Blood Red Star

by Shorty Gunn

  The long line of blue clad troopers with Longstreet, Whitman and Little Hawk in the lead proceeded unchallenged deeper into the land of Yellow Horse and his people. Dark eyes watched the caravan unseen with orders from their chief not to engage the white soldiers, only keeping track of their movements. If the cavalrymen somehow made a sudden turn heading for the hidden Apache village, only then would Yellow Horse order his braves to attack.

  Little Hawk sensed they were being watched although both Whitman and the captain said they’d seen no sign of that. ‘Apaches know we in their land,’ he insisted.

  ‘If they do, I’d like to have a little pow-wow with them,’ Longstreet suggested. ‘maybe we could find out when Keller came through here and if he was still headed south like we think he is. While we’re at it we might also learn where their Apache village is. After taking Keller we could come back through here and wipe out their village. This chief of theirs, Yellow Horse, could use a good hanging too. He’s gotten away with bloody murder down here for far too long. I’d like nothing better than planting my regiment flag right in the middle of his village while we burn it down to the ground.’

  Longstreet had a pair of trackers but not the usual Indian scouts. Instead they were white men the cavalry sometimes employed for help. Neither had ever been this far south in a land growing more difficult every day. They continually had trouble trying to stay on wind-washed hoof prints and cold, scattered fire pits left behind by the Kellers. When this happened Whitman would send Little Hawk ahead to find the way again while also trying to determine how old the sign was. By the third week of trailing it became clear the gang was still steadily heading south and might possibly continue completely out of Colorado Territory.

  One evening after another long day of tough riding, Whitman sat around a smoky sagebrush campfire thinking out loud. ‘I’ve seen this bunch run before but never so long and this far. I’m beginning to wonder if they just might go all the way into New Mexico Territory?’

  Captain Longstreet stood stretching out the kinks in his back, thoughtfully sipping a cup of hot black coffee. At first he didn’t reply to Whitman’s remark. When he did he had some concerns of his own.

  ‘I’ll have to think about replenishing some of our supplies if we ever get near a town. So far its been nothing but sagebrush, dry creek beds and rim rock country. I had hoped by now we’d be closing in on the Kellers but that is clearly not the case. Your man Little Hawk even says the Apaches aren’t following us any more. This Godforsaken country has nothing in it. I’ve been looking over my field maps. They say Mescalero Apache country is up ahead of us. They have a history of attacking whites both civilian and military. We could have our hands full when we reach there. Who knows? They might even find the Kellers and finish them off for us. Wouldn’t that be something?’

  ‘After as far as we’ve come that’s about the last thing I’d want to see happen,’ Whitman was quick to counter. ‘That’s a pleasure I’ve reserved for me for a long time and no one else.’

  ‘Are you mad? It would be a perfect solution for all of us. You want the Kellers dead and so do I. If someone else does it for us, I say bravo to them. It would save us a lot more time and slow travel trying to track them down. All we’d have to do is confirm the bodies and turn back for Fort Jackson. Mission accomplished.’

  ‘You don’t understand. Finishing off the Kellers goes even beyond this badge I’m wearing. It’s personal. He’s made it that way. It always has been. I want to be the one who puts a bullet in all of them, but especially Cort Keller. He’s mocked me personally – killing my deputy, robbing the bank in my own town not to mention taking your pay wagon and killing two of your troopers. I owe him for all of that and by God he’s going to pay for it in blood as long as I live and breathe!’

  The captain stared back at Whitman whose face had suddenly twisted in rage. He’d never seen him so emotionally driven. It was alarming to watch it and listen to him rant. He could not know that sheriff Mathew Buel back in Janestown had seen the very same loss of control when Whitman shot down Coy Brandon in cold blood while he tried to stop him but failed. Longstreet wondered if a man at the edge of losing control over the very mention of Keller’s name, had the good judgment to carry out his duties as a lawman without committing a monstrous crime of his own. At that moment the answer clearly seemed to be no.

