by Jake Henry
The clack-clack of the lever signaled another round being chambered. The Yellow Boy whiplashed again and this shot blew Jimmy’s head apart. He fell back onto the grass and lay still.
‘You bastard! You murderin’ son of a bitch!’ Rhett shouted, his euphoria shattered at the sight of his friend’s violent death.
‘Let the kid go,’ Savage ordered as he jacked a third round into the rifle’s breech.
‘But he’s a stinkin’ Apache brat!’ Rhett shouted again. ‘He ain’t nothin’ to you. You, sumbitch.’
‘Got that right. But at least I’m alive.’
‘Huh?’
A heartbeat later, Rhett was dead on the ground, a bloodied hole in his head, eyes staring sightlessly up at the cloudless sky. The sound of the shot echoed throughout the mountains.
Savage worked the lever again and shifted his aim. ‘How about you? Are you tired of livin’?’
Sheb pulled his hand from Naiche’s arm, as though it was made of lava. He threw his arms up in the air and cried out, ‘Don’t Shoot! I don’t want to die. Not for no Apache kid.’
‘Get out of here before you wind up like your friends,’ Savage ordered him. ‘If I see you around again, I’m just as likely to kill you too.’
Sheb made out the edge of the sheriff’s star protruding from the cover of Savage’s buckskin coat.
‘You’re a lawman,’ he blurted out. ‘You shot them down cold. You ain’t supposed to do that, you’re the law.’
Savage raised the rifle and aimed it at Sheb’s heart. With a look of unbridled fear on his face, Sheb turned and fled towards the nearby horses. In a single bound he was in the saddle and spurring away as fast as the mount could carry him.
‘Are you OK, boy?’ Savage asked Naiche.
The young Apache just looked at Savage, not speaking.
Savage switched to Spanish. ‘Are you OK, boy?’
Naiche nodded. ‘Yes.’
Savage climbed down from the pinto. ‘Let’s get that head of yours cleaned up so we can see what we’re dealin’ with.’
Naiche backed away, an alarmed expression on his face.
‘Take it easy, boy, I only want to have a look at that head of yours,’ Savage tried to soothe his anxiety. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Naiche,’ he said, eyeing the white man warily.
‘All right,’ Savage said, taking his canteen from his saddle. ‘What are you doin’ out here on your lonesome?’
‘Riding,’ Naiche grunted.
Savage bent down and ripped the sleeves from one of the dead men’s shirt and soaked one in water. He stepped toward the boy and said calmly, ‘Not the best of places to be ridin’ on your own.’
‘I am not alone,’ Naiche said. ‘I am with my brother and some of my people.’
Trying not to show concern, Savage started to wipe away the blood. ‘That’s a nasty lookin’ cut you got there. I’ll wrap it up for you and you can get your brother to take care of it.’
The defiant look on Naiche’s face fell away. ‘Taza will not be happy.’
The hand with the rag in it froze as realization dawned on Savage. ‘Did you say your brother’s name is Taza?’
‘Yes,’ said Naiche.
‘Oh hell,’ Savage muttered.
‘Qué es?’ Naiche asked. ‘What is it?’
‘I just realized who your father is, boy,’ Savage told him.
A look of pride came to Naiche’s face and he straightened noticeably. ‘Yes, my father is Cochise.’
Six
Savage tied off the rag around Naiche’s head and asked, ‘Where is your father, boy?’
‘He is off with his warriors killing white-eyes,’ Naiche told him.
It wasn’t long back that Cochise and Savage had crossed paths in Arizona territory. Although that had ended well, he wasn’t sure that this time would have the same outcome.
Nodding, Savage asked, ‘Then, where is your brother?’
Naiche pointed over Savage’s shoulder. ‘He is there.’
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Savage’s stomach. He turned and looked at one of the small ridges. Sitting there amongst the sparse scatterings of pines, were six mounted Chiricahua Apaches, no more than a hundred yards away.
