Desert Crossing

by Short, Luke;

  “You can drop the Sergeant, Lieutenant. I’m not in the Army. You didn’t see my papers, did you?”

  Lieutenant Overman only shook his head.

  “So you’re talking to a civilian,” Noonan continued. “I’m here to make a deal with you.”

  “Deal?” Overman seemed puzzled. “Go ahead and talk.”

  “We’ve got Thornton. He walked into our camp and wanted to buy a horse. This is his shirt.”

  “Oh, I believe you, Noonan, but who is the ‘we’ you spoke of?”

  Noonan grinned. “My boys that stopped you in the malpais.”

  Overman’s thin brown face held a faint smile of irony. “One of your boys must not like you much, Noonan, if he’ll shoot you in the back.”

  “I took care of him. That’s why I left you, so I could get him.”

  Now Overman said coldly, “State your business, Noonan.”

  “I’ll trade you back Thornton for the rifles.”

  “Rejected,” Overman said promptly.

  “Then I’ll kill him.”

  “I believe that.” There was a fathomless contempt in Overman’s tone.

  Noonan was puzzled by Overman’s indifference to his threat. “I’ll leave his body where we’re talking now, so you can bury him.”

  Overman’s face was impassive. “All right.”

  “You don’t look like you cared a damn,” Noonan observed.

  “I’ll regret his death, especially because it’s unnecessary.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Noonan said. “It isn’t necessary. Just give me the rifles in exchange for him.”

  Lieutenant Overman shook his head slowly. “Noonan, John Thornton walked away from the train by his own choice, knowing the danger involved. I’m not going to ransom him back with government property. He is a civilian and of age. The Army offered him protection and he refused it. It’s that simple.”

  “Then if you want him dead, he’s as good as dead now.”

  “That’s up to you. But if you kill him you’re more stupid than I think you are, Noonan. Since I refuse to accept your blackmail, Thornton’s of no use to you at all. Sell him a horse and send him on his way.”

  “No, he’s a dead man. Last chance, Lieutenant. Do you want him back or don’t you?”

  “Not on your terms, Noonan. That’s all.”

  Noonan could not keep the anger out of his face and, seeing it, Lieutenant Overman could not resist a parting thrust. “I think you’d better leave now, Noonan. You leave first.”

  “Why don’t you leave first?”

  “Because if you’re going back to butcher a man like a hog, you’d shoot me in the back if I left first. Now, on your way.”

  Cursing savagely, Noonan pulled his horse around and started back toward the malpais.

  7

  Overman waited a minute, then wheeled his horse and rode back to camp. He dismounted by the ashes of the campfire, handed his horse over to one of the troopers, and went over to Juliana, who was sitting in the shade of one of the wagons.

  Lieutenant Overman was dripping with perspiration. He took off his hat, mopped his forehead with his neckerchief, and sat down beside Juliana.

  “The men said that was Sergeant Noonan you were talking to,” Juliana said.

  “It was,” Overman said grimly. “You were right—Noonan deserted. Our polite sergeant is the leader of this gang that’s hounding us.”

  Juliana accepted this without surprise. “What did he want?”

  Overman said tonelessly, “He’s got John Thornton. He’ll give us back Thornton alive if we give him the rifles. If I won’t, he’ll give him back dead.”

  There was disgust and horror in Juliana’s face, then she said softly, “That’s an impossible decision to make, Dick.”

  “Not impossible at all,” Overman said curtly. “I refused him the rifles.”

  Juliana was silent for a full minute, her face pensive and sad. Overman noticed she was crying silently, making no sound, but the tears were there. “That means he’ll be killed, doesn’t it?”

  “I wonder,” Overman said tiredly. “I pointed out to Noonan that since I would not be blackmailed it was stupid to kill Thornton.” He clenched his fist and pounded his knee for emphasis, as he said, “What good will it do Noonan when it won’t get him his rifles?”

  “I know,” Juliana said quietly, and then she looked at Overman. “John has changed so since we started out. What made him?”

  “I have my own idea. He lost his girl.”