  If the captain and marshal were left wondering how far ahead the Kellers were and if they were getting any closer, both men would have been even more depressed at the good time the gang was making with Billy Beckett leading them through the mountains of New Mexico Territory. Beckett knew the way like the back of his hand and where every hidden waterhole and bubbling spring existed even on boiling hot days. He didn’t have to worry about the Mescalero Apaches either, who silently watched the line of white men riding through their lands. They considered him a friend and blood brother, something the Apaches rarely did for any white man. After seven days of hard riding out from Beckett’s cabin, the four men pulled to a stop, unsaddling the horses as evening shadows slowly spread misty fingers across the land. Beckett gathered wood for a small fire before opening his saddle-bags and passing around dried venison jerky and Apache acorn cakes. Red snapped off a bite of the jerky then tried the small flat pancake.

  ‘How can I eat this? It’s kind of raw, ain’t it?’ He held up the acorn cake.

  ‘That’s because you have to cook it before you eat it,’ Billy tried not to laugh out loud but lost to chuckles, shaking his head. ‘You have to rake a few coals out of the fire and put it right on top to cook for a few minutes then turn it over and cook the other side. I can tell you boys don’t know much about Apaches.’

  ‘We know how to outrun them,’ Cort countered, smiling at his own small joke. ‘How are we doing on time? You said it would take about two weeks to reach Mongollon. We should be half way there by now?’

  ‘We’re doing all right,’ Beckett nodded looking back across the pulsing fire. ‘You fellas keep up pretty good, I’d have to say that. I guess you done some riding before I took you on, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve done some.’ Cort wondered if Beckett was fishing for more information but didn’t volunteer anything more.

  ‘I can see you’ve come a-ways by the wear on your horses and gear. That goes for all of you. Really isn’t any of my business, but what does bring three men way down here and not know where you’re going? Most whites steer clear of this country except maybe if they got gold fever. You three don’t look to me like you’ve got that. You’ve got no gear for it.’

  ‘Let’s just say we wanted to see some new country,’ Red answered, as Tyge eyed Cort and Red suspiciously.

  ‘You’ve seen some of that and we’ve still got a ways to go so you’ll see a lot more of it. We’re gonna come down out of these mountains into canyon country where Mongollon is. The town’s in wild country hard to get to. But once talk of gold gets out men will go through hell and high water to find it. In Mongollon, the hell never left. Everyone wants to get rich. Gold fever takes over and they go wild, but you three don’t look like prospectors to me. I figure you can handle all the rest of that with those fancy six-guns you got.’

  ‘They got any law there?’ Fan finally spoke up.

  ‘Nope. No time for that yet. If the ore vein holds out they might hire themselves a star man, but not right now. Everyone’s too busy digging holes like they’re heading for China. It’s a sight to see, that’s for sure,’ Beckett got to his feet turning for his bedroll. ‘Let’s turn in and get some sleep. We’ll leave early in the morning, as usual. Good night, fellas.’

  The Mongollon-bound riders were four hours out from camp the next morning when Beckett saw the dust of three horsemen behind them closing in fast. He held his hand up to halt, squinting against the sun trying to make out who it was. Still far out he identified them as Apaches by their wild riding and multi-colored horses.

  ‘You boys just sit easy. I know these Mescaleros. What I don’t know is what
they’re doing way down here. It must be something important to come this far to find me.’

  The braves pulled sweating horses to a dusty stop, greeting Beckett in their own tongue while the Kellers looked on. The mountain man listened a moment, signing repeatedly to be certain he understood the excited talk of their unexpected guests. When finished the Apaches glanced at Beckett’s three charges. The anger in their eyes was easy to read without understanding a single word they’d exchanged with the squaw man. As fast as they’d ridden in, the three braves yanked their horses around starting away. Beckett pulled at his thick beard while eyeing Cort, Red and Tyge. Before he could speak a word of the sudden encounter Cort posed a question.

