by Jake Henry
Savage took her by the wrists and held them in a firm grip. She snarled wildly at him, trying to bite exposed flesh.
‘You murdering bastard,’ she screamed. ‘I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. Be damned if I don’t.’
Her struggles grew in intensity as she tried to break Savage’s hold. With the speed of a striking rattler, Savage’s right hand released its grip and shot forward, slapping Gloria across her cheek. Not too hard like the first time at Concho Springs, but hard enough to make her stop.
As her struggles ceased, he could make out her blazing eyes in the dying firelight, filled with rage at the man who’d killed her husband.
And then for some strange reason, he kissed her. A hard, brutal kiss that mashed her lips against her teeth.
Gloria struggled to break away from him. Not like before however. This time her efforts were feeble and it wasn’t long before she responded to his embrace and returned the kiss.
Then he pushed her away. A forceful shove that made her stagger and fall to her backside. He bent down and picked up the knife she’d tried to use. Gloria looked up at him, a confused expression on her face.
‘What the hell was that?’ Gloria snapped.
Savage stared at her in silence before he answered in a cold voice, ‘I wanted to see if you really loved your husband or would settle for anyone who showed an interest. I guess I found out.’
‘You son of a bitch,’ she snarled. ‘You low down bastard.’
‘Just you remember it,’ he said turning away.
But there was something about this woman. Something that stirred him deep inside and he didn’t like it. It was an attraction of sorts brought on by her beauty and the fire from within. Not like Amy. She had been different, and he guessed that was why he felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest.
Savage turned back to face Gloria.
‘Tell me one thing,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The feller they said you killed. The one that won your husband’s money. Did you really kill him?’
Gloria stared at him and thought about telling him to go to hell, but for some strange reason decided against it.
She shook her head. ‘No. No that wasn’t me. Ned did that. I didn’t even know about it until afterward.’
‘Did you ever kill anyone for him?’
Again she shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Then why try to kill me?’
‘After all is said and done,’ Gloria told him, ‘Ned was still my husband and I loved him.’
Savage nodded his understanding. ‘Get some sleep.’
He settled back down under his blanket and closed his eyes, mind still whirling from the previous events. Then came the soft footfall from beside him.
‘Are you goin’ to try and kill me again?’ he asked. ‘You got another knife I don’t know about?’
‘I’m cold,’ Gloria said.
Savage opened his eyes and looked up at her. He felt the stirring again and knew this time it wasn’t going to go away. He didn’t say anything, just drew back the blanket for her. It was a long while before they both found sleep.
~*~
The sun had just started to claw its way into a cloudless sky when Savage broke camp the following morning. He’d saddled the sorrel and was seeing to the pinto when Gloria approached.
‘I tried to hire Lucifer to kill you, you know,’ she informed him. ‘But he wouldn’t do it.’
‘Uh huh,’ Savage grunted, not looking at her.
She studied him for a moment and asked, ‘What was her name?’
Savage turned. ‘Who?’
‘Your wife.’
‘Amy.’
‘What was she like?’
‘Why?’ Savage asked, trying to avoid the question.
‘Is it true that you killed all them men?’
‘Damn it,’ Savage snapped. ‘What is this?’
‘I guess I’d like to know a little about the man I shared a bed with,’ Gloria answered.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ Savage said forcefully. ‘Last night was a one-off, it ain’t never goin’ to happen again. Got it?’
Gloria’s mouth fell open and her eyes showed the hurt of his scathing words. Then the pain spread across her face, etched deep and when she tried to speak, nothing came out.
She took a faltering step towards Savage, then fell forward revealing the arrow buried between her shoulder blades.
Savage’s military training took over as he dragged his gaze from the dead woman. Used to making split decisions under pressure, he leaped to the sorrel’s side and dragged the Yellow Boy Winchester from the scabbard. He whirled just as a painted Apache emerged whooping from some rocks, a wicked looking knife in his right hand.