  Juliana’s lips parted in amazement. “You aren’t talking about me. How could he lose me when he never had me?”

  Overman smiled wryly. “He thought he did until Dave came along.” He watched the blush come into Juliana’s face.

  “That’s not true, Dick! Dave Harmon means nothing to me.”

  “I think he does. I know he means something to me. If we get out of this mess, we’ll all owe him our lives. He means something to all of us, but in a special way for you, I think.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Juliana protested.

  “Miss Juliana, you can hide it from yourself, but it’s impossible to hide it from other people.” Lieutenant Overman rose. “I’ve got to get on the job. I think we may be busy today.” When Juliana only looked puzzled, the lieutenant continued, “I was trying to figure it out on the way back from talking with Noonan. Remember how Thornton came to despise us all? I’m sure he told Noonan about the additional men we’re expecting, maybe tonight. I think Noonan might attack before Dave returns. I want to be ready.”

  He nodded good-bye and set out to round up his troopers.

  The lieutenant’s last words scarcely registered with Juliana. She was thinking of what Overman had said about herself and Dave Harmon. Was it true that her attention to Dave Harmon was the cause of the change in John? She enjoyed Dave’s company and she admired him as much as Overman did, but wasn’t that all?

  She set herself to review her actions in the past few days. True, on the first night out she had talked with him and was almost rebuffed by him. True, she had sought him out at Layton’s place, but wasn’t it to defend John? True, she had queried him about his reasons for leaving the Army. It was also true, she had to admit, that most of her conversations with Lieutenant Overman were about Dave Harmon. But was all this more than just normal curiosity about a likeable man with a somewhat mysterious past and present? Had she really missed him in the few hours he had been gone?

  Honesty compelled her to answer yes. Since last night when he left, she had experienced an abysmal sense of fear. Lieutenant Overman was still what he had always been, a brave, competent officer, but something, some driving guidance and stubborn optimism of the troopers and teamsters, was lacking. Had Dave Harmon been here, he would never have let John Thornton, with his dangerous information, get out of camp. It was as if all of them, Overman included, were in a state of suspension waiting for Dave’s return.

  Dave and Solly Liston had pushed their remuda steadily south during the relatively cool night hours. As soon as there was light enough to see well, Dave dropped back from his position at point to tell the teamster, “I’m going to swing out and hunt sign of Adams’ tracks, Solly. Keep them at a walk and if you hear me shoot, bring the herd to me. You might as well eat while you ride, since we won’t stop.”

  Solly, a taciturn, bearded old-timer, simply nodded, and Dave swung southwest, away from the horse herd. He did not think they were far off Adams’ course, and he hoped to be able to pick up Adams’ tracks. The sandy marl of the desert floor around the base of the barren Harquahalas was soft enough to hold the imprint of a horse’s shoe or a man’s boot.

  He rode slowly, scanning the desert floor for any sign of Adams’ passage. He judged it to be near a mile when he came to the unmistakable sign of Adams’ bootprints pointing their stubborn way north. He pulled out his pistol and fired, then holstered it, opened his saddle bag, and ate his brief breakfast.

  Idly he specula
ted on what he would find at the water hole where Adams and the detail were stranded. If the Apaches who had stolen the horses picked up reinforcements, they were more than likely to return and wipe out the detail. Chances were they would wait until the detail’s rations were eaten and they were forced to move. The Indians would reason that once the detail was away from water and afoot, they could be wiped out. It was difficult to tell always what motivated these Indians. Sometimes they seemed to raid only for the horses they could steal. Other times their sole motivation seemed to be to kill and torture. Invariably, though, they had to have superior numbers before they would attack.

  Now Dave saw the remuda headed at an angle toward him and he put Noonan’s horse into a slow walk. Presently the remuda caught up with him and fell in behind him.

  This would be a punishing day for the horses, Dave knew, but there would be water at the end of it. All that morning he and Solly took a fresh mount from the remuda every hour, for the horses and mules were being driven at a fast pace in the blasting heat of the desert plains. By frequently changing to fresh mounts they spread the work over the whole remuda.

