by Jake Henry
‘That’s right kind of you,’ Savage said sarcastically as he removed his shirt. ‘I shall die a lot happier knowin’ that.’
Cochise stepped back and left the two combatants to their arena. Chaco faced Savage with a look of utter disdain. He held a wicked-looking knife in his right hand. He spat on the ground in disgust and moved in.
Savage knew that should the fight continue for a prolonged period of time, then he was a dead man. Chaco would have the stamina to outlast him.
Chaco wasted no time and lunged in, his blade slicing thin air as Savage sucked in his belly and jumped back. The warrior moved again, this time he took a back-handed swipe at Savage who narrowly managed to avoid it. Savage launched his own brief attack. His knife hand streaked out and a hiss escaped Chaco’s lips as the knife scored the flesh of the warrior’s right arm, bringing forth a thin trickle of bright red blood.
The warrior didn’t bother to check the wound but moved in for another attack. The sun flickered off the Indian’s blade as he aimed for Savage’s belly, intent on disemboweling him.
Savage blocked the scything blow with his own knife and the blades rang out when they met. Chaco grunted in surprise at Savage’s swiftness.
Both men backed away and circled to the right before Chaco moved to engage again. He feinted left then cut back right and nicked the skin of Savage’s mid-section.
Savage jumped back at the burning sensation and knew instantly he’d been cut. But he dared not look down. To take his eyes from Chaco meant the Apache would take advantage and be on him in a heartbeat.
He could feel the blood trickle down his front and as sweat met the open wound, his flesh stung sharply. Chaco smiled coldly then lunged forward and didn’t stop.
Savage caught his knife-arm just below the wrist and Chaco did the same. The Apache was powerful and Savage used it to his advantage. Instead of trying to stop the charge of Chaco, he fell backward bringing Chaco with him. When Savage hit the ground he brought his legs up and used them as a lever. The Apache’s momentum and the thrust of Savage’s legs helped Chaco to sail forward over Savage’s head. He hit the compact desert sand with a loud whoof, rolled and came cat-like to his feet. Savage was only halfway to his when Chaco launched another attack.
Chaco hit him hard and knocked Savage onto his back, the snarling Apache coming down on top of him. The knife spilled from Savage’s grip from the impact but he needed both hands free to grasp Chaco’s wrists in an attempt to stop the razor-sharp blade being driven down into his throat.
Their faces were only inches apart as they both struggled. Chaco grimaced as he tried to force the blade down even further. Savage felt the point prick the skin just below his chin. Fear and adrenaline surged through his body at the thought he was about to die. He heaved with all his strength and threw Chaco to the side.
Once more the Apache regained his feet quickly while Savage got to his and scooped up his knife. Chaco came at him again. The knife flicked forward and back and before Savage knew it, he was bleeding from a second cut to his chest.
Blood flowed freely now as the new one was deeper than the first. The Apache came at him again and Savage lashed out with his boot, connected with Chaco’s knife arm but didn’t dislodge the knife.
Patiently, Savage waited for Chaco to make a mistake. The Apache, on the other hand, was growing impatient and frustrated. He’d expected Savage to show more fear thus making him easier to kill. But he was wrong and his frustration was making him sloppy. He lunged in carelessly and Savage opened a good sized cut on his left side.
An audible murmur rippled through the gathered onlookers as Chaco stepped back to take stock. But Savage followed him and with a thrust and flick of the knife, he opened up another cut to the Apache’s muscular right arm, his knife arm.
Blood flowed freely from both wounds but the one in the right arm bled more, running down the arm and across the knife handle, making it slick.
That was when Savage noticed a look of fear in Chaco’s eyes. Fear that the white-eyes might actually win thus ensuring his own death, or worse, make him lose honor in the eyes of his tribe.
The warrior’s face became like granite. That would not happen. When he came forward with blinding speed he found Savage up to the task. There was a flurry of arms and blades and when it stopped, Savage moved past Chaco and stood with his back to the warrior, facing some of the gathered Apaches.
