by Shorty Gunn
The Elk Horn saloon was one of Fan’s favorite nighttime hangouts. The main reasons were they had a piano and fiddle player plus a beautiful, dark-eyed Mexican girl named Rita de la Vega, who sang there on weekends. Fan couldn’t keep his eyes off the young woman and did not hide his growing interest. Every time she stepped up atop the bar to sing, he’d pitch five dollar gold pieces at her feet. During breaks he invited her over to his table much to complaints of other drinkers who wanted to gather around and talk to her. Tyge’s quick temper and growing possessiveness finally reached the point where it became real trouble. The Elk Horn’s owner, Skip Krago, came over to Fan’s table one night trying to talk him into backing off.
‘Listen Tyge, all these other men in here are paying customers too. If you don’t let them mix with Rita, it’s going to lead to trouble. I don’t need that. I’m asking you man to man to back off a little bit. I don’t want to have to tell you you can’t come in here any more.’
Fan stared back hard, his light blue eyes seemingly looking right through Krago, as if he wasn’t even there. ‘You’d be making a real big mistake, trying something like that,’ he finally said. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget about that.’
Krago instinctively leaned back at the obvious threat but would not back down. ‘Remember what I said,’ he got to his feet looking down on Fan. ‘Rita works here for everyone to enjoy. Not just you. I don’t want to have to tell you again.’
Nearing his home Billy Beckett finally topped a long ridge leading down to his cabin. It had been a long, grueling ride getting back home from Mongollon. He gave his tired horse a rest, his eyes wandering over twisted lowlands far below, the same country he’d first seen the Kellers and their Indian scouts come through so many weeks ago. It took a moment before he leaned forward studying something. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He squinted harder shading them with both hands. He could barely make out a long, thin line of riders moving closer. Instantly he knew it had to be the cavalry and the US Marshal Cort had told him about. They were still trailing the three men he’d befriended. For just a fleeting moment he considered turning around and riding back to Mongollon warning them. Yet, his home, Blue Sky Woman, and baby daughter were only another half hour’s ride down the ridge. He struggled with his conscience and mixed emotions. He’d left his family alone long enough. He didn’t want to do that again, and especially not now with these military people and lawman riding into his land. He sat in the saddle watching the distant images coming closer.
‘Damnit,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I just hope those boys keep their eyes open like I told them to. I can’t be in two places at the same time, much as I’d like to.’ Beckett pulled his horse around starting down the ridge without looking back, praying he’d made the right decision.
Little Hawk riding in the lead reined his horse to a stop, his eyes studying the long climb up the mountains ahead of him. His sharp eyes scoured the ground closer as Whitman and Longstreet rode up alongside him.
‘What do you think?’ Whitman asked. ‘Are we still on their trail?’
The young Crow nodded, never taking his eyes off pine topped ridges along the skyline. ‘They come through here.’ He pointed to a dim trail winding up the first hills.
‘Any idea how long ago?’ The marshal questioned.
‘Long time. Hoof prints almost gone.’
Captain Longstreet eyed both Whitman and his sidekick before looked up into the high country ahead. Tracks so old they were hardly visible, was the last thing he wanted to hear. For the first time since the long chase began weeks ago, he started wondering if they would ever catch up to the Kellers. Instead of closing in on them it seemed they were only chasing ghosts. Supplies for his men were running so low he’d put them on half rations. Visions he once harbored of grandly riding back into Fort Jackson, with the gang in handcuffs, were fading as fast as their tracks. He’d relied heavily on Whitman’s boast he knew the Kellers’ every move personally, and they would soon run them down. That was clearly not the case either. The tired officer took a long pull on his canteen thinking all this over. Maybe, he concluded, the time had come to set a deadline on how far he was still willing to extend the chase before turning back. He knew the marshal would balk at the suggestion, but he didn’t have to answer to superior officers and orders. He did, and his career depended on results of those orders.