The rifle in Savage’s grasp thundered and the slug that blasted from its barrel slammed into the warrior’s bare middle with a loud thwack. The Apache grunted from the impact and went to his knees incapacitated, the knife dropped beside him.
The pfzzt sound of an arrow passing close to him drew Savage’s attention to the brush that was directly behind where Gloria had been standing. An Apache with a bow was now visible, trying to nock another arrow to loose at his quarry.
The Yellow Boy roared again and the Apache was punched back as the .44 Henry slug slammed violently into his chest. He fell into the brush and the only thing left protruding were his feet as they beat a death tattoo on the dry ground.
Savage worked the rifle’s lever and another cartridge slammed home into the breech. There was movement to his left and a third paint daubed Apache appeared. This one, though, had a battered Spencer rifle and was bringing it up to fire. Without thinking, Savage rolled to his right and came up on one knee. The warrior had fired the Spencer and the slug dug into the sand to his left.
The rifle bucked and the Warrior howled with pain as the bullet hit him in the right shoulder causing him to drop the Spencer. Immediately, the wounded Apache pulled a knife from its sheath on his hip and started forward.
‘Stop right there,’ Savage ordered him in Spanish. ‘You don’t have to die today.’
The Indian ignored him and kept coming, a menacing snarl upon his face. Savage fired and a red blossom appeared on the Apache’s chest, staining what used to be a light colored shirt, causing him to drop like a stone.
Yet another Apache emerged from some rocks directly in front of him causing Savage to wonder how many more there were. This one was armed with a bow like the one who’d killed Gloria. He leveled the Winchester and fired four fast shots that plowed into the ground at the advancing warrior’s feet.
The Apache turned and ran, not wanting to end up dead like his brothers. Savage watched him as he disappeared into the rocks and brush and it wasn’t long before the sound of retreating horse hooves could be heard.
He climbed to his feet, eyes scanning the surrounding landscape as he searched for any further danger. After a minute of doing so, no more Apaches appeared.
Savage walked over and stood beside the dead form of Gloria Tate and when he looked down at her unmoving body he realized that he felt nothing. He was devoid of emotion towards her death and put it down to the murder of his wife and the events that had followed. Even though he’d spent the night with her, he still felt no sadness or regret over her death.
He looked around once more and saw the puffs of white-gray smoke start to rise to the north. ‘Sorry Gloria,’ he said grimly, ‘the earth will have to claim you in its own way. Time to go.’
Savage turned and … ‘Ahh hell. Bastard.’
The sorrel was dead with an arrow protruding from its chest. He’d been so caught up in staying alive, he hadn’t noticed that the horse had been hit. At least the pinto was still alive.
Hurrying as fast as possible, Savage changed the saddle and everything else over to the paint. By the time he was ready, a dust cloud could be seen rising from the same direction that he’d seen the smoke.
‘Just in time,’ he muttered and mounted. He heele
d the pinto hard and it lunged forward into a ground-eating gait.
Ten
‘Sir, look!’ a trooper called out to Perkins who turned to stare in the direction the man had indicated. He raised his hand to fend off the glare of the sun then he saw them. On a ridge, some three hundred yards distant, sitting atop motionless horses amongst scattered saguaros, was a line of at least eighty Apaches.
‘What do you want to do, Sir?’ Waters asked as he approached Perkins and stood at his side.
Waters was a big man with dark hair and an undying passion for the Confederacy.
Without taking his eyes from the imposing line, Perkins said, ‘Get that flag-of-truce I had you make up last night and a rifle. Then come back here. We’re goin’ for a walk.’
Waters did as he was ordered and returned with both of the items required.
Perkins turned and looked for Crow and found him staring up at the ridge.
‘Crow,’ Perkins called. ‘If anything happens to us, form up the men and fight your way back to Fort Jackson. Don’t get penned up here.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
The two men walked out beyond the camp under the fluttering white rag that was supposed to ensure their safety. But how many times had Indians been slaughtered under a flag of truce?
