Desert Crossing

by Short, Luke;

  They ate in silence for a moment, and then Thornton said abruptly, “Tell me, Captain, how did you get in the freighting business?”

  Dave’s single eye regarded him coldly. “Why, the way you get in any business. I bought into it.”

  “But why in Ehrenburg?” Thornton persisted.

  “Lord, yes, why there?” Lieutenant Overman added.

  Dave knew what they meant and smiled faintly, his resentment at Thornton’s impertinent question dissolving.

  “The freight for the north part of the whole territory comes through Ehrenburg. I’ve hauled as far as New Mexico,” Dave said, adding, “Somebody’s got to haul it. It might as well be my outfit.”

  “I’d never have guessed that,” Juliana said.

  “Neither did I until I was stationed in New Mexico. When you wait on guns and ammunition you’re pretty sure to know where they come from. They come from Ehrenburg.”

  “Any to Edwards at Whipple in this load?” Thornton asked.

  Dave shook his head.

  “What do you charge for the freight you’re hauling?” Thornton asked.

  “Five cents a pound.”

  “And that’s cheaper than the Army can haul its own goods?”

  “They must think so, or they wouldn’t have contracted me,” Dave said.

  “Doesn’t Edwards have his own freight wagons?” Thornton persisted.

  Dave said, “He tried it, but it was too expensive. He wasn’t big enough to keep teams, wagons, and teamsters busy freighting the year round. As a matter of fact, I bought four wagons from him when I started freighting.”

  “Five cents a pound seems outrageous,” Thornton said bluntly. “I’m going to look into his figures.”

  “You don’t have to,” Dave said. “When he freighted his own goods, they cost him sixteen cents a pound laid down at Whipple.”

  “It wouldn’t cost me that,” Thornton said. “I’m too good a businessman to tolerate that.”

  “So was Edwards,” Dave said drily. “That’s why he’s contracting his freighting.”

  By now Dave was of the opinion that he had antagonized Thornton in some way he didn’t understand. He wondered if Thornton had held a Civil War commission and secretly wished to be addressed by his rank. Perhaps Dave’s words had goaded him into the unpleasantness. It didn’t matter, Dave thought, since he’d see as little of Thornton as possible on this trip.

  When the train formed for the afternoon, Noonan was kept as the right flanker. His thoughts turned now to the presence of the girl in the train. This presented a problem, but only one of sorts. If his men had to lay siege to the train the girl would inevitably be in danger, and he wondered if his men would remember her presence. He was sure they would, for he had left instructions with Kirby to have a man watching his departure, so Kirby would know the number he was up against.

  Kirby, too, had turned out to be a problem, but one that was easily disposed of. Once the rifles were in hand it would be easy enough to provoke Kirby into a gun fight, or even ambush him.

  All in all, Noonan thought, this job should be fairly easy. The detail was small, and the teamsters wouldn’t contribute much. Doubtless Harmon was capable, but his men wouldn’t die for him. Harmon, he judged, would be the man to watch and, if possible, to kill first. He knew nothing of Harmon except from hearsay, but already Harmon was indirectly responsible for the death of two of his men. Noonan wished now he had checked more thoroughly on this taciturn one-eyed man. He had thought he would be dealing with average riffraff teamsters who were not about to lay down their lives for a wagonload of groceries, or even rifles. Now he was dealing with the freight-line owner, who had not only his freight but his reputation at stake. He would have to learn more about the man from the troopers when they camped tonight.

  All through the afternoon Noonan kept a sharp lookout. Once he saw some dust in the broken country to the south, but it was a dust devil.

  They made camp that night on a rocky bench below which was a bitter spring whose water the animals disliked but drank. Afterwards a rope corral was fashioned, the anchor posts being the wagons, and the horses and mules were turned into it. Two separate fires were built, one for the soldiers and the teamsters, the other for the lieutenant, Juliana, and Thornton. Harmon, Noonan was happy to see, was going to eat with his teamsters. As daylight faded, Lieutenant Overman put out two sentries to guard the corral.