‘Before we go any further, I think the time has come for us to have a frank discussion,’ he addressed Whitman who was still questioning Little Hawk.
‘About what?’ The marshal turned in the saddle.
‘I’m short on rations. It doesn’t appear to me we’re getting any closer to these men and now we’ve got a long climb up into these mountains to who knows where or what? From what you told me when we started I expected us to have them dead or in irons by this time. Instead we’re getting nowhere. Much more of this and I’ll have to turn back for the fort, like it or not.’
‘You’d quit me cold just like that?’ Whitman’s face turned red with anger. ‘Do you realize what you’re doing if you cut and run? You’d be the laughing stock of the entire fort!’
‘I cannot push my men until they’ve got no fight left in them. That would be a total dereliction of duty. I don’t expect you to understand this. You’re not a military man.’
‘I don’t have to be a military man to know a quitter when I see one. You want that on your record?’
‘There are limits on what any man can take except maybe for these Kellers. They’ve managed to stay far ahead of us and never seem to change pace or stop to rest. Your own man even said so himself. The tracks we’ve been following are so old he can barely stay on them.’
‘But he has stayed on them and he just told me when we get up into these mountains it will be easier to follow them. You can’t turn back now. This is the break we’ve been waiting for. I’ve got a sworn duty to bring these murderers back to face justice and likely in your own court. By God I mean to do exactly that. Give it at least one more week. Don’t turn back on me now. You’ll regret it if you do, and so will your career.’
Longstreet stared back. Another five or six days of this would be all he and his men could take. He wiped sweat off his face with a bandanna considering all that had been said. ‘All right, but that’s it. We don’t get any closer than we have been, you’re on your own and that’s final!’
Three hours riding brought the caravan to the last high ridge along the skyline.
Captain Longstreet ordered his men to dismount giving the horses a blow, while Little Hawk eased out of the saddle walking several yards studying the ground leading down the ridge. He motioned Whitman over for a brief conversation.
‘Four riders go down there,’ he pointed. ‘Come back same way.’
‘Four, are you certain?’
He nodded. ‘They go that way.’ He pointed off to the south.
‘Little Hawk is on them again,’ Whitman shouted to the captain. ‘I told you he’d pick them up, didn’t I? They’re heading south like they’ve been doing from the start. Let’s keep moving on them. By now they don’t think anyone is still following them, but we are and we’ll catch up to them if you don’t turn rabbit on me and run for it.’
The officer walked over irritated at the slur and Whitman’s boast, but with a question of his own. ‘Your man says these tracks go down this ridge then come right back up again?’
‘Yes, that’s what Little Hawk says, why?’
‘That’s my question, why would they do that? What’s down there they’d take the time to ride to? If it’s as good a track as he says it is, I say we should at least take the time to follow them and see what’s so important before we go running off in the other direction.’
‘I say that’s a waste of good time,’ Whitman shot back. ‘we know all of them left still riding south. That’s the way we need to keep going, not stop for some side trip they might have made!’
‘These are my men and I’ll use th
em as I see fit. I’m not going to leave any stone unturned at this late date. I’m following them down.’
‘We don’t have time for it. We need to keep moving while we still have daylight left, not go off on some wild goose chase!’
‘I’m going to take half my men and follow them. I’ll leave the other half with you, if you insist on running off. Leave markers for us to follow. We’ll catch up to you when I’ve satisfied my suspicions. If we don’t catch up before dark, build a good fire so we can find you.’
‘Build a big fire? Every Apache in these mountains will see that!’
‘There’s no other choice. Of course you can always wait right here until we come back up and all leave together like we should.’
The marshal’s jaw tightened in anger. He glanced at Little Hawk, shaking his head. It was senseless bandying words with Longstreet and his straightjacket military thinking. ‘I won’t sit here and wait for you when you could be gone for hours, can’t you see that? How much more obvious does it have to be, to get that through your head!’
‘Remember to mark the trail and build a fire if you have to. I’m following these tracks. I’ll come back up when I get my answer.’
