by Mike Kearby
Two hundred yards from the canyon floor, the trail cut back into the cliff, winding around a large fractured outcropping of rock. The rock splinter rose twenty feet into the air, with a palisade edge hanging toward and away from the cliff wall. As he maneuvered Horse around the formation, he felt a cool spot in the air. Parks shot a glance to his left and saw a high shadow on the cliff wall. “Whoa,” he called to Horse. “Free, stop here. I think I may have found something.” Anxious, Parks stepped down from his saddle as Free rode up behind him.
“What is it, Parks?”
“I hope an overhang to hide the horses,” he replied. “Do you feel that drop in temperature?” Parks worked his way around the cliff side of the outcropping. Behind the formation lay an opening into the rock as tall as a man and at least ten degrees cooler than the outside air. “Bring Comida around, Free. Lady Luck may be riding with us after all.”
Parks led Horse to the back wall of the opening; it was at least twenty feet deep. “It’s perfect. We’ll keep the horses in here, Free, out of sight from any lookouts.”
“I think I need to get this saddle off Comida. He’s lathered pretty good. He’s game, but he’s not use to the type of work we just put on him.”
Parks looked at the white foam oozing from the horse. “We best get the saddles off both and let them rest. If things get too hot on the canyon floor later, we are going to need fresh legs to skedaddle out of here.”
Parks uncinched his saddle and placed it on the hard rock surface of the cave. He reached into the saddlebag and removed a large wool rag. “Here.” He tossed the rag toward Free. “Use this to wipe him down.” Turning back to the bag, he withdrew a cotton cloth knotted at the end. Untying the cloth, he eyed the contents with a careful gaze. “I may have enough grain for two handfuls each.”
“May be we should use only one apiece right now.”
Parks nodded his head. “Let’s get these horses taken care of, and then we’ll see how well we’ve positioned ourselves.”
After attending to the horses, both men walked to the overhang, rifles in hand. Looking north, the rustled cattle still sat five hundred yards up canyon. From their position, the fractured rock outcropping offered them protection from sight and rifle fire. Below, the canyon narrowed into a bottleneck.
“We’re sitting pretty good.” Parks searched the opposite cliffs with the glasses. “I reckon The Riders will move the cattle to this bottleneck for the exchange.” He looked over to his friend; Parks could see a frown wrinkle his forehead and face. “What’s troubling you?”
“Well, we’ve got good protection up here with the outcrop in front of us and the cave behind us, but if we start taking rifle fire, there’s gonna be a lot of lead ricocheting behind us.”
Parks looked around the rocks surrounding them and exhaled softly, “More of that fuss, I figure.”
“I’m getting used to it.” Free replied.
Parks picked up his rifle and hung the field glasses around his neck. “Let’s get some rest while we can,” He shuffled toward the overhang. “My gut keeps reminding me men are going to die here today.”
Chapter 21
The Mescalero Escarpment, New Mexico 1868
Free woke with a start. His eyes opened to the stark rock ceiling above him. Lying perfectly still, he listened for the noise that wakened him to repeat itself. He rolled to his right and glanced over the back of his saddle. The sound was Comida flicking his tail, trying to move a host of blowflies covering his flank. He exhaled in relief. God some black coffee and a biscuit would taste good right now. Pushing against the saddle, he rocked his neck back and forth in an attempt to loosen the stiffness from both the two-day ride and the leather pillow his head rested on.
Glancing over to Parks, he considered himself fortunate to have such a friend. Before rising, Free carried his thoughts to the remainder of the day and the job ahead. Though battle-tested during the war, he still felt the familiar dread of killing spread across his chest, a stinging worry squeezing his heart and making breathing impossible. He told himself to worry was nonsense, but the prospect of never seeing Clara or his mother was more frightening than anything he could ever imagine.
“What are you contemplating in such deep thought, Sergeant?” Parks lay flat on his back, his arms and legs stretched upward.
Shaken from his thoughts, Free looked over to his friend. “You’re awake,” he said, glad for the conversation to replace his fears.
