“Yeah, they sure can't see us or track us in this. But they may not quit on it … not as close as they were. Might be best to get up along the wall of the canyon.”
“You think? We can't ride over the top.”
“I know it. But it's an easy slope up, and if we hug along the high line, there's likely better defense with rocks up there. We wanna be holdin’ the high ground if the shootin’ starts. They wouldn't be able to flank us or get behind us.”
“Hell, we couldn't see what they was doin’.”
“Then they can't see what we're doin’, either. It should be only a few more miles till we're outta this canyon.”
“Okay. Let's get movin’.”
“We gotta stay close. We get separated, and we won't be able to find each other.”
“I'm right behind you.”
Sammy reined Dobe up slope and they started out at a brisk walk with Blaine and Seesaw just off the left flank. Still unable to see anything other than sheets of whizzing white flakes, they knew they were headed toward the wall of the rim. Up the easy slope they climbed, each man straining to see or hear anything beyond the storm's fury. Nothing else existed.
After several minutes, they came to a juncture where the terrain suddenly became very steep. “I think this is the base of the rim wall,” Sammy said loudly enough to be heard over the wailing wind.
“All right, lead on. I got the rear.”
Sammy reined Dobe to the left and headed north, keeping the canyon wall snug on his right as a guiding line. They rode on at the best pace they could keep while maintaining a heading along the rim wall, but it was slow. The blizzard was unrelenting, and the whiteout continued. Time piled up against a wall of will and reason, as both men grew colder and thoughts of pursuing Indians began to be displaced by their odds of survival if they remained in the open of the storm. They were quiet against the wailing storm, riding on stubbornly with both of them focused on the base wall, straining their eyes in search of something they could duck in or under for shelter.
“Them Indians gotta be worried ‘bout their own scalps by now. They surely ain't givin’ chase to us no more,” Blaine yelled to Sammy.
“Yeah, we gotta get outta this weather. I've been looking for anything that'll do along here.”
“Me too.”
“Keep lookin.”
“Yep.”
Two pines standing next to each other emerged out of the whiteness like looming green detours, causing Sammy to veer right and pinching him between the trees and a granite wall that became visible only as he was quite suddenly brushing along it. Blaine followed Sammy's lead, and they rode directly beside the wall for a hundred feet or so until Sammy reined to a stop. “There's some kind of corner here!” He yelled. He eased Dobe around the fold of the wall and could make out another granite wall about twenty feet ahead. To his right was a corridor between the two walls. He eased into the corridor and then stopped suddenly, holding an open palm back toward Blaine, who was right behind him. Both men dismounted. Blaine took several steps forward before he saw the object of Sammy's attention.
The horse dung was fresh. An area where horses had been tied was unmistakable. Though mostly covered with snow, they could make out the indentations created by horse hooves.
“Them looks like unshod pony tracks,” Blaine said.
“Yeah—and that looks to be a cave opening ahead.”
“You thinkin’ what I'm thinkin’?” Blaine asked.
“Yeah. It could be they never saw us. I saw ‘em comin’ at us and figured they had. But they might have just been crossin’ the canyon there to get to this side. They may not know about us.”
“They sure as hell will if stay here too long.”
“Maybe we oughta fight ‘em for it.”
“For what?”
“The cave…. Might be better odds than headin’ back into that storm.”
“You been drinkin’ that whiskey this morning?”
“I mean it. If they don't know how many of us there are, and we shoot at the first couple comin’ in, the rest might just vamanos on outta here.”
“Hell, we don't know there's not more of ‘em in there right now,” Blaine said, the incredulity thick in his voice.
“Hold the horses for a minute. I'll find out.”
“We ain't got time for that!”
“We rode hard for quite a while. I'll bet we've got twenty minutes on ‘em.”
“I reckon you're bettin’ our lives.”
“We'll hitch ‘em here and go look together.”
“All right, goddammit! But let's hurry up!”
