L'Amour, Louis - Novel 011

by Last Stand At Papago Wells

  Cates ran to him. Beaupres eyes flickered. "I had to do it, Logan," he said hoarsely. "I couldnt take it any longer. Youyou take care of Tony. Hes a good Indian."

  "Jim!" Cates begged. "Hang on, man!"

  Beaupres eyes seemed to veil over. "Sorrysorry, boy. Watch your back. You just watch your back."

  Cates looked up to find Jennifer standing beside him. Cates got up slowly. "What did he mean by that?" she asked.

  Whatever else Jim Beaupre had done, he had broken the attack. As though his death had brought death to the Apaches, silence descended upon the desert. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound, only the sun remained the same. It was hot, hot.

  "Think he hit anything?" Lonnie asked.

  "Maybe. I think so. It was good fire, right into all the cover there was. Well never know."

  Lonnie looked at him. "You dont think well get out?"

  Cates shook his head. "No ... suddenly Ive a hunch well make it, or some of us will. Only you never know about Apaches. They carry their dead away. You never know if youve killed one or not, unless you kill them all."

  "Six gone," Lonnie said. "Six good men."

  Jennifer came over beside Cates and crouched down beside him. He turned to look at her. "Do you have a mirror?"

  "A mirror?" Her eyes searched his. "Do you mean I should look at myself? I know I must be"

  "No, I want a mirror, the larger the better."

  "Theres one among my things, but"

  "Get it. Then you and Junie take turns. I want you to flash that mirror toward that peak over there"he pointed toward the northeast"and in that direction"he indicated the northwest"and I want you to travel the reflection between the two places. I want you to start now, relieve each other, and continue all through the daylight hours. Understand?"

  "You mean to signal? Were signaling?"

  "We hope you are," he pushed his hat back. "By this time there should be an armed force out. Maybe your father, maybe the Army, maybe a bunch of civilians and soldiers out of Yuma. They wont be expecting us to be this far south, and maybe there wont be anyone close enough to see your mirror, but I know a mirror can be seen for miles, even the sunlight on a bright concha. Well try, and well hope."

  "My mirror is not small," Jennifer said. "I have a special pocket in my saddlebag for it. Father had it made for me, and the mirror, too. Its a steel mirror, and is six-by-eight."

  "Good! Thats better than Id hoped."

  "Logan." She waited beside him. "Why couldnt we have done this before? We may be too late."

  "Maybe, but I dont think so. Look, the way Ive had it figured it would take several days for them to realize theres been trouble over this way. Maybe it was sooner, but probably several days. The same is true of Yuma. At first they wouldnt be worried when the posse didnt come back, or the soldiers. But as the days went by, they would be.

  "It would take a while for them to agree that something should be done. Some are always for delaying, believing the people would come in, but by now theyre sure something is wrong. Allow them two to three days out of either place to get here, and allowing for all that would have to happen before they get started and I think the time is now, and from now on."

  "All right."

  When she left him he studied the desert. He let his eyes sweep across it from close up to far out, then began searching the area with painstaking sweeps of his eyes across the terrain. When that was over he began to search the hills with his field glasses. Yet when half an hour had passed, he gave up.

  Several times during the day haphazard arrows were fired into the camp, and twice there were shots, but no harm was done.

  It was midafternoon when Kimbrough, Zimrnerman and Taylor approached him. He had shifted back from his position to stretch his legs and have a drink of water. They walked up, Kimbrough in the lead.

  "Cates, we want to make a run for it. Weve horses enough now, and we think we can get through. At least some of us can."

  "Sorry."

  "Look, Cates," Kimbrough said roughly, "weve had enough of this. If we stay here theyll pick us off one by one. Wed rather make a fight of it."

  "Kimbrough," Cates said slowly, "that route north out of here is called the Camino del Diablothe Devils Highway, if you prefer English. The only water on it is at Tinajas Altas, some tanks in the rocks of a ridge above the trail. Hundreds of men have died there, some of them within a few feet of the water. If youre lucky youd find water when you get there, covered with green scum, maybe, but water. Only sometimes the tanks are empty. What do you do then?"

  "We can make it."

  "Sorry. Besides," Cates added, "were still one horse shy. We have eight horses and nine riders."

  Zimmerman swung his rifle. "Ill fix that, an quick!" He lined his sights on Lugo, who was watching out across the desert.

  "You drop that gun." Lonnie Foreman was sitting among the rocks, the Winchester in his hands trained on Zimmerman. "You drop it or Ill kill you!"

  Zimmerman dropped his gun to the ground, swearing bitterly.

  Grant Kimbrough had his hand negligently near his pistol. "Does somebody else always do your shooting for you, Cates? Seems to me the last time it was a girl."

  "I knew Lonnie would take care of Zimmerman," Cates said mildly. "I was waiting for you."

  Grant Kimbroughs face grew very still. His eyes widened just a little. His hand was very near the gun, and he had only to draw. Logan Cates waited for him, the same mild expression on his face, his eyes smiling a little.