“I feel much better, I know that. How long do you figure we’ve been out?”
Free shot a glance westward at the sun. “Couldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”
“Kind of like being in the army again. Lots of riding and little to eat or sleep.”
“I can’t imagine why we mustered out.” Free stood and pushed his arms to the cave ceiling, trying to loosen his shoulders. “Parks, I want you to knowI ammost grateful, and I will always be so, for you coming to my aid. I know you have a business, and for you to leave all of that formy trouble.”
“Sergeant, you would have come in a second to help me. Aman shouldn’t have anything more important in his life than helping family and good friends when called on. A man with other priorities can’t be much better than a varmint crawling around in the dark of night.”
Free stared at the man beside him. An overwhelming sense of calm engulfed him. He knew that whatever happened today, Parks would ride drag on his trail. “Well, I owe you my life. And I aim to repay that sometime down the road.”
“And I hope you’re never called to that purpose.” Free nodded and looked toward the back of the cave. “Think it might be a good idea to get these horses saddled up?” he asked.
Free knew it was wise to keep his mind occupied. He couldn’t afford any more doubt about the chore ahead. If he hoped to prove his innocence, then a dust-up with The Riders was inescapable this day.
“Seeing how we might need to make a quick retreat out of here, I think that’s a smart play.”
Free picked up his saddle and blanket and moved toward Comida. He flipped the blanket onto the horse’s back and settled it on the withers. He heaved the saddle up in one motion and laid it with great care on the animal’s back. With the saddle in place, he reached under the animal and cinched the girth belt. He gazed across Comida’s back, watching Parks complete the same steps. After the horses stood saddled and watered, Free reached for his Colt. He spun the cylinder, checked his cartridges, and then shoved the gun into the front of his pants. “How much ammo are you carrying?” He removed Goodnight’s Henry from Comida’s saddle ring and opened the lever.
“I’m carrying six in the Colt and thirty cartridges. I’ve got a box of .44 Henry’s in the saddlebag. How about you?” Parks answered.
“I’ve got onlywhat’s in the Colt’s cylinder and the handful of Henry shells Mr. Goodnight gaveme.”
“Seems we better make sure our aim is right, or we’re going to have to get close with the Colts.”
Free dropped the six Henry shells into his front pocket and walked toward the jagged rock palisade. The sun was hanging at eye level on the horizon, but looking down; the valley floor gave a clear view. He looked over to Parks, who had joined him. “Appears the sun won’t be a problem,” he said.
“No, but the way it’s setting means we have to be careful that the guns won’t reflect a glare to the canyon floor. They’ll target us for sure if that happens.”
Free saw Parks set the box of Henry shells on the rock.
“Take half.”
Free reached into the box and took seven shells. “I’ve got six already.” He pushed the remaining shells toward his friend. “What’s your plan?”
“We don’t really want a problem with the Mexicans, even if they are buying rustled beeves. That’s a fight for another day. We’ll let them make their trade and then go after The Riders.”
“If we wait until the Mexicans leave, won’t that give The Riders time to head out the far side of the canyon?”
“Once the cattle are moving, we make our play on them. I figure the Mex’s won’t hang around to help those cowboys. They’re going to drive those cattle like hell back to the border.”
Free took in a deep gulp of air as the cold steel of the Henry rested heavy in his hand. The rifle issued a reminder to him that the moment was near. “And The Riders?”
“Free, just remember what they did to those ten Kiowa behind us. We open up on them; there’s no way those boys will be taken alive. They’ll either kill us or die trying.”
Free placed a cartridge into the Henry and chambered the shell. “I know. I just needed some reminding, that’s all.”
“Free,” Parks said, “if they want to surrender, we’ll take them, but I’m not betting your life or mine on that.”
Free nodded and, hidden by the rock palisade, began to move toward the far end of the outcropping three feet away. Looking to the canyon below, he saw a wall of dust rising off the floor. “Parks!” He spoke in a low whisper, “The cattle are moving.” He watched Parks point the field glasses toward the opposite end of the canyon.
“See anything?”