  It was in late morning that Dave saw ahead of him black specks on the desert. Coming closer, he saw the specks were buzzards, and he knew they were feasting on what was left of Trooper Reardon’s body. Swinging wide of it so as not to alarm the horses, Dave picked up the tracks again. Now there were two sets of footprints. Since Adams had said that the going was painfully slow with Reardon hurt and drunk, Dave knew they were within a few miles of the detail.

  Two hours later Dave saw more dark shapes in the far distance, and as they came closer he saw the shapes move. Relief flooded him then, for surely the shapes were cavalry blue, which meant the Apaches had not returned.

  When they rode into the camp the men cheered, some of them patting the horses as if they had never seen a horse before.

  Dave swung out of the saddle to face Corporal Chasen, who said, “You make a mighty pretty sight, Mister. They made it to you, did they?”

  “Only Trooper Adams,” Dave said. “Reardon’s dead on the desert. Where’s your officer, Corporal?”

  “Just a minute, sir, and I’ll have my men water and grain the horses.” He moved off toward his men and Dave looked at the desolate camp, at the lone tent, at the splintered wagon, at the propped-up blankets and, finally, at the two huge mounds of rock. Where, he wondered, was Lieutenant Miller?

  Now Corporal Chasen came back and Dave sized him up. He looked a seasoned trooper, with that air of quiet authority that comes from long service and chevrons on the sleeve. His swarthy, broad face, with the startling blue eyes, was pleasantly homely. He halted in front of Dave. “You were asking about the Lieutenant, Mister—”

  “Dave Harmon.”

  “—Harmon,” Corporal Chasen finished. “He’s dead, sir. Murdered.”

  “Apaches?”

  “No, sir, by one of my men. I call them my men because I have the only rank and had to take command. I’d like you to see something, Mister Harmon, before I tell you any more. Will you come over to the tent?”

  Dave followed him over to the low tent. Chasen reached into it and came up with Lieutenant Miller’s notebook. “Will you read the last couple of pages, Mister Harmon? Just sit down in the shade.”

  Dave slacked into the shade of the tent and opened the notebook. Apparently these were entries which were intended to go in Lieutenant Miller’s finished report. When he came to the entry of the day when lots were drawn, he already had some understanding of Miller’s character, which was that of a martinet, but a painstakingly honest one.

  When Miller’s notes described how he wished to punish the two sentries who had allowed the Apaches to steal the horses, by sending them for help, Dave wondered at the man. As he read of Corporal Chasen’s warning that he might be murdered if he ordered men into the desert instead of allowing them to draw lots, Dave nodded. Chasen was right, Dave thought. Then, with increasing interest, he read of Miller’s decision to make work for his men by hauling rock from two miles away to wall up the water hole.

  The last entry told of the men’s discontent, their exhaustion and their hatred of him, and of his decision to put them unnecessarily on half-rations and to continue putting them to grinding and useless tasks.

  The sum of the entries told Dave that Corporal Chasen was an excellent non-com serving under a cruelly misguided officer.

  When he had closed the notebook, he rose and handed it to Chasen, and asked, “What’s the ending, Corporal?”

  “He was knifed in the back while he slept.”

  “Know who did it?”

  Chasen smiled grimly. “I know the man who told me he did. He’ll deny it, and since there were no witnesses, he’ll go free.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s lying under the wagon with a broken jaw, sir.”

  Dave looked levelly at Corporal Chasen. “Accident, no doubt,” Dave said drily.

  “No, sir, I can’t say it was,” Chasen said. “Since a court-martial will free him, I thought I’d get in ahead of it.” Then he added. “It’s only officers who can’t hit an enlisted man, Mister Harmon, and I’m not an officer.”

  Dave smiled. “I hope you are some day, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, sir. Lieutenant Miller is buried on the rock bar he spoke of in his book.”

  “That’s appropriate,” Dave said. “Corporal, why don’t we give the horses some rest before we start out? Better leave the wagon, don’t you think? We’ll be at our camp by midnight, I hope.”

  “Right, sir.”

  “Can your trooper with the broken jaw ride?”

