He waited a while, and I poked sticks into the fire. Then I said, "Give me my guns. I will get your squaw for you."
For a long time he said nothing, then abruptly he got up and went to the other fire, where he remained, occasionally in low-voiced conversation. After a while he came back and sat down on the sand. "You can get my squaw?"
"Kahtenny is a warrior. He knows the ways of war. Much can happen, but this I promise. I shall get her safely if it can be done."
After a pause, I added, more quietly, "The Haddens are not Apaches. They are fierce men, but they are not Apaches. I can get your squaw."
"She is a good woman. She has been with me for many moons."
"Do you know where they are?"
"We take you there. It is near the border." Nobody needed to warn me that my troubles were only beginning. Kahtenny might use me to get his squaw back, and then shoot me down in my tracks. It wasn't that an Apache wasn't grateful, he just had different ideas than we folks had. If you were not of the tribe you were a potential enemy, and killing you was in the cards.
There had been no sign of Spanish or of John J. Nor in the little I could overhear was there mention of them. It seemed likely that they had gotten clean off. Well, luck to them.
At daybreak they led my black horse to me and I saddled up, taking my time, but when I started for my guns, they stopped me and Toclani took my Winchester and hung my gun belt over his shoulder. They let me fill a canteen, and then we started out.
All the time we were riding I kept thinking about Neiss, who was one of five men on a stage near Stein's Peak when it was hit by Cochise and his band. The driver and a man named Elder were killed right off, the stage capsized, and the men were preparing for a fight when Neiss talked them out of it. Cochise, he said, was an old friend, just let Neiss talk to Cochise and all would be well, so they tried it. Cochise roped Neiss and dragged him up the canyon over the rocks, cactus, and brush, while two other warriors did the same for the others. Then they were tortured to death. That happened in April of 1861.
Thinking of this, I was placing no great faith in my chances with them, and although they watched me like hawks, I kept a wary eye out for any chance of escape. There wasn't any.
My black horse was gaunt and worn by hard travel. To break and run, even if the chance came, would get me nowhere. I had no weapon and there was no place I had to go ... no place I could reach in time.
The sun glared down on us as we walked our horses across the parched, rocky hills, weaving amongst the cactus and the greasewood. It was rolling land, broken by short sawtooth ranges of dull red or brown rock, and occasional flows of lava marked by the white streaks of dry washes. Indians rode on all four sides of me, always alert, always ready.
Nobody talked.
Each step my horse took seemed to be carrying me closer to death ... escape would be too much luck.
I could expect no help from the Haddens. I had no idea how I was going to get the squaw away from them, and I felt sure they had no intention of letting her go free. Even among good men the depredations carried on by the Apaches had created the desire to exterminate them, one and all ... and the Haddens were not good men.
Me, I always had great respect for the Apache. He had learned to live off a mighty bleak and hard country, and he had none of the white man's ways of thinking, and you had to reach out to try to understand how he felt and what he wanted to do.
After a while we began to see more cholla, great stretches of it, all pale yellow under the bright sun, with the dark browns and blacks of the old branches down below. Jumping cactus, we called it, because if a body passed too close if seemed to jump out to stick you. The Apaches thinned out to single file as we went through it.
All of a sudden we drew up. Kahtenny turned and pointed out a low mountain ahead of us, off to the east. "It is there they are," he said, "at Dead Man's Tank.
They are six men, and my squaw, and they want you."
They wanted me dead.
Though Kahtenny would have killed me without waiting if he figured that would be enough, he was no more trusting of the Haddens than I was. They would get my body, but that didn't mean he would get his squaw.
"You're going to have to give me my guns," I said. "If I ride in there without them, they'll kill the both of us if they can. I figure to handle the Haddens.
Without them, the others aren't likely to cut up no fuss."
The funny thing about it was, all day my mind had been miles from that hot desert and back in the hill country of the Cumberland. They say a man's whole life passes before him when he's about to die. I can't say that mine did ... only those times back in the mountains, so long ago.