Stepping back from Naiche, Savage leaned down and picked up the Yellow Boy, making sure there was a live round under the hammer. He also made sure his Remington was ready to use.
Even though it was a short distance, the Apaches came thundering in, war cries piercing the air. They circled the two of them, ignoring the dead bodies on the ground, before stopping. Savage was surrounded and he guessed, in a world of trouble.
One of the Apaches edged his horse forward and stopped not far away from the Drifter. There were no prizes for guessing who he was, with his high cheeks, hell, the whole face and long hair.
‘Speak white-eyed dog before you die,’ Taza hissed.
Savage looked about at the other Chiricahua before he spoke. They all looked like they wanted to kill him slowly over a low-burning fire.
Nope, definitely not good.
‘What do you want me to say?’ Savage asked.
‘Leave him, Taza,’ Naiche almost pleaded with his brother. ‘If it had not been for him I would be dead now. Instead, these men are.’
‘And soon he will lay beside them,’ Taza insisted.
Naiche walked between them and stopped to stare his brother in the eye. ‘No, Taza.’
The siblings stared silently at each other until the quiet was broken by Naiche. ‘Father would let him go.’
‘Father is not here,’ Taza said. ‘I am.’
Savage tensed as he readied himself to fight. The last thing he wanted to do was kill one of Cochise’s sons, but he would if it meant his own survival.’
‘What would your father say?’ he asked Taza.
‘My father would kill you,’ Taza spat.
‘He didn’t a while back when I was talkin’ to him over Arizona way.’
The young Apache frowned.
Naiche almost seemed excited when he asked, ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Savage.’
Naiche recognized the name and looked at his brother. ‘I know that name. Remember the story father tells us of the white-eye who saved his life many moons past?’
Taza gave a grudging nod. ‘Are you this man?’
‘I am.’
‘Prove it,’ Taza snapped. ‘Tell the story.’
Savage told them his version of events from years before and when he was finished, Naiche said to his brother. ‘See, it is him. He was the man who saved our father’s life and now he has saved mine. We must let him go.’
‘Where is it you are going?’ Taza asked.
‘A place called Bad Tooth,’ Savage explained. He opened his jacket to show the badge. ‘I’m looking for a man there.’
‘You ride for white-eye’s law?’
‘For now,’ Savage nodded.
‘The place that you go is bad.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Then why you go?’
‘Because it’s part of the job that I’m doing and the man I’m after deserves to be hanged.’
‘It might be better we kill you now,’ Taza surmised.
‘I’ll take my chances on the town if you don’t have any objections?’ Savage told him.
‘So be it.’
‘You might want to put somethin’ on the wound your brother has where them fellers tried to scalp him too,’ Savage pointed out.
‘He is a young fool,’ Taza admonished his brother. ‘He was warned about riding off on his own. Maybe it would have been better if they had taken his scalp. Then maybe he would learn.’
He looked at his brother and held out his arm. ‘Come, we will find your horse and then leave.’
Savage watched as Naiche scrambled up behind Taza.
‘Thank you, Savage,’ Naiche said. ‘I will remember you.’
‘And I you, young chief.’
&nb
sp; ‘You should leave these mountains, white-eye,’ Taza grunted. ‘There are many of my people about. They will not allow you to live as I have done.’
I’ve already met them, Savage thought, but said, ‘Say hello to Cochise for me.’
Taza gave him a look of disdain and swung his horse about then gave it a brutal jab with his heels and shouted, ‘Heyaa!’
Watching the Chiricahua ride away, Savage couldn’t help but sigh with relief.
It was mid-morning the following day when Savage arrived atop a ridge overlooking the settlement of Bad Tooth. From where he sat on his horse, it looked rundown and squalid, the town surrounded by rubbish and stray curs. And what was more disconcerting, the rancid stench that rode the breeze which gusted towards him, made him wrinkle his nose in disgust.