Chapter 32
Sammy and Blaine made their way silently down the corridor toward the cave opening with rifles ready and the sound of the storm retreating. The scent of wood smoke hit them as they drew closer, and then they saw the flickering of light against the inside of the cave wall. They flanked the opening, hugging each side as they cocked their heads around the edge to peer inside. A fire burned in the middle of the chamber with smoke rising some thirty feet to a small hole through which a hint of light appeared. Several torches fixed in wall crevices threw a dancing glow along the upper walls.
An Indian sat cross-legged near the fire, intently cutting a hide with his knife. He wore buckskin pants and moccasins, naked from the waist up except for a poultice on his side and necklaces of beads, game teeth, and bear claws. His long black hair was shoulder length, flowing from beneath a leather headband with carved symbols. He was a young man.
But all of that was lost as Sammy realized what he saw on the other side of the fire. Three women sat huddled together, their western dresses filthy and torn in places, and their hair matted and unkempt with dirt and debris. Each wore a pair of dirty socks, above which Sammy could clearly see ankle shackles. Their faces were dirty, but there was no mistaking that they were white women. The oldest appeared to be in her early thirties, and the youngest was no more than sixteen. The other was about Sammy's age.
The hair on the back of Sammy's neck stood up. He could feel his blood rising as a wave of anger rolled over him like the fires of hell. Blaine looked at Sammy's face, seared in contempt, and knew what was coming next. Sammy stepped into the opening of the cave and swung his Henry 44 level at the Indian's head as he cocked it. “Blaine—get our horses and bring ‘em in here,” Sammy said, walking toward the Indian who held his side gingerly as he got to his feet.
The Indian held the knife low and did not assume a posture of fighting or defense, understanding that to do so would be to die. The white stranger had him cold.
“Drop the knife,” Sammy said, motioning with his rifle barrel toward the floor.
“Mente hoh dae cuna,” the Indian said with expressionless eyes before he pitched the knife several feet. Sammy could see the dried blood on his side that had soaked through and under the poultice.
Blaine led the horses into the cave, their hooves clicking on the intermittent patches of rock floor. “What are we doin’ with this injun?”
“Tie him up—hands and feet and arms and legs.” Sammy held the rifle on him while Blaine quickly roped the Indian into a cocoon, then pushed him to the ground and dragged him to the sidewall where he rolled him face down.
The horses drifted to the back of the cave, where a brook could be heard running. They began to drink. Several travois, an army strongbox, and all manner of looted goods from ambushed wagons and travelers were strewn about the main chamber. There were also two tunnels that led somewhere else.
Sammy knelt before the women and looked into the pleading eyes of the oldest, whose face bespoke her anguish. The other two were looking down in apparent fear. “Don't worry, we're going to help you … get you back to your people. Are there any more of you?”
The other two looked up at Sammy with sudden hope, mixed with the present terror of their ordeal. “They killed her,” the oldest one said as she began sobbing. “Her name was Sally Hemmings, and they cut her throat for trying to escape. They killed he
r in front of us. She was the only other one. Please help us! Please get us out of here!”
“We're gonna get you out of here.” Sammy quickly examined their shackles. There was eight inches of chain connecting the two cuffs of each set. They were stamped U.S. Army. “Do you know where the key is for these?”
“He has it. I saw one of them give it to him before they left,” said the oldest, nodding toward the Indian.
Blaine was to the Indian as soon as she'd finished her pronouncement. Rolling him over and pulling the key from his pocket, Blaine tossed it to Sammy, who began working at getting the women free. “I'm gonna see about these tunnels,” Blaine said. “Whatever the plan's gonna be, we better get ‘er figured ‘cause they're comin’ soon.”
“That one on the right leads to a small room with no other exits from it,” the oldest said. “I think the other one must lead outside. I've seen some come back in that way after leaving through this big entrance.”
“How many Indians are there?” Sammy asked.
“Eight, including him. They all have guns and knives.”