Chaco was doing the same except there was a confused expression on his face. One of absolute puzzlement.
A slow rivulet of bright red blood issued from a thin line across his throat. He moved his head and the trickle became a torrent of red flowing over his muscular chest, as the cut opened right across the Apache’s throat.
Chaco sank to his knees, eyes still wide. He knelt there for what seemed like an age before he fell face-first into the sand.
Savage knew he’d killed Chaco even without turning to see. In the flurry of movement, he’d somehow found an opening and slashed the blade across the exposed throat. His shoulders slumped with relief but he remained still.
A Chiricahua brave stepped forward with his rifle raised ready to kill Savage when a loud command from Cochise stopped him. The warrior spat on the ground at Savage’s feet and snarled words that he couldn’t understand, before whirling and pushing his way through the crush.
‘I see you still live, Jeff Savage,’ Cochise said from beside him. ‘None have faced the blade of Chaco before and lived.’
‘Maybe that’s why I was able to beat him,’ Savage surmised. ‘Maybe he was overconfident and got careless. Or maybe I just like livin’ and weren’t ready to die yet.’
‘Maybe.’
Savage checked his wounds.
‘You will need them seen to before you go,’ Cochise pointed out.
‘So I’m able to leave?’ Savage asked.
The Apache chief nodded. ‘No one will try to stop you.’
‘Are you takin’ your warriors back to their lands?’
‘Yes,’ Cochise answered. ‘We will go back now. What about you? Are you going to try to stop the white-eye who wishes war.’
‘Yes, before it is too late.’
Savage went to hand the knife to Cochise.
‘Keep it,’ he told him. ‘You may have more need of it than I.’
Twenty minutes later Savage was ready to leave. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed and his weapons and horse returned to him. But if he thought he was going to get away unscathed then he thought wrong. He was tightening his cinch when Cochise came up behind him and said, ‘You will take something else with you when you leave.’
Savage turned and immediately froze. Standing in front of him was a woman with long dark disheveled hair and red-rimmed green eyes. He stared at her for a long drawn out moment of silence then said, ‘Ahh hell no.’
‘I still ain’t forgot you hit me and killed my man, you son of a bitch,’ Gloria Tate snarled.
Savage shook his head and looked at Cochise. ‘I’m goin’ to need a horse for her.’
‘I will see that you get one.’
‘You know she tried to kill me?’
‘Me too,’ Cochise said. ‘Twice.’
The Apache chief walked away to get another horse for the woman.
‘I heard you died along with the rest of them,’ Savage told her.
Gloria lifted her chin defiantly and said, ‘Not hardly.’
Savage’s gaze hardened. ‘OK, listen up. If you want to come with me, then you’ll do as I say. If not I’ll just leave your pretty little ass here and Cochise can deal with you.’
Gloria’s eyes flared but she allowed herself to calm before she spoke.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said with a hint of indignation in her voice.
He glared at her. ‘Just damn well try me.’
Gloria set her jaw firm but remained silent. Then her expression softened. ‘You think I’m pretty?’
Savage gave her an exasperated look. ‘Oh, shut up.’
‘That’ll make two of them.’
‘Good luck Jeff Savage,’ Cochise said. ‘I hope you succeed in stopping the white-eye.’
Nine
Through the small window of his cell, Shelby watched the wagon get loaded with rifles. All the while he cursed the man who’d taken over his command and was about to get most of them killed.
‘Dumb stupid son of a bitch,’ he swore out loud.
Then he watched as fifty men rode out in column-of-twos, led by the same stupid son of a bitch.
‘Private Rutledge,’ he called out to the man on guard.
‘What do you want?’
‘I want you to get Sergeant Brown for me,’ Shelby stated.
‘Can’t do that, Sir.’
‘Damn it, man. Do you know what they took out of here in that wagon?’
‘Ain’t my job to ask,’ Rutledge answered.
‘They took rifles. Rifles! And do you know where they are taking them?’
This time Rutledge didn’t speak.