All day my mind kept going back to turnip greens, and to wild-hog hunting in the hills on those foggy mornings when the forest dripped and a body prowled through it like a red Indian, scouting for wild hogs to give us bacon to cook with turnip greens in an iron pot. Me and Orrin used to go out, or sometimes Tyrel, though he was younger. Never knew Tyrel to miss, though on occasion I did.
I'd never seen that country since. Never seen it ... but I hankered for it. Many a time on the desert I looked up to the stars and wished I was back there, seein' the kitchen door open with its light shining out and me coming up from the milking with my pails full to overflow.
You wouldn't hardly think my mind would be on that now, with the trouble I was in right this minute, but that's the way it was ... as if I had to give my mind some ease with good rememberin'. So all the time, as we rode along, my thoughts kept going back to that green and lovely country.
I thought of the time I floated down the Big South Fork on a flat-boat to New Orleans, taking what we had to trade -- corn, sorghum molasses, and maybe some tobacco. We Sacketts never had much to trade except muscle, because our poor ridge-land didn't raise more than enough to feed us, even if we hunted the forest too. But folks liked to have a Sackett along going downriver through some country where unruly folks were liable to be. My thoughts came back to where I was, and I saw that Kahtenny was pointing out the land. "You go," he said, "you go get my squaw."
He handed me my gun belt and Winchester, and I checked them for loads. My mouth felt as dry as one of those empty creek beds.
"You keep an eye out," I said. "Maybe I won't be comin' back with her."
We sat there a moment, and then I held out a hand. "Loan me a spare," I said. "I may need it bad."
Well, sir, he looked at me, and then he taken out his six-gun and passed it over. It was a Navy .44, and a likely piece. I shoved it down in my waistband back of my vest.
Toclani rode up. "I will go with you," he said.
"No, thanks. You stay here. If they see me comin' alone maybe they'll let me get close enough to talk. If they see two of us comin' they might just shoot."
So I spoke to that ga'nted-up black horse and we started down, and back behind me Kahtenny said, "You bring back my squaw."
I'd be lucky to do it. I'd be a whole sight luckier if I rode out with a whole hide.
"All right, horse," I said to the black, "let's go talk to them."
And we rode through the cholla toward Dead Man's Tank.
Chapter 17
The vague blue feather of smoke lifted faintly above the rocks of an old lava flow. I could hear my horse's hoofs strike stone, or his muffled hoof-falls in the sand. I sat tall in the saddle, Winchester in the scabbard, my mind open and alert.
There can be no planning in such a situation. Until a man is in the midst of it, he has no idea of the lay of the land, no idea of how the ones he's going to meet will be strung out. You just have to ride in and handle it by main strength and awkwardness, with maybe the salt of a little luck.
The men up ahead wanted me dead. No doubt they had me in their sights right now.
No doubt they were holding off to crow over me and mine, or to see what I had to say. As to that Apache squaw, they didn't care one whit. But the Haddens were new in Apache country, and they had no idea what they we
re up against. If Kahtenny didn't get his squaw, nobody was riding out of there with a whole skin ... not if Kahtenny could help it There was a little thorny, scraggly brush growing amongst the rocks, but the land around was mostly slabs of broken rock, falls of talus off the slopes, or ridges shoved up through the sand.
Glancing back, I could see two Apaches back there, and only two. That meant the others had scattered out and even now were moving in, getting in position for the kill.
Now, I'm a peace-loving man, inclined to easy riding and talking around a fire, and the more Apaches I get around me the more peace-loving I become. Riding up there to those rocks around Dead Man's Tank, I could feel my scalp a-prickling as if it guessed it was going to be lifted.
I taken the thong off the hammer of my Colt, and I rode up a narrow trail through the rocks and looked over into a shallow basin.
Dead Man's Tank lay before me, a pool of water maybe ten feet across, each way.
Beyond it was a mite of fire, with the thin line of smoke losing itself in the sky. I could see half a dozen horses, and what might be the ears of a couple more beyond the rocks.