The captain walked back to his men picking out six troopers plus his two civilian trackers. The remainder he ordered to go with Whitman.
One of his trackers, Gus Teague, walked over studying the faded hoof prints Little Hawk had pointed out.
‘Can you stay on them?’ Longstreet questioned under his breath.
‘I’m pretty sure I can. Especially here in this soft ground.’
‘Mount up!’ the captain ordered, his troops stepping up into their saddles. ‘Teague, you take the lead. Have Ryder stay up front with you too for help if you need it. Move as fast as you can. I don’t want the marshal to get ten miles away if I can help it. I’d never hear the end of his moaning about it.’
Billy Beckett had split enough wood for the evening fire. He was halfway back to the front door with an armload, when he heard the sound of many horses coming closer down through timber. He knew it wasn’t the Apaches. Their shoeless horses didn’t make that kind of heavy thudding. He also knew that could only mean trouble of some kind. It had to be that column of cavalrymen he’d seen earlier from high up on the ridge. He dumped the wood on the ground as the first blue clad horsemen broke out of timber. Stepping quickly into the cabin he warned Blue Sky Woman not to come outside. She started to ask why before he stopped her with a finger to his lips, quickly closing the door and turning to face the riders pulling to a stop. Longstreet eased out of the saddle, eyeing the cabin, corral out back and animal hides stretched on wooden frames. Snarling, wolf dogs ran up before Beckett shouted them back.
‘Hello,’ the captain boldly walked up extending a hand Beckett did not take. Unperturbed he continued. ‘My name is Captain Milford Darwin Longstreet, United States Cavalry, nearly a month out of Fort Jackson. You’ve got quite a place here. Obviously you’ve lived here a long time.’
‘Why would a man need three names?’ Beckett mocked the officer. ‘Two does pretty well for most men.’
‘And yours is?’
‘I’m called Beckett by any white man who needs to know. The Apaches called me something else you wouldn’t understand.’
Longstreet ignored the second insult. He’d already begun to realize the buckskin clad man with feathers in his long, dark hair would not help him, but he forged on. ‘We picked up your tracks on the ridge. You were riding with three other men. I’d like to know who they were?’
Beckett didn’t answer for several seconds, still eyeing the officer with contempt. He knew whatever he said could mean big trouble for the friends in far away Mogollon. He had to be double careful not to give anything away.
‘They were trapper friends of mine,’ he finally ad-libbed.
‘Trappers? We’ve been following those same tracks for weeks, and they weren’t made by any trappers. The men who made them are named Keller. They’re wanted by the United States government for robbery and murder of federal troopers. Anyone who hides them or knows where they are, refusing to answer, can also be taken into custody. Do you expect me to believe some cock and bull story about trappers?’
‘Believe what you want. I didn’t invite you down here, so you’ll have to find your own way back up. I’ve said all I’m going to say. I’ve got chores to do. The sooner you ride out, the sooner I can get to them.’
The muffled sound of a baby crying inside the cabin only lasted long enough for Longstreet to hear it before Blue Sky Woman silenced the little girl. It was exactly the edge he needed to make his threat stick. ‘So, you have a woman in there and a child too. You want to be taken in irons back to Fort Jackson, and leave them here to fend for themselves?’
Beckett didn’t flinch at the threat. Instead his temper boiled up. ‘First of all you’d have to come back here and find me. Second, even if you could I’d have you riding around in circles following your own tracks. Third, if you ever did catch up I’d have the whole Apache nation come down on you. There ain’t enough of you soldier boys in Fort Jackson to get out of that alive. Now I’m done jawing with you. Saddle up and ride out of here before I really lose my temper!’
‘I’ll be back, Mr. Beckett. You can count on it. I won’t forget you and your lawless attitude either.’
‘Remember what I said. You come back here and threaten my woman and child, you better bring the whole US Army with you, because you’re gonna’ need it!’