Blaine moved quickly toward the tunnel that the woman had said led outside. “I'll see where it ends up if, it ain't too long,” He disappeared into the dark opening.
“I'm Sammy Winds, and my partner's name is Blaine Corker. I need you gals to do what we tell you when we tell you. You understand?” They nodded their heads in unison. “All right, I want you all to move into that room you just mentioned. Is there any light in there?”
“Yes, there's a lamp I can light … but why don't we just leave!? There's more of them than you two. We'd be trapped in there!”
“Ma'am, there's a bad storm outside, and we don't have but two horses. You're just gonna have to trust me. Now let's get movin’.”
Sammy helped each of them to their feet, then pulled a torch from the wall and led them through a short tunnel of just several paces to the smaller chamber. It was circular shaped and about fifteen feet in diameter. Buffalo hides covered most of the dirt floor, and assorted household goods were piled along the wall. The air was dank with a putrid aroma. He handed the torch to the youngest. “Hold this,” he said. “Light that lamp. I'll be right back.”
Sammy went back to the main chamber and dragged the Indian by his feet on his belly toward the other chamber. The Indian moaned lowly along the way as his poultice was rubbed off, reopening his wound. When they reached the other chamber, the lamp was lit and the women stood in the middle of the room. Sammy pulled the Indian alongside the wall, then quickly rummaged through some of the looted goods. He found cloth and ripped off three long strips, wadding up the first and stuffing in the Indian's mouth. He wrapped the second strip over the Indian's mouth and tied a knot at the back of his head. Then he tied on the last strip as a blindfold. The Indian lay on his belly with his head turned sideways and his cheek on the dirt. He breathed hard through his nose, causing little dust clouds to rise in front of his face each time he exhaled.
Sammy removed the pistol from his left holster and handed it to the oldest. “Do you know how to use this?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, then pulled back the hammer to the first click to check the action. She used both hands to let the hammer back to the non-cocked position as she pressured the trigger. “All the way back when I want to shoot,” she said as a statement rather than a question.
“Yes ma'am. All the way back to the second click. You're gonna hear some shootin’ out there soon. Just hold steady. If any Indians come through that door—anybody other than my partner or me—shoot ‘em. And if this one gets outta line somehow, shoot him.
She looked over at the Indian. “He's the only one of them who hasn't assaulted us.”
“Well, he'll likely kill you now if he gets the chance.”
Sammy walked over to the wall and picked up a tea kettle-sized rock. “If he starts tryin’ to make noise, one of you take this with both hands and hit him right on top of the head—hard!—until he stops. What's your names, ma'am?”
“I'm Emily Evans … and this is Margaret Lew and Claire Studdard.” The two younger ones looked at Sammy, but did not speak.
Sammy nodded his head at each. “Emily. Margaret. Claire. We're in this together now, and we'll get out of it together. Stay strong and quiet. I'll see you all in a little bit.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter 33
Ten Loco slid gracefully off his horse and tied it. The hunt was successful, and he and his men were relieved to be out of the brutal storm and back at the cave that had served as their winter camp. Ten Loco and his men were all Chiricahua Apache, who had left the tribe a year earlier. He had been named Ten Buffalo for his hunting prowess, but was eventually dubbed Ten Loco for a series of transgressions that led to his banishment from the tribe. The other braves, each partially involved in Ten Loco's crimes against Apache custom and etiquette, decided to leave with him rather than face Apache justice.
With Ten Loco as their chief, the renegades had made their living attacking and murdering anybody unfortunate enough to be traveling as a small party. Their plunder, among other things, had netted a decent stake worth of gold, which Ten Loco used to trade for rifles, cartridges, and other goods from a corrupt army provisions agent. His braves particularly liked the whiskey that came with each transaction. Ten Loco always carried his gold with him in palm-sized leather pouches that hung from the back of his waist sash like so many counter balances.