  One of the troopers volunteered as cook, and the teamsters’ rations were thrown in with the Army’s. Harmon was seated cross-legged on the ground talking to one of his men. Watching him, Noonan wondered curiously if the loss of the sight of one eye wasn’t a considerable handicap. Well, there was one way to find out, Noonan thought.

  Very quietly, he moved over to Harmon’s left. There were half a dozen conversations going on and Noonan was certain that his approach was undetected, yet he was a bare six feet away when Harmon turned and looked at him.

  Noonan said affably, “I just wondered how far you reckon we made it today.”

  “I’d judge twelve to fifteen miles, Sergeant.”

  “That’s about what I figured.”

  “We won’t make that tomorrow,” the other said. “We’ve got more sand coming up.”

  Noonan shook his head. “Don’t see how you fellows buck this country,” he said pleasantly. “At Whipple we’ve at least got some shade.”

  “Captain Carter still at Whipple, Sergeant?”

  Noonan thought quickly. “I don’t think he’ll be there when I get back from leave. There was talk of a transfer when I left.”

  Harmon nodded indifferently. Was Harmon trying to trap him, Noonan wondered. Did he suspect there was something strange about him?

  Noonan moved away. No, he was imagining things, but still he’d better keep away from Harmon. After tonight, though, Noonan knew Harmon would no longer be concerned with his white little lies.

  When supper was finished the two teamsters who had started out drunk this morning rolled up in their blankets under one of the wagons and went to sleep, Dave observed. Now he watched Thornton and the lieutenant stringing up a blanket from the front to the rear wheel of the supply wagon. Later a folding cot was hauled out from the ambulance and placed behind the blanket. He supposed this would be Juliana’s bedroom this night.

  Singly and in pairs the teamsters and troopers began to desert the fires for their blankets. Dave moved over to his wagon and was lifting down his blanket roll when he saw Juliana moving toward the wagon. When he stepped down, she had halted. The fire behind her made a corona of her pale hair.

  “You deserted us for supper, Dave.”

  Dave said patiently, “No, I didn’t desert you. I’m a teamster, Miss Juliana.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Juliana asked.

  “Only that you’re a guest of the Army, and I work for them.”

  “But you were an officer,” Juliana persisted.

  “So were a lot of men. I daresay some of them are in jail now.”

  She had no reply for that, but Dave could see a faint resentment in her face. He noted that Thornton was watching them, a scowl on his soft face. Perhaps he had been overly blunt with this girl, Dave thought, but he did not want to be put in a false position. While she was pleasant and very likely good company, he could tell that Thornton had assumed a proprietary interest in her. Dave’s presence at their shared meals would make for an increasing awkwardness as the days went on. It was much simpler to settle it now.

  “Are there Apaches this close to Ehrenburg?” Juliana asked quietly.

  “They’re where you find them,” Dave said. “The only good thing about them is that they won’t fight at night.”

  “At least we sleep, then,” Juliana said.

  Dave nodded. “They like the first light.”

  Juliana shivered a little, but Dave felt it was from the night chill, not fear.

  “Then beware the first light, is that it?”

  “That’s for the Army to wor
ry about, not you,” Dave said, and smiled faintly.

  Juliana smiled then, too, and said good night. She turned and walked back to the fire to join Thornton. Lieutenant Overman was out checking on his sentries. When Juliana came up to the fire she noted the frown on Thornton’s face. He was seated on a saddle and got up when she came over.

  “You think that’s wise, Juliana?” he asked quietly.

  Juliana gave him a blank look.

  “Talking with Harmon, I mean,” Thornton continued. “That may give some of these men a wrong impression.”

  “Of me?” There was incredulity in Juliana’s voice.

  “It just doesn’t look right,” Thornton insisted. “He runs a rough lot of men in a rough business. If they see him taking liberties they will, too.”