‘They’re taking them to the Apaches,’ Shelby told him. ‘Perkins thinks he can get them to side with him against the Union. He thinks he can make them a part of his new army.’
Rutledge still remained silent.
‘Now you and I both know that the only thing the Apaches are going to do with them rifles is kill them all. So they have to be stopped. Now get Brown for me.’
Rutledge hesitated once more but decided that what Shelby had said made sense and went to fetch Esa Brown.
It was ten minutes before he returned with Esa who entered the cell and glared at Shelby.
‘What do you want?’ he asked in a disrespectful tone.
‘I want you to let me out of here before it is too late,’ Shelby answered.
Esa snorted. ‘That ain’t goin’ to happen.’
‘Damn it, Esa,’ Shelby barked, ‘that son of a bitch is going to get all of them killed. Perkins doesn’t have a clue what will happen once the Apaches get the rifles.’
Esa stood firm, his loyalty to his commanding officer and the cause overrode any doubts that he had.
‘Major Perkins knows what he’s doin’,’ Esa stated firmly. ‘Now shut your yowlin’. You ain’t getting’ out.’
He turned, walked out and left Shelby to fume on his own.
‘This will be on your head, Esa!’ he raged. ‘Yours and that stupid bastard you blindly follow.’
~*~
It was the middle of the afternoon when Savage drew rein and unsheathed the Yellow Boy, jacking a round into its breech. The sun burned hot against their exposed skin as it hung in the cloudless sky.
‘What’s wrong,’ Gloria Tate asked, an edge to her voice.
‘Somethin’s dead,’ Savage told her in a soft tone. ‘Up ahead. I can make out the buzzards.’
Gloria strained to see across the desert. At first, she could make out nothing, but after a couple of moments, she could just see the waddling black shapes as they gorged themselves on whatever it was.
‘Stay close,’ Savage ordered. ‘And if I tell you to ride, you ride like hell and don’t look back. If you continue east for a day or so, you should make Shelby’s valley.’
‘Can’t we go around?’ Gloria asked, her voice filled with hope.
‘Just keep quiet and follow me,’ Savage said as he eased the sorrel forward.
As he rode, his eyes never stopped scanning the surrounding terrain. The smoke had stopped earlier but it didn’t mean that the Yavapai had gone. At one point, they had been forced to take refuge in a wash as a dust cloud had loomed to the south. Fortunately, it had faded then vanished.
The scent of rotting flesh reached them as the breeze sprang up and carried the nauseating aroma across the final thirty yards to them. As the black carrion eaters went about their grisly task, Savage immediately thought of Amy. Pain stabbed at his heart, the thought of her still raw.
It wasn’t until they were almost on top of them that Savage realized that there were two corpses providing a feast for the birds .
‘Stay back,’ he ordered Gloria. ‘You don’t need to see this.’
‘Oh my Lord,’ Gloria groaned as she saw the remains.
Between the sight and the smell, it was too overwhelming and she leaned sideways in the saddle and heaved.
Before dismounting, Savage glanced about. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary he climbed down and looked the two corpses over. The gorged birds shuffled away, unwilling or unable to fly.
The first one was an Indian. That much he could make out. Who it was, was anybody’s guess. Savage moved on to the next one and even though most of the face was gone, he still knew that it was Ben Simeon.
‘What on earth were you doin’ out here?’ Savage said aloud.
With an air of urgency, Savage looked around some more and found that he’d not been the only one to come across the two dead men. There were the tracks of at least four sets of moccasins, which begged the question of why they hadn’t scalped Simeon and taken care of their own dead. Unless the dead Apache wasn’t one of theirs. Then that would make him the renegade Rios.
One problem solved, Savage thought.
‘Can we go now?’ Gloria Tate called from behind him.
Savage turned to see her wiping her mouth, trying to rid herself of the taste and smell of her stomach contents. He ignored her while he cast a sorrowful glance at Simeon’s corpse.
‘Sorry I can’t do much for you,’ Savage mumbled. ‘But I reckon you would understand.’