The women of the cave had been plucked separately during ambushes on single wagons and buckboards, shattering the lives of folks who had been calling on neighbors or going to town for supplies. Claire Studdard saw her young husband shot dead off their buggy as they traveled to a neighbors cabin for Christmas day supper. When Claire arrived at the cave, Sally Hemmings had already been there a month. The others came soon after. When Ten Loco savagely cut Sally Hemmings’ throat in front of the other women, he left her body at their feet for a day, and they were not allowed to move from it.
Ten Loco carried a rifle in his right hand as he moved toward the cave opening. The others were untying the two elk that had been butchered down to prime cuts and tied among six different horses. Ten Loco was almost to the entrance when he saw the partial hoof print in an area under the overhang where no snow had fallen. He stopped. It was the partial print of a shod horse. He looked closely at the area for any other tracks, but saw nothing. Then he noticed the unnatural pattern of dirt, and he knew what it meant. The area had been rubbed over to erase tracks.
Ten Loco slowly backed up to his men, his eyes warily scanning all around as he moved. With hand signals and gestures, he silently communicated the threat and directed three of his men to scout and enter the other cave entrance. Ten Loco and the remaining Apaches moved toward the main opening with two on each side.
At the cave's edge, he motioned for the others to stay concealed behind the outside corners, and then he dropped to his belly with his rifle and slithered forward to where he could see inside. The fire burned strongly with fresh fuel and the wall torches were in place, but no one was in sight. His eyes slowly surveyed the interior, which was some seventy-five feet deep and cast in darkness at the rear. He strained his eyes to see, but could not make out the back wall or the small alcove at the rear of the cave where the brook ran. A boulder inside the cave to his right could conceal one man at best. All else seemed normal, and the many contents of the cave appeared to be undisturbed.
Ten Loco trained his eyes on the other entrance and waited for his men to appear. It was halfway back on the left side and close to the passage where the women were hiding. He watched intently for several moments until his men materialized like ghosts at the edge of the tunnel. They were looking over at him. He gave several head nods signaling for two to break to the left and the third to go right. Then, like a spider that moves in any direction with equal grace, Ten Loco slid backwards out of the entrance and leapt to his feet. He and his men moved into final position. Hugging tight to each
side of the opening, the Apaches slid around the corners and were quickly inside the cave.
Ten Loco did not like the dark veil at the back of the cave and swung his rifle toward it just as the deafening blast reverberated forth and the bullet took him through the front of the neck. The next bullet came an instant later and ripped into his chest and through his heart, exploding it to pieces. Ten Loco was dead before he hit the ground.
The muzzle blasts continued from the darkness like a lightening storm in the night, flashing a halo around Sammy with each shot and then returning him to blackness for the briefest respite as he levered his Henry 44 like a machine. Caught in the open, the other Apaches with Ten Loco swung their rifles wildly toward the phantom shooter of the darkness and fired hastily. They missed. Sammy killed two more before either got off a second shot. Fright overtook the other Apache who had been next to Ten Loco. He dove for the entrance and quickly crawled out of the cave and the line of fire.
Blaine Corker was thirty feet to Sammy's left behind the boulder that Ten Loco had wondered about. As soon as Sammy fired his first shot, Blaine levered his Winchester at the three Apaches at the other entrance directly across from him. He killed one with his first shot and hit another in the shoulder just as the Apache fired back and quickly backed into the tunnel from which they'd come. The third Apache darted into the passage leading to the women. A moment later, a shot echoed from the passage. Then another, and another. Sammy ran to the passage yelling before he entered, “It's Sammy Winds comin’ in. Sammy Winds!”
Emily Evans held the pistol at the ready, but lowered it upon seeing Sammy. Her face was a mixture of rage and fear. The room was smoky and overwhelmed with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Sammy looked down at the dead Apache. He'd been shot three times: twice in the chest and once in the head. Sammy looked to the other Apache who'd been tied up. He'd been bludgeoned, and the pool of dark blood beneath his skull had mostly soaked into the dirt. He was dead.
Along The Fortune Trail Page 14