The Haddens were standing wide-legged facing me, and there was a man higher up in the rocks with a Winchester across his knees. Two more were by the fire, and likely another might be somewhere about.
Right beyond the fire was Kahtenny's squaw, and even at this distance I could see she was both young and pretty. She looked straight at me, and I was betting she was counting on Kahtenny to get her loose from this setup.
And then I saw Dorset.
Dorset, and one of the youngsters. I gave a quick look around, but saw neither hide nor hair of the others. Maybe they were dead now, or else were crossing the border to safely.
Arch Hadden was looking right at me, and he was smiling, but there was nothing you'd call friendly in that smile. "Well, look who's here," he said. "That would-be tough Sackett."
"Got a message for you, Arch," I said, resting my hands on the pommel, left hand on top. "Kahtenny is out there, and he wants his squaw."
"We told him to send you dead."
"Must have been some mistake there," I said. "I'm still alive."
"Not for long," the other Hadden said, sounding mighty savage.
"I take it you boys haven't had much doings with the Apaches," I said, "so listen to some reason. No matter what's between you boys and me, you'd better listen real good.
"That Kahtenny is poison mean, and he's a fighter from way back. You see him out there almost alone, but he isn't alone. He's got a dozen Indians in these rocks, and more a-coming. If you want to get out of here alive you'd better turn loose his squaw."
The one in the rocks, he ups and says, "We've fought Injuns afore. We ain't turnin' her loose. That there's a right tasty bit of Injun."
Now I knew the chips were down and their cards were on the table. I was sort of watching everything, thinking about how long it had been since I practiced a left-hand draw, and thinking how they were probably counting on that right hand, far from the gun and resting on the pommel, under the left one. I had done that a-purpose, and was hoping it was going to give me the margin I needed. There was this thing of reaction time ... it takes an instant to see what's happening and for it to register on the mind and dictate a move.
"If you boys are as smart as I think you are," I said, "you'll let that squaw loose, and the same for the young lady over yonder. You know what will happen if you bother a white girl out here."
"Nothin' " That was the man with the rifle up in the rocks. "Ain't nobody goin' to tell."
"You're forgetting about my boys," I said. "They'll know and they'll be telling the story about now."
"Not Spanish Murphy," Arch Hadden said. "He won't tell nobody nothin'. We found him tied on his horse and he didn't look like he was going to make it, so we shot him. We just naturally finished him off."
Dorset was right behind the squaw now, and I never had any doubts about her doing what was best. That little lady had a head on her shoulders and the chances were that right now she was unloosing the squaw.
I knew I had to stall. I had to play for time. "No use you boys building up for trouble," I said. "Turn that squaw loose, and the lot of us have got a fighting chance. We can make it out of here if we move fast, before Kahtenny gets fifty, sixty Injuns out yonder."
"You ain't got the message," Wolf Hadden said. "We're goin' to kill you, boy."
Me, I smiled at him. Somehow I had to keep those boys talking, get their mind off the moment to give myself an edge. If I was going to do anything at all against the lot of them, I'd need all I could get.
"Most men who try to fight Apaches only learn by losing ... and when you lose a fight to an Apache you never get no chance to use what you learned. You boys take my advice and turn loose that squaw, and Kahtenny might just ride off and leave you be."
"You scared?" That was that one up on the rocks. He was beginning to get kind of irritating, like a mosquito around the ear.
"You bet I'm scared. I've seen these boys work. Now, I -- "
All of a sudden one of those boys yelled, "Arch! That damn squaw -- "
She was loose and she was moving, and she was moving almighty fast. The man up in the rocks swung his rifle and when he did I forked out that waistband gun with my left hand and my shot was a hair faster than his.
He fired at the squaw and I shot him right through the brisket, and then swung the gun to Wolf, who was coming up with a Remington Navy.