  “I’ll see that he does.”

  “You might tell your men they’ll start soldiering again when we hit camp.” Dave then told Corporal Chasen the situation at the wagon train.

  “Then we’ll make the difference,” Corporal Chasen said with pleasure. “That’ll be a fair trade for you coming to us.”

  After the horses, fed and watered, were rested, the detachment saddled up. Dave identified Wilson by the handkerchief tied around his head to hold his jaw together. He was fat, sullen, and obviously shunned by his fellow troopers. Before the order to mount was given, Dave moved over to Corporal Chasen’s side. “Is there ammunition in the wagon, Corporal?” he asked.

  “Lots of it, sir.”

  “Maybe you’d better drop a trooper back to fire it when we’re out of range. I’d hate to think the Apaches would stumble on it if we left it.”

  “I’ll do it myself, sir.”

  Chasen quietly gave the order to mount and the detail set out without him. When they were half a mile distant, the ammunition began to go off. Soon after, Chasen caught up with them and they headed north, leaving a lifting pillar of smoke in the brassy sky behind them.

  Now that they were headed back to camp, Dave wondered what the day had brought for Juliana and the others. It had probably been a day of watchfulness, of boredom, and searing heat, with no movement of riding or driving to give even a suggestion of a breeze. Thornton was probably still sulking or arguing, in his supercilious way, with Overman. Thornton had disapproved of this trip and would doubtless voice it again and again to Overman.

  Dave speculated now on Juliana’s feelings for John Thornton. At the beginning of the journey he had assumed that there was a romance between Juliana and Thornton. His protectiveness toward her and her defense of him had indicated to Dave that their feelings toward each other were more than just friendship. Yesterday, however, when Thornton had proposed giving the guns to the men who were after them, Juliana had sided with Lieutenant Overman. Obviously the man considered Juliana’s stand a breach of their friendship, and he wondered if Juliana thought this, too.

  Thornton, Dave thought, was an opinionated fool, perhaps harmless enough in his own environment, but he did not belong in the West. He had the Eastern attitude toward the Army of the West, which could be summed up in a few words: it was officered by incompetents, its enliste
d men were riffraff, it persecuted the Indians, and in every department, including battle, it failed expensively. Juliana knew better, and Dave shrewdly guessed that this might be at the bottom of their differences. He hoped there were real differences, because the thought of Juliana Frost married to John Thornton was intolerable. He made a sudden decision, in the middle of that heat-blasted desert, that he would risk offending her by telling her so.

  When Brick Noonan returned to his camp at King’s Wells his fury at Overman’s refusal of his ultimatum was only slightly lessened. He wanted to think about his next move in private, but he wanted more to get out of this torturing sun. The only shade available had to be shared with his men and with Thornton.

  Dismounting by the well in front of his men, he handed his horse over to Bill Earl and seated himself in the shade beside Thornton, who, in spite of the heat, had put on his coat to hide his naked torso. Noonan tossed Thornton his white shirt and while Thornton was putting it on Noonan regarded him.

  Overman was right, he thought. It was stupid to kill the man when there was absolutely nothing to be gained by his death. Come to think of it, Thornton had given him information that was of value and must somehow be put to use.

  Noonan said abruptly, “How much money are you carrying, Thornton?”

  Thornton looked startled. “Why, in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars, I should judge.”

  “That’s what your horse will cost you,” Brick said pleasantly. He was hoping that Thornton would protest and haggle, which would give him a chance to turn him loose afoot. However, Thornton only nodded agreement. “That includes food and a saddle, doesn’t it, Sergeant?”

  “It includes food, but no saddle. We’ve got no extras.” This was a lie, for he had the saddle from Bailey’s mule.

  “Does it include information, too?”

  “As much as we’re able to give you.”

  “Then where’s the next water?”

  Noonan lied blandly, “I’m a stranger to these parts, Mister Thornton, but I’ll ask the boys.” He turned to his men and, because his back was to Thornton, he could wink. “Any of you know where the next water is?” Very likely half of the men present knew, but they only shook their heads, muttered they were new here too, or else said no.