Parks balled up his right hand and flipped his fingers and thumb out twice.
Ten Mexicans. He figured, “Do you see the other Rider?”
“Yeah, he’s moving along the west canyon wall at about seven o’clock. I think he’s working back toward the herd.”
Free looked across the canyon, but he could not pick up the man’s movement with his naked eye. He noticed Parks beginning to inch his way toward the low end of the outcropping. The moment they had both waited for and dreaded was coming fast. “Parks!” he called out. “Good luck.”
“Don’t worry, Free; we’ll get that money back,” he replied.
Free peered over the rock and watched as two Riders peeled off under the cover of the herd. Each of the men moved his horse up toward the canyon wall and dismounted, using the large rocks as cover. “Did you see that? I don’t think they’re going to sell those cattle.”
Parks rose slightly and pointed the field glasses toward the sixth Rider’s location. After a minute, he slid back to the protection of the outcropping. “It’s a bushwhacking, Free! They’re not going to let the Mexicans leave this canyon. They aim to take the cattle and the money.”
“Shouldn’t we warn the Mexicans?”
“How, Free? We don’t have time to get to the canyon floor from here. And if we open up, we’ve got three Riders unaccounted for.”
Free bit his lip and looked back onto the canyon floor. “But if we start on the three we do see, we might give the Mexicans enough warning to help with the others.”
“That’s crazy, Free. What’s to keep the Mexicans from killing us after that?”
“Trust me on this, Parks. They aren’t going to kill the men who saved their lives.”
“After all you’ve been through, I figured you to be a little more mistrusting of your fellow man. I’ll follow your lead, but we’ve got to warn the Mexicans about that sixth Rider behind them right now. If we try the shot and miss, he won’t let himself be seen again. And from his position, he’ll be able to pick them off one by one.”
Free looked at the sun sitting on the opposite canyon wall. “Can you blind him with the field glasses?”
Parks glanced at the sun. “It might work.”
Free looked down at the Henry and squeezed tight on the stock. He knew the distance across the canyon was near the end of the rifle’s range. “If you can, I’ll make the shot,” he said. He glimpsed toward Parks, who held the field glasses at chest level. “I know I can hit him.”
“All right, Sergeant, when you see the reflection settle, that’s where you shoot,” Parks said. “I’m going to put the sun right in his eyes.”
Free nodded and pushed the Henry tight against his shoulder, raising the metal sight on the barrel. With his left eye closed, he held aim across the canyon. A small flash of white appeared as the sun’s reflection bounced from the field glasses. Without hesitation, Free squeezed the trigger.
The echo from the gun’s discharge raced around the canyon walls causing all parties on the floor to freeze. Free watched as the Mexicans and Riders, startled by the shot, scanned the canyon walls looking for powder smoke. He looked to Parks and saw his friend had the field glasses trained on the opposite side of the canyon.
“That’s one Rider who won’t leave here today,” Parks called.
Free rose and placed the Henry’s sight on the lead Rider, who was searching the canyon walls in desperation, trying to locate the shooter. “Drop those guns, Johnny!” he screamed. His echo bounced around the canyon walls. “Or I’ll shoot you like a dog!”
He could see the recognition on Johnny’s face, but Free stared in disbelief as the Rider calmly holstered his pistol and reached for his rifle. Is he crazy? Remembering Parks’ warning, Free chambered another shell, just as Johnny’s rifle reached his shoulder. In a slowed-down world, the Henry belched fire, and the lead Rider flew from his saddle. Free kept a hard look as Johnny clutched his chest and then, in disbelief, pulled his hands away, watching the spreading crimson staining his shirt and hands. The .44 slug had found its target.
As his surroundings sped up once more, Free felt his body pulled downward. Glancing toward the ground, he saw Parks, sitting, his hand gripping a fold of his shirt.
“You offering them a target, Sergeant?”
As if awakened, Free could see the rock chips flying from the wall behind them. The deafening roar of gunfire echoed below, and thick smoke covered the canyon floor. It seemed flying lead filled the whole escarpment.