  ‘What was that all about? Your friends looked like they’ve run their horses pretty hard.’

  ‘The Apaches are always hard on their animals, but those three had good reason to chase me all the way down here. Now I know why you and your friends here hired me to take you all the way to Mongolon.’

  ‘You do, what’s that?’

  ‘They told me cavalry troopers with another white man who wears a badge, have been tracking you three. They’ve just come into Mescalero territory and are still far behind but coming on. They asked me if they should attack them or if I know why they’re here. I told them I didn’t know but so long as the soldiers didn’t attack them to let them pass. Those soldier boys must be looking for you, and to come this far doing it they must want you three pretty damn bad. What did you boys do to bring an outfit like that way down here? They’ve got enough guns to start another Civil War.’

  Cort looked to his brother and Fan, unsure of how much to tell. Instead he did the next best thing he could think of. ‘If you want to cut us lose and turn back, just tell us how far we are from Mongolon, and give us some directions. We’ll try to get there on our own and you won’t have to be part of anything else that might happen.’

  ‘Wait a minute. I didn’t say I wanted to cut and run for it. You paid me good money to get you there and I ain’t one to welch on a deal. But I would like to know what I’m sticking my neck out for. That ain’t asking too much, is it?’

  ‘Maybe not. What I can tell you, is those soldiers and lawman the Apaches saw and us three have something personal to settle between us. We have had for a long time. I thought if we rode this far south we might avoid it at least for a while, but it looks like that won’t happen now. Sooner or later we’re bound to have it out face to face. The lawman has killed friends of mine and blood kin too. I owe him for that. One way or the other I’ll make him pay for it. We took money from the cavalry. That’s why they’re riding with him. That’s the whole story.’

  Billy Beckett looked away for a moment thinking hard about all he’d been told. He loved living the free life, his young family, his Mescalero friends that were now kin to him. He didn’t want to see any of it threatened or hurt. The sudden intrusion of the cavalry and their star man could change all that if things went wrong. He had to make up his mind and the right decision what to do right now. He turned back to the three men sitting motionless staring back. They looked tired and worn out, like he’d told them before. Hunted men all had that look. You could see it in their faces, their worn-out clothes and lean horses. Billy Beckett let out a long breath with an admission of his own.

  ‘I can’t say I’ve always lived on the right side of the law, either. I done some things years back I never paid up for. But I don’t like it when men are hunted down like wild animals, especially when those animals are wearing badges and have twenty rifles and pistols to cut you down. No man should have to face odds like that, especially when he’s got a blood feud to settle. You paid me good money to get you to Mongollon, and that’s what I mean to do. What might happen after that only the Good Lord, that star man and you three will have to settle. Let’s get kicking. We’ve still got a ways to go!’

  The four men pushed their horses further south through timber clad mountains and weedy flats until slowly the land began to change. Rocky spires crumbling with age replaced tall evergreens. Steep stone canyons scoured clean of soil exposing the bowels of the earth showed spider web veins of gold and silver ore, the ageless lure that was making Mongollon the whispered word of men’s dreams. Seven days later as Billy Beckett had promised, the four riders reined to a stop, looking down into a steep ravine where a shanty town interspersed with a few stone-walled buildings stood.

  ‘It ain’t much to look at, but there it is,’ Beckett pointed. ‘At least we can get out of these saddles and maybe get us a good hot meal before I turn back for home. The only thing between here and the Mexican border is another week’s ride south through cactus and heat that would fry a horny toad.’

  ‘Why do you bring up the border?’ Cort asked.

  ‘Because if the US Cavalry and that lawman ever get down this far, you might want to think about making the run to cross over. American law don’t mean nothing down there. Once you do you’re in the clear.’

  The three men looked at each other, all suddenly thinking the same thing. Mexico was an idea none of them ever even considered before, not even Cort, until now that the mountain man brought it up. It might be a long shot, but what Beckett said did make sense if things ever got that bad.

  ‘You ever crossed over?’ Red questioned.