  Anger came into Juliana’s eyes. “Just how is he taking liberties, John?”

  “Talking to you.”

  “But I went up and talked with him.”

  “That makes no difference. If he feels free to associate with you, they will, too.”

  “But he was a captain in the Army!” Juliana protested.

  Thornton’s voice was almost cool. “Right now he’s one of seven rough, dirty teamsters. I just don’t think you should associate with him, Juliana.”

  “Apparently he thinks the same thing, John. So, all right, I won’t associate with him and he won’t associate with me. Now, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  “Good night, Juliana.” Thornton watched her as she walked over to the supply wagon, and on his face was an expression of lingering petulance.

  3

  By the time Dave laid out his blanket roll and eased out of his boots, both fires were dying down and a waning moon had risen. He suddenly remembered that it was time for the test which he set himself each month. He shoved his eyepatch up onto his forehead, then closed his good eye. With his injured eye he could see a light patch which was the moon, but which was dim and a little blurred. Better than last month, he thought, and he slipped the patch down into place and rolled into his blankets.

  Why, he wondered, did Doc Hartley, contract surgeon at Fort Yuma, insist that the injured eye be covered? Muscles only strengthened with use, so why not eyes? Dr. Hartley’s explanation was that the savage sun glare under which Dave regularly worked would only inflame the injured eye, and this inflammation might eventually lead to total blindness. Maybe he was right, Dave thought, but he wondered on what distant day he could discard this cumbersome eyepatch. To him it was a symbol of bad luck and a reminder of what might have been, rather than a mark of inadequacy. It was easier to forget the past if there was nothing in the present to remind you of it. The eyepatch was his constant reminder.

  But it really didn’t matter, he thought. If he’d remained in the Army, he might have a command by now. It might well be a field command, or it might equally well be a dreary tour of duty at a remount station. No matter what a man did, it all came out the same—hanging on in bad times, crowding luck when it came your way. He supposed, when he stopped to think of it, that these were good times for him. He was driving himself and his men and making money. Where it would be spent he hadn’t stopped to consider.

  Memory of Juliana Frost’s words crossed his mind then. But you were a captain. That implied that he was a gentleman fit to associate not only with her but with her beloved Army people and with John Thornton. If he had not once been a captain of cavalry, would she have bothered being pleasant to him? In all honesty, he had to tell himself he thought she would. Army women, while clannish, were usually a proud yet humble lot. They met a greater variety of men than their sisters, and if there was character in them they profited by this fact. To be even connected with the Army was to have an understanding and tolerance of man’s foibles and weaknesses.

  Dave turned over and slept.

  He did not know how much later it was that a shot, and a close one, wakened him. He came out of his blankets and at the same time he heard the milling and the whinnying of frightened horses and mules. Swiftly jamming his feet into his boots, he grabbed his hat and gun belt and ran for the corral, strapping on his gun as he ran. Now the sound of milling became the sound of running. Other more distant shots ripped the night, and Dave heard Overman’s wild voice yelling, “Over here, men!”

  Dave raced for the corral, the faint moonlight allowing him to see ahead. A bullet resounded boomingly off one of the high-sided freight wagons.

  When he rounded one of the anchor wagons for the corral he saw the horses and mules boiling out of it at a dead run. He ran toward the galloping herd which was streaming through a break in the rope corral. They seemed to be avoiding something that lay on the ground, and as a horse swerved toward him Dave ran alongside him, grabbed his mane, let his weight go slack, and thrust his feet ahead of him. Then, lowering his feet, he dug his heels into the dirt. The onrushing of the horse threw Dave’s legs high in the air so that he was lifted astraddle the horse.