Bad Tooth smelled of excrement and decay. It was a pungent odor that fitted what he saw through his field glasses. Ramshackle buildings, half fallen-down log buildings, canvas tents mostly blackened by filth and grime.
He panned the glasses to the left and they settled upon a man who’d just emerged from a tent. His clothes were dirty and torn. His face was unshaven and Savage could swear that he could smell him from where he was hidden.
The man staggered about briefly and then stopped in the middle of what could be best described as a rocky, rutted trail. It was no street, that was for sure. He dug into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be paper money, then stood there and started to count it.
Behind the man, Savage saw the flap of the tent go back as another man emerged. This one looked to be dressed worse than the first. As he watched the scene unfold, the second man walked purposefully up behind the first man, drew a six-gun from his belt, and shot the man in the back of the head.
The mortally wounded man dropped to the ground. The flat report of the gunshot reached Savage’s ears, delayed by the distance. Bending down, the shooter scooped up the bundle of paper money from the ground and tucked it away in his own pocket. He turned forthwith and retraced his steps through the flap of the tent and was hidden from view.
No sooner had he disappeared, two more men rushed out and began to go over the corpse looking for whatever they could, even the dead man’s boots.
They too returned to within the tent.
About the scene of violence, other people, both men, and women went about what they were doing as though oblivious to what had just happened.
Savage looked further along the row of dwellings and watched as a man walked out of a large, ramshackle building, and stood at the edge of the trail. He proceeded to unbutton his fly and relieve himself where he stood. Once finished, he turned and walked back into the building, not bothering to refasten the button. Savage dropped the glasses down and shook his head. Bad Tooth sure was something else.
Suddenly, a piercing scream drifted up from the stinking settlement. Savage raised his glasses again and saw two figures struggling in the center of the encampment. One was a big, bear of a man who wore bib overalls and had a headful of unkempt hair. The other was a woman who looked to be part negro.
She wore a drab grey dress and her hair was long and wild. She struggled against the man’s grip but couldn’t break free. The anger inside of Savage grew as he watched the man strike the woman across the face with a meaty hand. He may not have heard the stinging blow, but the Drifter winced anyway.
The woman’s legs buckled briefly and for a moment it looked as though she might fall all the way to the ground. Instead, she made a movement that Savage almost missed. Her right hand went up under her dress and came out holding something.
The brute dragged the woman upright by her hair. Savage could see the pained expression on her face through the glasses. Her head was tilted back and the man crushed her lips with his own.
Savage saw the woman bring up her hand with the object in it. She made a motion that appeared as though she was punching him in the guts with her fist. He staggered back with a look of shock on his face. He clasped a hand to the area and then took it away. He looked at the hand as it came away slick with blood. He lifted his gaze and the woman’s hand flashed again. This time it was higher up.
Savage watched as the attacker’s clothes changed color, his blood flowing in a torrent down the front of him from the ghastly wound in his throat. He stood stunned for a moment before his legs gave way and he collapsed at the woman’s feet.
That was interesting, he thought. As would be going in there after Bobby Vandal. There was a real possibility that he wouldn’t come back out.
While Savage watched over Bad Tooth, Rawhide Allen looked down at a putrefying corpse. Its face was distorted and discolored. The once red blood was now black and the hole from the bullet wound seemed to have a life of its own now that the flies had been at it. Scavengers had taken advantage of the opening in the torso and had been feasting on his insides.
A gust of wind came up and blew the pungent scent of decay into Allen’s face. The stink didn’t bother him. He’d smelled it all before. It was like an old friend that brought back memories of the war where he reveled in the killing and death it provided. There were often days when he wished that it had never ended.
There were other bodies scattered across the grass, though this was the corpse that interested him the most. This one hadn’t been killed by the Indians. Allen didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He could feel it.
Which meant that Savage had killed this man. After he’d been scalped, and had his guts slashed open.
Allen smiled coldly. Maybe Savage had a weakness after all. Now, all he had to do was find him and kill him.