Dorset, she suddenly threw herself at the man nearest her and she hit him right behind the knees. He was standing on a bit of a slope, and when she hit him he buckled at the knees and fell forward on the gravelly hillside.
The man who'd been alongside the fire, instead of grabbing his gun, turned to lay hold of Dorset, and at the same time that I cut loose at Wolf I jumped my horse at Arch.
He made a quick step back to get out of the way, and a rock rolled under his feet. He fell as he drew, jolting the gun from his hand.
I swung my horse and got in another shot at Wolf, who burned me with one alongside the shoulder. He was just setting up to take a dead shot when my second bullet caught him, and he backed up a full step. My black was on him, and he rolled aside, and I felt bullets whipping around me.
Somehow Dorset had a gun. She fired at one of those boys and then taken out running, the child in her arms, for the pony string.
About that time I saw an Apache up on the slope, and he was shooting down at us.
I swung my horse again and went after Dorset.
She wasn't wasting any time, and fortunately they had left a couple of horses saddled. She pulled the drawstring on one of them and swung the child to the saddle, then she went into the saddle herself with a flying leap and we were off, running our horses across that desert like crazy folks.
Maybe we were a mite crazy. I had an idea we weren't going to make it, but every jump we took gave us a better chance. Behind us I could hear a fight taking place, and somebody else was running a horse off to the right.
Suddenly the desert split right open ahead of us, a deep cut maybe eight or ten feet across. I saw Dorset jump her horse, and I slapped spurs to mine and that black took to flying as if it was second nature. We both landed safe and swung down into a hollow, raced across it and up the other side, and into a forest of cholla where our horses swung right and left and about through that prickly stuff.
We leveled out in the open and put them to a run, and when we finally got them slowed down we had made it away ... for now.
Looking back, I could see nothing behind us. We had come several miles, and now we walked the horses under some cedars whilst I unlimbered my Winchester, checked it again, and returned it to the scabbard. Then I reloaded both my six-shooters. I could remember shooting four to five tunes, but eight shots had been fired, showing I'd been doubling up. I had no recollection of having drawn the second gun, but I surely had. When I'd reloaded, I moved alongside Dorset.
She was holdin
g the youngster on the saddle in front of her. "What happened to the others?" I asked. "They got away. Harry is like a little Apache himself.
When those men came up he just disappeared into the brush with the others."
"Let's hope he made it."
The country was changing now. It was much more broken, but there was also more growth. There had been a desert shower, one of those sudden rains that sometimes deluge only a small area and then vanish. This one had left water standing in the bottoms of the washes and in hollows atop the rocks. It had filled the desert tanks, so we watered the horses.
My eyes felt like hot lumps in my skull, and they seemed to move with incredible slowness when I turned to look around. My fingers felt stiff, and I worked them and tried to loosen them up. My mouth was dry, and after I'd drunk it was dry again in a few minutes.
All of a sudden I was dead tired again. All the days of driving ahead, running, fighting, and worrying a way out were beginning to catch up with me. But we started on.
The horses plodded ahead, dazed with weariness. Several times I found myself dozing in the saddle, each time I'd wake up with a start of fear, and look all around. My mind seemed to be in a state of despair. Spanish was dead ... Tampico Rocca was dead ... where was John J.?
It would soon be dark, and if we expected to make the border we had to find a place to stop for rest. If it had to be, we ourselves could keep going, but not the horses, and without them our chances were gone. "Do you think they're following us?" Dorset asked. "I don't know," I answered, and said no more. The sun disappeared and shadows gathered in the folded hills. The shadows lifted questioning fingers, stark against the yellow sky. The quail began to talk across the silences, the wind stirred, rustling the dry leaves on the parched brush. Our horses' hoofs whispered in the sand.
A lone coyote showed for an instant, then like a shadow was gone, leaving no more sign than an Apache. A few stars began to appear ... one bright one was low in the sky, and held steady. Time to time I looked at it, and finally I said, "That there's a light. A fire, maybe." Dorset turned her head to look. "It's not an Indian fire," she said.
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