  ‘Yeah, like I said before, when I wanted top price for my furs once in a while I’d go all the way to Cuidad Juarez. A man can get lost in Mexico and never be found. Of course I know my way around, but others might not.’

  With Billy Beckett as their guide, the Kellers and Fan found the entire town of Mongollon existed on one small narrow dirt street lined with businesses of all kinds. Saloons, gambling houses, merchandise stores, a run down hotel and two restaurants graced both sides of the street while eight-horse teams of freight wagons loaded to the top board with raw ore taken from hard rock mines in the mountains around town rumbled by. Rough hewn men in dirty shirts stained dark with sweat plied the street day and night eager to spend their hard earned cash gambling, drinking and entertaining the few bar-room ladies who also made their living with men of the night.

  Cort did not want to take a room in the run down Miner’s Hotel. Instead Beckett helped them find an old unused cabin just uphill back of town to rent. The first night in town while all four men were eating at a small diner, shots rang out down the street as another bar fight got out of hand. Beckett eyed his three charges trying to gauge their reaction. None of them spoke up so he did.

  ‘Gunfire around here at night is almost a regular thing. There’s no law here but lots of gunpowder. You’ll get used to it if you three stay here a while. If you can, just try and stay out of the way of it. I’ll be heading for home and my woman tomorrow morning. I got you here like I said. All I need now is that last hundred dollars.’

  ‘When we get back to the cabin, I’ll pay up,’ Cort nodded. ‘You did all you promised and then some. You earned every dollar of it getting us here. The three of us will miss not having you around. We’ve sort of gotten used to you.’

  Beckett chuckled, almost embarrassed at the compliment. ‘Remember this, you three. A man can’t have much of a life always having to look back over his shoulder all the time wondering if trouble is still coming. I hope you finally get some peace here, wild as this town is. Maybe it’s the kind of place you can get lost in. You’ve come a long ways to find it.’

  Next morning at the cabin the four men shook hands all around before Billy Beckett climbed into the saddle starting away with a quick wave of his hand. The three men watched him go until he was lost in sight at the far end of town. Red turned to his brother. ‘I guess we’re on our own now, huh?’

  ‘One way or the other, we always have been, Red. This is just another different time and place. We ought to be getting used to it by now. I wonder if we ever will?’

  Chapter Ten

  Weeks later Billy Beckett was long gone, but his warning that the little town was a wild, lawless mining community lost deep in the M
ongollon Mountains, could not have been truer. Several times each week at night the sudden roar of gunfire echoed up the street, as whiskey-eyed men who would not back down an inch settled their differences by pulling pistols and firing. The undertaker, Thurmond Heck, did a brisk business interring victims in cheap pine coffins in a weed-choked cemetery, uphill back of town. However the cost was extremely expensive because the graves had to be dynamited out of hard rock ground that pick and shovel could not penetrate. The final trip to eternity was always announced by another charge going off heard all over town.

  Both Cort and his brother made it a point to spend most of their time in town during daylight hours buying food or other supplies needed at the cabin. Not Tyge Fan. He had always been a rounder, and Mongollon would be no different. Fan enjoyed noisy saloons, loud music and the company of other drinkers and gamblers. Cort continually warned him to keep a low profile, not drawing any attention to himself even though for the first time in months they seemed at last to be beyond the reach of either cavalry or a US Marshal. Every time Cort tried to explain it, Fan refused to listen, arguing back.

  ‘We’ve been on the run so long you two have forgotten how to have some fun. We’re so far back in these mountains no lawman is ever going to find us. Let’s live a little. I’m not going to hide each night when there’s so much going on. No one here is going to bother us either. The only thing these miners know how to handle are picks and shovels. There isn’t one of them who is going to stand up to us with a six-gun in their hand. They’re so whiskey soaked they can’t even find their way home each night. You two should come with me instead of holding up in this cabin like a couple hermits always worrying about what might happen. Let’s enjoy what we have while we can.’