Savage walked back to the sorrel. Without saying a word he mounted and pointed it in the direction of Shelby’s valley, still nagged by the unanswered question. What was Simeon doing out here?
~*~
Major Christopher Perkins halted his column ten miles from Fort Jackson by a small, seasonal stream that held barely enough water for the men let alone the horses. He posted pickets then set about waiting for the Yavapai to find him. It was almost dusk and the last orange fingers of sunlight reached out across the darkening sky. He placed the wagon full of rifles at the center of his camp.
Perkins recalled the Apache war smoke that had dotted the sky for most of the day and smiled to himself. His plan was starting to come together. All he needed now was a treaty with the Indians and his force would be strong enough to put in motion his dream of making Texas, and the South, great again.
It wasn’t much after dark when the Yavapai announced their presence. The air had cooled quickly once the sun had gone and small pinpricks of starlight started to fill the broad, cloudless sky. Out in the desert, the first yip of a coyote could be heard. It was followed by another off to the south. Soon the night was filled with them as they called back and forth to each other. The horses stirred nervously at their lines, stamping and snorting.
‘What are we goin’ to do, Sir?’ a trooper named Crow asked Perkins. ‘They’re all around us.’
‘We’ll wait for morning then see,’ was all Perkins said. ‘Tell Waters to have the men stand to just in case.’
~*~
Savage made a dry camp amongst some rocks and brush that evening a hundred or so yards off the trail. They made do with the water they had and built a small fire to keep warm.
‘Why are you going back to warn them soldier boys when we should be getting the hell outta these mountains,’ Gloria asked him from across the flickering orange flames.
‘Because I told Shelby I’d help him,’ Savage explained. ‘And I told Cochise I was goin’ to try and stop a damned Indian war.’
‘He’s only a heathen,’ she spat. ‘Why keep your word to him?’
‘Because when I give my word, I keep it,’ Savage said. ‘Unlike some.’
Her gaze grew hard. ‘So do I.’
He knew what she was getting at. Her hate still ran deep even though she refused to show it, for the moment at least.
‘How did a pr
etty southern girl like you get mixed up with a no good sonuver like Ned Tate?’ Savage asked her.
‘What is it to you?’ she snapped.
‘I’m curious is all. I mean, under all that dirt and grime you are a mighty handsome woman. You could have almost any man you set your sights on and yet you settle for a killer like Tate.’
‘He wasn’t always like that,’ Gloria said. ‘He was a good man once, before the war. We had everything until you damn Yankees decided to ruin it. After that, things were never the same. We lost everything. Our home, money, lifestyle, even our friends. So Ned turned to the only thing he had left. Gambling.’
‘That turned out well for you,’ Savage said coldly.
‘We did what we had to do, to survive,’ Gloria snarled.
‘Includin’ murder,’ Savage pointed out.
Gloria remained silent.
‘You’d best turn in,’ Savage told her. ‘We got a hard day ahead tomorrow.’
Gloria Tate stared at him for a brief moment and he wondered if she were about to say something. Instead, she turned her back on him and found a place to sleep.
~*~
Savage came awake the instant he felt something was wrong. It was like an inbuilt sixth sense that dragged him from the depths of darkness. His eyes snapped wide and he saw the shadow that loomed ominously above him. He caught the glint of silvery moonlight upon a knife blade as it was lifted high, ready to plunge down in a killing blow.
Without a second thought, Savage rolled away from the descending knife and it drove harmlessly into the sandy soil where he’d been laying. He lashed out with his boot and caught his attacker in the leg, making them buckle. A scream of pain and frustration told him who his assailant was.
Savage came up off the ground and moved in close to Gloria. She raised herself to one knee and brought the knife up, ready to slice across his stomach in a disemboweling stroke. He dodged it easily and with a chopping motion, brought the heel of his hand down onto her wrist. The knife was dislodged and it fell harmlessly to the ground.
Another scream of frustration filled the surrounding desert as Gloria came up with hands curled into claws and tried to viciously rake his face.