Longstreet saddled up as his men stared in disbelief at the vicious encounter. None of them had ever heard an officer challenged so boldly either from another cavalry officer and certainly not a civilian dressed like an Indian. Several troopers glanced around uneasily wondering if the Apaches Beckett had threatened were watching and waiting for word from the Squaw Man to attack. Once they started up the trail heading for the top, they still constantly twisted in the saddle looking behind them, fearing an ambush.
Marshal Whitman had pushed Little Hawk and the rest of the men with him as fast as he dared on the tracks. Occasionally when they were lost, the Crow scout would double back picking them up again going forward. Whitman wanted to leave the captain as far behind as possible, forcing him to struggle to catch up and pay for his stubborn insistence to follow the trail downhill to Beckett’s cabin. Mountain night comes down fast like a lantern suddenly being snuffed out. The first bright rise of a July Buck Moon helped the riders keep going another hour longer before Whitman finally pulled to a stop in a copse of evergreens.
‘You men gather up some firewood so your precious captain can try to find us. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it takes him until sun up tomorrow morning. It would serve him right to wander around half the night.’
‘Should we make it big, like he said?’ a private asked.
‘No. Make one we can keep warm with. I don’t want a bonfire inviting every Apache in these mountains to come riding in on us. If Longstreet can’t see it, that’s his problem not mine. I’ll post two of you for night watch so the rest of us can get some sleep. Be sure to picket our horses on a rope line. I don’t want them wandering off either. I want to get an early start in the morning, whether he shows up or not.’
Far behind, Captain Longstreet continually berated his two trackers for not moving fast enough and losing the trail several times as light faded and long shadows of evening reached out, beginning to cover the land in darkness forcing the riders to pull to a halt.
‘Teague, you and Ryder go out a ways farther and see if Whitman has a fire going someplace ahead. If he does, we’ll keep on going until we catch up. If not, we’ll have to make a quick camp here until dawn.’
Teague looked back at the officer in amazement. ‘Neither me or Ryder can see in the dark, Captain. It makes no sense for us to do that now. Besides we’re well into Apache country by now and if they’re out there close by, we’d just be riding into an ambush. I’m not looking to invite myself to a scalping.’
&
nbsp; ‘I gave you an order. Can you understand that? If you want to get paid when we get back to Fort Jackson, I expect you to carry it out and not moan about Indians and scalpings. Ride out there and look for that signal fire. I won’t tell you again!’
Teague turned away in disgust, motioning Ryder to follow him heading for their horses. Once out of earshot of Longstreet, he gave his own orders. ‘We’ll ride out just far enough they can’t hear the horses, then wait a while before coming back. And that’s as far as we’re going. I’m not about to go wandering around in the dark like some damn fool asking to end up staked over a mound of red ants. Come on!’
Chapter Eleven
The same Buck Moon that helped Nate Whitman keep riding after dark, was fading out at dawn when Tyge Fan stepped out of the Elk Horn saloon, with his arm wrapped tightly around Rita de la Vega’s waist. Fan had ignored Skip Krago’s warning not to monopolize the beautiful young woman’s time. The more he sat each night watching her sing while smiling seductively and circulating among paying customers, the more he wanted her only to himself and no one else. Rita knew it too and used it to stoke his jealousy. She loved the attention. Tyge wasn’t sure if his affections were love or lust, and he didn’t care. He’d never met or seen another woman like her, and his fascination only grew. Her dark flashing eyes, long black hair and full lips, hypnotized him completely. He sat for hours watching her perform.
Skip Krago had warned Fan several more times after the original incident not to keep trying to take up all Rita’s time while she was working. Tyge continued to ignore the warning. He was younger than Krago. His swaggering walk and bold talk made it clear he’d be faster on the draw with that fancy six-gun hung low on his hip, if it ever came to that. Krago finally felt it was time to teach Tyge a lesson he wouldn’t forget, but not by dirtying his own hands to carry it out. Instead he’d buy the muscle he needed. Plenty was available.