  Kimbrough dropped his hand and turned away, and Cates looked after him. Kimbrough was not afraid, that Cates knew. The man was no coward, but Foreman was up there with a rifle and Cates was sure that Kimbrough believed that if he shot Cates, Lonnie would in turn kill him.

  From the rocks nothing was visible. Shots kept coming, and the Indians were out there. Taylor tried two shots during the afternoon, but his eyes kept swinging to where Big Maria sat with her gold. Nobody had gone near her, nobody had spoken to her. Her heavy features looked dull, only her eyes seemed alive. She had not left the money even for a drink. Whenever anyone moved, the shotgun followed.

  During the last light of evening Logan Cates made a round of their defenses. If there were still enough Indians out there a rush might sweep over them and wipe them out. Yet the Indians might have suffered, too. He thought of Churupati ... even his own people said he was insane, that his medicine was bad, and they would have nothing to do with him. He remembered the descriptions of the black-browed warrior, of the killings he had committed, the deaths for which he was responsible.

  Some of the Indians had died, certainly more than they realized. Once that very morning he had sat trying to count up the possibilities, and they made an imposing array. The defenders were all good shots, and though few good targets had appeared, some of the searching fire would have scored.

  The night came on and the wind began to blow again, and when the heat was gone the desert was cold. The wind was piercing, blowing through them, sapping the warmth from their bodies. They built a small fire and took turns warming themselves.

  Cates went to the tank and dipped up a drink. When he finished he glanced at Maria, then suddenly dipped the cup deep and straightening, started toward her. Somebody said something in an undertone, and Kimbrough looked sharply around. Cates walked on, and Maria shifted the shotgun to cover him.

  "Stay back."

  It was the first thing she had said in hours. Cates continued to walk, holding the cup in front of him. "You need a drink, Maria," he said calmly, "and Im bringing it to you."

  "Stay back!" There was rising panic in her voice.

  He walked up to her and handed her the cup. She looked up at him, then accepted the cup while keeping her right hand on the trigger guard of the shotgun. She drank thirstily, and then handed the cup back to him, her eyes never leaving his. Deliberately, he turned his back and walked away from her.

  "She might have killed you!" Jennifer was horrified, aghast.

  "She did
nt," he replied.

  "Mr. Cates." It was Junie. She was up in the rocks with Beaupres rifle. "Mr. Cates, I think I can see a fire."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Logan Cates scrambled up into the rocks, and in an instant all with the exception of Big Maria were staring off toward the northeast in the direction she was indicating.

  Nothing showed but the long line of mountains, dark blue with the late evening, shadowing to black where they met the desert. Only the mountains, the sky with the last of lingering day, the few stars showing their faces shyly against the backdrop of distance, and the sentinel saguaros nearby. Only the cholla seemed to hold a fault glow of their own; only these things, and nothing more.

  They waited, and then they saw it, they all saw it, and they saw it at once. It was miles away, it was well up the mountainside, and it was definitely a fire.

  "Who would want a fire that big?" Lonnie wondered.

  "It doesnt have to be big," Cates told them. "On a night like this if its high enough, a man can see a campfire for miles. They may be more than ten miles off; fact is, they are closer to fifteen."

  "Its white mans fire," Lugo said. "No Indian build big fire."

  "So," Taylor said, "what good does it do us?"

  "If they can build a fire that we can see," Cates said, "we can build one they can see. Only weve got to build up on the rocks."

  "Anybody going near it will be a target," Taylor objected.

  "We can feed it from below. We can poke sticks into it while staying out of sight. We can build the fire on that flat rock." He indicated a rock right behind where the man on watch always stood. "And Ill build it. Rustle wood, all of you."

  There were a few sticks left where the fire had been and he gathered them up and carried them to the rock. It was the highest rock around, and it was shoulder-high to a standing man where one stood. Gathering the sticks he hurried back, placed them in order, and then with some crumpled leaves, a piece of cloth torn from his shirttail and some smaller sticks, he got the fire going. Then, reaching up from a crouching position, they added sticks to the fire.

  The flames crept along the sticks, crackled and took hold. The flames leaped up, and each one vied with the others in running to carry wood to the fire. Soon a great, roaring flame lifted into the sky. Sparks climbed and mounted like floating stars high into the sky. Under the brush there was more wood, old dried and gnarled sticks, blackened by sun and exposure. These were added to the flames.

  Suddenly a shot struck the rock where the fire was burning and ricocheted wickedly across the clearing. A burst of firing followed, but they huddled under the rocks and waited. Then they crept out and began gathering more sticks. Lonnie ventured down into the arroyo and returned with a load of big sticks thicker than a mans arm.

  Suddenly, Cates was astonished to see Maria come up, bearing an armful of wood. She dropped it, then went back for more. Suddenly, as she was walking back with wood, she looked around at Jennifer. "Jen," she said, "I think they will come for us."

  Her voice was strangely soft, and Jennifer glanced wonderingly at Logan Cates.

  They worked busily, and despite the shooting, kept the fire going. Logan got his Winchester and began to shoot back at the muzzle blasts from the brush. Once when he fired they heard a scream from the brush, and after that, silence.