Five riders started down the slope towards the two advancing men. The groups met around a hundred yards from the Confederate encampment.
‘What is it you want White-eye?’ a middle-aged Apache on a wiry mustang asked abruptly in halting English.
Perkins’ gaze drifted over all of the fearsome looking Indians with their faces painted for war and wondered if he was doing the right thing.
‘My name is Major Christopher Perkins and I have come to talk to the chief of the Yavapai-Apache,’ Perkins said.
‘Then you shall talk to me,’ the Apache grunted. ‘I am called Delshay. Make it quick before I have my warriors kill you all.’
‘Well now, that would certainly be an inconvenience to both of us, wouldn’t it?’ Perkins said in a condescending manner. ‘Especially with what I have in that wagon.’
There was a flicker of interest in Delshay’s eyes.
‘Speak,’ he grunted with more than a hint of irritation.
‘I have fifty Spencer rifles in that wagon,’ Perkins explained. ‘Just like this one.’
He motioned to Waters to hand the rifle over.
Delshay took it in calloused hands and looked it over. If there was any emotion flowing through the Apache chief he kept it well hidden.
After a minute or so Delshay nodded his approval and handed it back. ‘You say you have fifty of these?’
‘I do,’ Perkins confirmed.
‘What you want for them? Gold? Money?’
‘I want your help.’
Delshay looked puzzled.
‘You and I have a common enemy, the blue-coats.’ Perkins went on to explain. ‘I want us to join forces to fight that enemy.’
The Apache chief looked skeptical. ‘Why should I join forces with you when I can fight them myself?’
‘I can supply your warriors with the rifles that they will need and you can supply fighters that will help me with my cause. You and your people will be able to take your land back from the white-eyes and I will be able to rid Texas of the invaders.’
‘All that for just fifty rifles?’ Delshay snorted derisively.
Perkins shook his head. ‘No. I can get you another hundred.’
There was a hint of interest in the Apache chief’s eyes at the mention of the number of rifles. He thought in silence then nodded. ‘I talk to some of my people and then I tell you.’
Without waiting for a reply he whirled his horse about and rode back up the slope followed by the other four Apaches.
Waters breathed out slowly and said, ‘That went well. I think.’
‘We’re still alive so that counts for something,’ Perkins allowed.
~*~
They waited for half an hour before the same five Apaches came riding back down the slope and stopped in front of the two men.
‘We have talked and decided that we will accept your terms,’ Delshay told Perkins.
‘That’s good,’ Perkins said with a smile.
‘But we want rifles now,’ the Apache chief told them. ‘All rifles.’
Perkins stared at him warily. ‘We only have the fifty with us.’
The Apache’s gaze grew icy. ‘We take them. You bring rest here in two days.’
From the look Delshay was giving him, Perkins knew there was no arguing with him.
‘Deal,’ he said offering his hand.
Delshay curled his lip into a sneer and turned his horse away. Perkins and Waters watched them go.
‘I don’t like it,’ Waters muttered.
‘Neither do I,’ Perkins acknowledged, as he showed doubt for the first time. ‘But we’ve come too far now. Get the wagon and bring it out here and leave it.’
Fifteen minutes later, the troop was formed up and ready to move out. The Apaches still waited on the ridge even though the wagon had been moved to where Perkins had directed. Only once the troop had gone did they ride down and pillage the wagon.
~*~
‘The bastards have double-crossed us,’ Waters said from the corner of his mouth as he rode beside Perkins.
It was still an hour until noon and the desert sun held a serious bite as it climbed towards its peak. The trail snaked through a narrow canyon and out into a wider dry wash before it climbed a gentle slope through clumps of boulders.
Delshay and his Apaches had been shadowing them for the past hour confirming Perkins’ suspicions that the chief was about to go back on their agreement.
