still a formidable fighting force if he could keep them together, and their position was excellent. Despite the falling of the water, there was enough for several days even if the terrible heat continued. It was far over a hundred degrees, but with food they could make it.

  The mountain sheep, a type of bighorn slightly different from those far to the north, were excellent eating, and it was likely they had never been hunted. He had noticed them on the ridges looking toward the wells several times, and they might still be there.

  If he could get a sheep there was a good chance they could last out the week. By that time there might be a relief expedition sent out. It was true that such a force would be likely to go along the route to the north, but when they reached Bates Well and found it dry, then there would be time to start putting two and two together. In Yuma they knew of Papago Wells, and they would come south and find them. Everything depended on keeping the party intact.

  He dared not let Zimmerman realize he was absent or the big soldier would be stirring up trou
ble. Sheehan would try to keep him in line, but tough as the sergeant was, he would be no match for the younger, tougher Zimmerman.

  It was well after dark when Logan Cates made his move. Kimbrough was on watch in the rocks, and Lonnie was asleep. Zimmerman had turned in also, lying near Big Maria, yet far enough off so she would not be suspicious. The other men were scattered on watch or sleeping, and Cates had told no one but Lugo what he intended to do.

  He left his pistol, and took only the bow, half a dozen arrows and his Bowie knife.

  Lying flat, he eased his way under the lowest limbs of the smoke tree and into the rocks. When there he lay still for several minutes, listening. Then with infinite care he snaked down into the rocks and out on the edge of the sand. Again he paused to listen. When half an hour had passed he was no more than fifty yards from the barricade, and he had seen no one. Then, just as he was about to move, there was a subdued rustle of movement.