“We need to move down to the south end,” he heard Parks yell over the gunfire. “Away from the ricochets.”
Free nodded his head and followed Parks on hands and knees the twenty or so yards down the outcropping.
Taking a deep breath, Free rose and peered over the rock cover. Below, he watched as the Mexicans moved forward on two Riders beside the now still-body of Johnny, the belch of gunfire accompanying them. Outgunned, the two fell beneath a hail of Mexican lead. Scouring the canyon floor, Free spotted one of the bushwhackers still hidden behind a large boulder. His back to Free, the man held aim on the lead Mexican. Free levered the Henry and in quick succession threw two shots down on the man. The slugs bit into the sandstone boulder near the Rider’s head, spitting rock chips in the man’s face. Surprised, the Rider turned and scanned the canyon walls for the shooter. Working the lever once more, Free sent a bullet into the man’s chest, kicking him back against the boulder. Even at his distance, Free could see the look of shock on the man’s face as he slid slowly down the rock facing. Glancing once more around the escarpment, Free watched the ten Mexicans descend on the last Rider, who was hidden behind an outcropping on the far side of the canyon. Guns roaring, the Mexicans fired without stop, causing the man’s body to jerk like a puppet as each bullet found its mark.
And then silence. With the firing stopped, Free surveyed the canyon floor. The cattle, behind The Riders when the bullets started flying, had turned and were stampeding toward the north end of the canyon.
At the far end of the canyon, he saw ten men on horseback adorned in traditional Mexican wide brim hats. The vaqueros, with ropes spinning, rode directly for the herd.
“What the . . . ?” Free muttered.
Parks rose and looked down on the canyon. “It appears the Mexican’s weren’t so trusting in their dealings with The Riders.”
Free had never witnessed the skills the Mexican cowboys possessed. The first vaquero, riding a buckskin mustang, ran headlong for the lead steer. Using his horse as leverage, he turned the steer right. The next vaquero in line used his pony in the same way and herded the next group of steers to the right. This was repeated by all ten vaqueros in succession. Within minutes, the entire stampede was turning in a tight circle and headed back south toward the bottleneck.
Looking down, Free saw one of the Mexicans ride from the canyon floor toward the pal
isade wall. He nudged Parks with his elbow and pointed down to the Mexican rider now looking in their direction.
“Hola!” The man yelled out. “Gracias amigos!
Now please show yourselves, so we don’t have to come up and kill you!”
Free looked over to Parks and watched as the lieutenant removed his bandana from around his neck. “What are you doing?”
Tying the bandana to his rifle barrel, Parks pushed the gun skyward over the rock barrier and yelled to the Mexican below. “I’m coming out! Yo camarada!”
“Parks!” Free yelled. “This was my idea; if it goes bad, I’m the one who needs to deal with the consequences!”
“Can’t let you, Sergeant. You have Clara and a mother to worry about, and you’re a much better shot with that rifle. We’ve come this far for that bag of money, and I’m going down to get it. You keep the Henry trained on the hombre doing the hollering. If anything looks odd, you shoot him in the chest. No matter what else happens, you make sure you shoot him first.”
Free nodded his head, “Make sure you give me a clear shot at him, Parks.”
“Oh don’t worry, Free, I’ll make sure there’s plenty of air for a bullet between him and me.”
“What are you going to say to them?”
“Right off, I’m going to make sure that lead Mexican comprendes that the gun which shot that Rider off the canyon wall is aimed at his heart.”
Chapter 22
The Mescalero Escarpment, New Mexico 1868
You are only one hombre.” “No, there are more,” Parks answered matter of factly. He made note the Mexican carried two pistols, turned butt out, in the waist of his pants. “I reckoned they would have better aim at your heart from up there.”
The Mexican gazed up toward the cliffs. “Yes. You are a tricky one, maybe?”
“No,” Parks replied, looking past the man to the activity behind him. The other Mexicans were methodically dragging the five Riders shot during the gunfight into a line. He watched them lay each dead Rider on his back, arms placed across his chest. Parks looked back to the lead Mexican, “Just a man who wants to leave here alive.”