Perkins nodded. ‘Make sure the rest of the troop is on its toes.’
Waters swung out of line and rode back along the column to see to the rest of the men. He needn’t have worried because they were all experienced and had seen all the signals that Perkins and Waters had.
By the time he rode back and eased in beside his commanding officer, they all had rifles out and were prepared for what was to come.
It wasn’t until they reached the boulders that the Apaches opened up on them. Even though they were expecting it, the effect of the first volley was devastating. Beside Perkins, Waters’ throat seemed to erupt in a great gout of blood as a heavy caliber bullet from a Spencer tore through it, spraying blood over his commanding officer.
Angry lead hornets fizzed through the air and Perkins flinched at the loud snap as one passed too close. Behind him, shouts of panic from his men rang out as friends and comrades died violently. Perkins saw a trooper go down with half of his face shot away while another took two slugs to his midsection.
Wild cries from the Apaches erupted from the rocks as the gunfire rolled across the desert. Some of the troopers dived from their horses and sought cover beside the trail. Many were cut down before they’d taken two steps.
The ear-piercing screams of wounded horses added to the din. But these were professional men and all had been under fire at some stage throughout the war. Back along the column, Perkins could hear the rallying cries of Crow as he tried to get a bunch of troopers to concentrate their fire. Then his shouts stopped as he took a Spencer bullet to his chest and another through his left eye.
All around Perkins troopers were dying. Some looked to him for direction only to be met by silence. For the first time in his career, Perkins froze and didn’t know how to save his men. And as the screams and gunfire reached a crescendo he did the only thing that he could. He ran.
Ten minutes later it was all over and only three men escaped the massacre laid out by Delshay. The Apache lost five warriors.
Of the three rebels who survived, one was Perkins.
~*~
Late in the afternoon, Savage estimated that he was perhaps two miles from the lookout rock and decided that the best time to scout Fort Jackson to see exactly what was what would be under the cover of darkness. By chance, h
e was unable to wait for dark.
Two troopers on foam-flecked horses came blundering hell-for-leather out of a draw and almost rode Savage and the pinto down.
They hauled back on their reins and brought their mounts to a sliding stop. Savage rested his hand on the butt of his Remington and said, ‘You fellers look like you’re in a hurry.’
‘Get out of our way,’ one of the riders bleated, ‘we gotta get back to the fort before we wind up dead too.’
Savage left the pinto where it was. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Like the rest of the troop that went out with Perkins,’ he answered. ‘They’re all dead.’
‘Not Perkins, though,’ the other man snorted. ‘That son of a bitch lit outta there like a scalded cat. I’d like to put a bullet between that bastard’s eyes.’
Suddenly the other man’s eyes lit up in recognition. ‘Say, aren’t you that feller who escaped from the fort?’
The Remington seemed to leap into Savage’s fist and it came up level, cocked and ready to fire.
‘Don’t you fellers get too excited,’ Savage warned. ‘I want you to tell me what happened.’
‘Perkins thought he could make a deal with the Apaches,’ the first man explained, a disgusted look on his face. ‘He took rifles from the fort to help make it happen. He thought if they got the rifles then they would be happy with that and join with us. Dumb son of a bitch. None of us liked the idea but what could we do? He was our commanding officer. Then the Apaches double-crossed him and ambushed us. The rest you know.’
‘What about Shelby?’ Savage asked. ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘Perkins had him locked up and was goin’ to try him for treason,’ the first man explained.
Savage shook his head. Dumb son of a bitch.
Savage holstered the Remington. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go.’
‘What?’
‘I’m comin’ with you back to the fort,’ he explained. ‘Who did Perkins leave in charge?’
‘Esa Brown.’
Nodding, Savage asked, ‘Where do you fellers stand now? Are you still loyal to the coward that ran out on you or are you willin’ to follow Shelby?’
‘We’ll follow Shelby,’ the second man said.