  He needed no reins now, for the horses and mules were bunched in a running panic, his own mount at the very edge of it. To one side, distant now, he heard more shooting. From his opposite side Dave picked up the sound of running animals and he leaned low over his mount’s neck, searching the darkness on his right. Suddenly, out of it loomed two riders at a dead gallop, their forms partially obscured by the dust raised by the horses ahead. These were not his men nor soldiers of the detail, and they seemed determined to catch up with the leaders.

  As they came even with him and were about to pass him, Dave drew his gun. He snapped a shot at the nearest rider and saw the nearest horse go down in front of the second horse. The rider simply pinwheeled over the horse’s head before it hit the ground. The second horse piled into the first, stumbled, and went down. An orange light blossomed in the night from the second rider. And now Dave emptied his gun. He saw the stumbling horse rise and the rider mount, then they swerved off in the direction from which they had come, to be swallowed in darkness.

  The stampeding animals, turning away from the sound of the shooting, were now headed east. They were tiring, Dave saw, and their pace was slacking off. Slowly he worked his way up to the lead horses that had fallen into a steady lope. He kneed his own horse into the nearest leader and they gave way gradually until Dave was forcing them into a wide circle. The mules and horses behind were following the leaders, their panic slowly dying down. In another twenty minutes the leaders were traveling at a walk.

  Now Dave put his mind to what had happened. It was unlikely their attackers were Indians. An Apache would steal horses at night, but he would not fight, believing that death in darkness was death eternal. Memory went back to the attempted robbery of the warehouse. Was there a connection? Morning, he thought, would tell, for he was sure that the rider of the horse he had downed was either afoot or hurt.

  He listened for further shooting, but the racket made on the rocky ground by the herd of horses smothered any other sound.

  When the lead horses refused to turn further, Dave put his own horse out ahead and the herd followed docilely. There was no forage and no water to distract them.

  It was perhaps a half-hour later when Dave saw the trio of men afoot loom out of the faint moonlight ahead of him.

  “Sing out!” someone called.

  If this was the enemy, Dave figured he could lose himself quickly in the herd behind him. If they were friends they were blessedly welcome. Caution, however, prompted Dave’s answer. “You sing out. I’m alone.”

  “This is Lieutenant Overman,” the voice called.

  Dave answered with his own name, and he rode up to two troopers flanking Lieutenant Overman.

  “Thank God you got the horses,” Overman said fervently. “I figured we’d be left afoot. We hoped we could pick up a few strays.”

  “Is anybody hurt?” Dave asked.

  “Molvaney, one of the sentries, was stomped into the rock. One of your men got a leg wound. Outside of that we’re all right.” Overman paused. “Harmon, we counted twel
ve rifles. What do you figure? Apaches?”

  “I don’t think so. The men I saw weren’t, but come daylight we can find out. If I were you I’d send a couple of men to follow the tracks the herd made last night. Somewhere along the trail they’ll find a downed horse. Maybe a hurt man, too. That should tell us what we want to know.”

  “Good,” Overman said. Then he spoke to the troopers. “Cut three horses out of that bunch and let’s get moving.” When the two troopers moved in among the animals, they had little difficulty in finding docile mounts. They were carrying bridles, and the first horse bridled was turned over to the lieutenant. Then, with a trooper on either side, Overman in the lead, Dave in the drag, they drove the herd in the direction of the camp. Behind them, to the east, was the first gray of false dawn.

  It was dawn when they hit the wagon road, and full daylight when they rode into camp. Fresh fires were built and Dave saw that the remaining troopers, plus a couple of his conscripted freighters, were staked out in a wide circle around the camp, waiting for the developments of the day.

  Dave slipped off the durable pony he had used and it joined the herd. Looking about him, he saw that Juliana and Thornton, with the aid of a trooper, had taken over the breakfast chore for the whole camp. One by one the guards were whistled in to eat. While the remuda was being watered, the first two men finished with breakfast were ordered by Overman to ride out on the tracks of the stampeding herd and search for the downed horse and rider. As the teamsters and troopers finished their breakfast they grained their horses in preparation for the day’s drive.