It was later in the afternoon when he found the rotting corpses of Jimmy and Rhett. At this rate, Allen figured, he could just follow the trail of dead and they would lead him right to Savage. Maybe he figured wrong earlier. Maybe his quarry would prove to be a very formidable foe.
One thing was certain, at least his ass didn’t hurt like a bitch no more.
An eerie howl echoed across the darkness as Savage and the pinto approached the settlement of Bad Tooth. He wasn’t surprised: the stench coming from the town was enough to attract all manner of scavengers. He was surprised that there were no bears around. Maybe they were more self-respecting than the humans who lived here and found the odor too offensive.
As he entered Bad Tooth, the Yellow Boy lay across his lap ready to use. The badge had been removed and tucked away in Savage’s boot.
A man emerged from a tent and stared curiously at him as he rode past. A figure came out of a canvas building farther along and turned down a narrow alley, moving from sight.
Savage climbed down from the pinto and walked to the dark alley mouth. He followed the man in and had only gone twelve or so feet before he stopped and called after him.
‘Hey, you? Got a minute?’
The man stopped and squinted to see the face in the deep shadows of the alley. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m supposed to meet a friend of mine here. His name’s Bobby Vandal, do you know him?’
The man hesitated which gave him away. ‘Um, nope. Never heard the name before.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep.’
‘Maybe if I tell you what he looks like, you might remember,’ Savage offered.
‘Nope, never seen him afore.’
‘But I ain’t even told you what he looks like.’
‘I don’t much care.’
Savage closed the gap between them swiftly. He grabbed the man and rammed the muzzle of the Yellow Boy up under his chin. ‘How about you tell me the truth and I’ll let you live.’
‘OK, OK. He’s in the saloon.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Down further on the left,’ the man said.
‘Thanks,’ Savage said to him and brought the Winchester’s butt up in a sweeping blow that dropped the man into a dark oblivion.
He walked out of the alley and took up the pinto’s reins. He led the animal along the dimly lit street until he found w
hat he was looking for. The saloon wasn’t much to look at. A dilapidated, hastily thrown together affair that needed a lot of attention from what he could see.
Savage tried to tie the pinto’s reins to the cross member of the hitch rail but the loose timber fell at his feet with a dull thud. Instead, he had to be satisfied with tying it to one of the wobbly upright posts that were left behind.
Before going in, he checked the loads in all his weapons. Satisfied they were fine he paused briefly and then walked inside.
Seven
The makeshift saloon was something … Well, it was something almost indescribable. Savage was taken aback by what he saw before him.
He almost tripped over the dead body that lay just through the doorway, and by the look of him, he’d been there for a while. Either they had forgotten he was there or hadn’t got around to taking his corpse outside. A large black bloodstain surrounded two holes in his shirt where he’d been shot. His eyes were still open but had turned an opaque, milky white, indicating that he had indeed been there for some time.
Savage screwed his face up at the pungent odor emanating from the corpse and knew that they couldn’t possibly have forgotten that he was there. The stench would be a constant reminder. He looked around the room, trying to see Bobby Vandal. No such luck. Instead, a man dressed in tattered clothing called out to him.
‘Don’t mind, Jed, stranger,’ he cackled. ‘He don’t bite no more.’
The man held up his left hand wrapped in a blackened, bloodstained rag. He smiled, revealing a completely black set of teeth that matched the stains on the rag. He was seated at a lopsided table with another man and a whore. The woman was naked from the waist up and her ample breasts sagged low on her chest. She gave a strained laugh at the man’s attempt at humor and revealed a gap-toothed smile.
‘You don’t belong here,’ a woman’s soft voice warned him. ‘You need to leave while you can.’
Savage looked to his right and to his surprise, saw the woman he’d witnessed kill the man earlier. Up close, under all the grime on her walnut colored face, Savage thought that if she bathed occasionally, she would be quite pretty.