  The fire soared, building its gold and orange flames into a red-line spire against the dark sky. The clearing was lighted like day and the firing continued.

  Far and away the distant fire winked against the mountainside. Was it a friendly fire? Across the distance it seemed like a beacon that spoke of home, of friends, of escape for them, but the fire told them nothing more. Had their own fire been seen? Or did anybody care?

  The shots were fired from close up now, and soon once more the defenders scattered around the perimeter, firing back into the darkness.

  "Keep it up," Cates told Lugo. "If they dont see the fire, they may hear the shooting. This air is very clear."

  Yet it was a forlorn hope, all of it was. And in the morning there would be fighting. It was in the cold, lonely hours before dawn that the fire at last died down. To a man they were dog-tired and beaten, and the day was still to come.

  "Theyll be afraid," Cates told them, "that somebody saw our signal. In the morning, come daylight, there will be Indians."

  Suddenly Big Maria screamed. It was a hoarse, choaking scream. They turned swiftly to look, and Zimmerman was backing away from them, and he had the saddlebags. In his hand he held a big Colt. He was grinning.

  "Wherever that fire is," he said, "theres people. And where people are, thats where I want to be."

  "Give her back the gold," Cates told him. His face was suddenly icy. "Drop it, Zimmerman, and get away from it."

  "Like hell!" Zimmerman was backing toward the horses, and now they saw that one of them was saddled. "You stay if you want to. Im ridin out!"

  He was watching Cates and grinning, and his Colt was right on Catess belt line. He was watching Cates and the others as he backed away, and there was in his mind no other thing than the fact that he had the gold, that he would take a horse.

  Cates watched him and waited for the break he was sure would come. But Zimmerman was much too careful. He had kicked Marias shotgun out of the way, and they all knew he would kill. Still facing them, he stepped into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He remembered them, he gave them no chance at all, but he forgot to keep his head down. Even as the horse gave the first jump there was a shot from somewhere out beyond the rocks and Zimmerman stiffened with shock. The horse made it over the rocks into the sand as Zimmerman toppled from the saddle, his foot caught in the stirrup.

  For a few yards the horse dragged him, then the hastily cinched saddle slipped and the horse stopped, the fallen mans foot still caught in the stirrup of the saddle which had slipped sidewise.

  Taylor rushed to the rocks. "The gold! Weve got to get that gold!"

  "To hell with the gold," Cates said. "We need the horse."

  Taylor started through the rocks. "Come back, you fool!" Cates yelled at him. "Theyll get you, too!"

  Taylor was beyond thinking. He hesitated only an instant, then sprang in the open. He ran down the slight incline through the sand and rushed up to the standing horse. The animal shied a little, but Taylor dropped on his knees in the sand and began tearing at the saddlebags.

  Cates, Kimbrough and Lonnie watched to cover him with rifle fire if any attempt was made to reach him. Lugo watched from the opposite side, and Junie stood close beside him, holding Beaupres rifle.

  Taylor was frantic. He jerked the saddlebags free; then instead of trying to return, he ripped loose the girth and sprang bareback on the horse. Booting it in the ribs, he started off.

  "The damn fool!" Cates stood back wearily. "Hes trying to get away!"

  The horse was running like a frightened rabbit, and Kimbrough swore softly. "Hes going to make it, too! Hes getting away!"

  In the open desert the horse was running beautifully, when they heard the shots. Not one or two shots, but a ragged volley. Taylor was swept from the saddle as if by a mighty blow. He hit the sand, slid a few feet, then stopped. Suddenly he was on his feet, and, still holding the sacks, he started to run, and this time he ran back toward them while the horse, holding his head high, ran in a small circle and stopped, looking back.

  Taylor was running desperately. Now that he was too far away he seemed bent only on getting back to the circle of rocks at Papago Wells.

  "Hes going to make it!" Lonnie said.

  "No." Logan Cates shook his head. "He hasnt a chance. Theyre letting him come. Churupati is just having fun." Jennifer stared at him, shocked. "Its true," Cates said, "he hasnt a chance."

  Yet Taylor ran on. He seemed inexhaustible. He ran to the very foot of the slight slope until he was almost close enough for them to see his features. Then he stumbled and fell in the soft sand. He staggered to his feet, then stared down. The saddlebags had come open and had
spilled out nothing but sand and fragments of rock!

  Taylor seemed frozen. He stared, unwilling to believe what his eyes told him. Then he turned his head and looked up at the wall of rocks, standing very still.

  Suddenly frantic with unbelief, he picked up the other saddlebag and ripped it open, emptying it out, and nothing came but fragments of lava rock and a little sand. He seemed to come to himself with a start, and for the first time he realized that he was standing still, out in the open, that there was nobody anywhere around and that shelter was all of sixty yards away.

  He dropped the useless saddlebags and started to run. It was a clumsy run now, but he ran, and from the rocks they could see his face straining with the effort he was making. He ran up the slope, seemed almost about to make it, and then there were three quick shots and he pulled up stiffly, turned halfway around and fell back, rolling over and over to the bottom of the slight slope.