Sudden Apache Fighter

by Frederick H. Christian

  “Got... to ... get water,” he croaked. “Get... water.”

  He staggered over to the side of the giant Tucson, who lay unconscious still, the front of his body covered in a sticky mess of dried blood. Struck by an inspiration, the Texan lifted the big man’s head and felt down the back of Tucson’s neck. Yes! The hunch had paid off. Like many frontiersmen, Tucson had kept a hideaway knife in a sheath tucked down between his shoulder blades. Sudden slid the knife out and with weary strokes, cut the giant’s hands and feet free. With bleary eyes, he surveyed the area. About a hundred and fifty yards away he saw the candlestick shape of a small saguaro, and he stumbled towards it, the knife dangling in his hand. Ignoring the wicked spikes, he slashed the stem of the cactus, and again, slicing a hunk perhaps six inches long away from the plant. Between the core and the spiny outer skin lay a central pulp which contained, if not water, at least moisture. His hands trembling with weakness, Sudden stripped away the thorny skin and then, crushing the pulp between his hands, he let the life-giving liquid drip like nectar into his parched throat. When he had exhausted the pulp, he cut another piece and repeated the process. Then he cut a third slice, and jamming the knife into it, tottered back towards the still form of Tucson.

  “It ain’t enough,” he muttered, his thirst still far from satisfied. “But it’s shore better than none at all.” Lifting the man’s head, he squeezed a few drops of the liquid into Tucson’s still-puffed lips. The giant groaned, and his eyelids flickered slightly. Sudden marveled at the man’s constitution. Any ordinary man who had been through half of what Tucson had suffered would have been dead long ago; yet still the giant lived.

  He tore away the powder and blood-blackened shirt and his eyes narrowed as he saw the terrible wound, low down on Tucson’s side. A quick examination showed no exit wound: the bullet was still inside Tucson. Sweat beaded the big man’s brow for an instant, only to evaporate as soon as it formed. The bullet hole was surrounded by a huge purple swelling, veined and shiny. When he touched it, the unconscious man’s breath hissed through his teeth.

  “Easy, Tucson,” he said. He cleaned the wound as best he could, and with strips of Tucson’s shirt and neckerchief made a pad and bandage, binding the wound roughly. “It ain’t much,” he apologized to the unconscious man. “But about the best I c’n manage.” He shook his head; Tucson needed a doctor, medical aid. He glanced at the sinking sun. Night would bring a slight relief, but it would be accompanied by the chill of the desert night, and in Tucson’s feverish state, the cold could well be fatal. He cursed his own helplessness. His body still screamed for water. He knew that if they did not soon find more, they would both die. In vain he shook his head'; the visions of tumbling waterfalls, the clear and leaping mountain streams he had forded so many times, the slow and majestic rolling of the Gila and San Pedro persisted in his mind. His imagination was so vivid that as night came he held out a wondering hand, so real was the sensation of falling rain. He laughed harshly, and there was a touch of madness in the sound. As if hearing it, Tucson opened his eyes, trying weakly to sit up. His glance touched the hunched form of Sudden.

  “Uh…Jim? Jim, is that…yu?” managed the big man. “Where in Hades are we?”

  “Yu got it in one, Tucson,” croaked Sudden grimly. “Hades is as good a name for it as any.”

  Tucson struggled weakly to rise on one elbow, his hand moving instinctively to the bound wound in his middle. “Jest lie easy,” Sudden told him. “Yu ain’t nowheres near fit enough to sit up.”

  When Tucson asked again how they had come to be in this wilderness, Sudden explained briefly the events which had taken place while Tucson had been unconscious. He made a wry gesture at the two last hunks of the saguaro which he had brought to where they sat.

  “That’s all the water we got, Tucson,” he told the giant. “It ain’t enough to keep a Gila monster goin’ for a day in this desert. We got to find more.”

  “Wal…I ain’t shore…as how I can travel, Jim,” Tucson gasped. “Thisyere – tickles, some.” He smiled apologetically, and Sudden turned to him.

  “Tucson, I’m a fool,” he swore. “Been too damn’ busy thinkin’ about my own skin.”

  Tucson shook his head. “Yu ain’t that,” he managed. “On’y I – reckon yu’d better – head on out – alone, Jim,” he smiled weakly. “I’ll jest – slow yu down.”

  “I ain’t so chipper my own self,” Sudden replied grimly. “We better rest up tonight, an’ see how things look in the mornin’. Mebbe we’ll find a few more o’ them saguaros.”

  “Yeah…mebbe,” agreed Tucson, rolling back, unconscious before his head touched the ground, his breath rasping through his swollen lips. Sudden gazed at the recumbent form, torn by the dilemma he faced. He was not strong enough to carry Tucson, and the big man could certainly never walk far. He could not abandon Tucson, and yet he knew that with every passing minute the danger to his own life, alone in the desert without water, increased tenfold. He scuffled around in the darkness and found some dry sticks. With these he fashioned a tiny fire, Apache fashion; somehow he must keep the biting night cold off the wounded Tucson. The fire glowing in the darkness, he lay down to try to snatch a few hours’ rest, the problem still unresolved.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sudden awoke.

  It was still dark, with only the slightest faint streak of grey in the eastern sky to herald the approach of dawn. He lay for a moment, trying to define the reason for his own awakening, and then he knew he had heard a sound. Something alien had moved nearby and even in his exhausted sleep, the sixth sense of the frontiersman had transmitted a warning to his body. Without raising his head, Sudden swept the surrounding area with his eyes. Tucson lay on his back, unmoving; he could hear the big man’s stertorous breathing. The tiny fire was almost dead; only an infinitesimal glow lingered beneath the pile of wood ash. Easing himself on to his side, moving with infinite caution, Sudden opened his eyes, closed them, opened them again and closed them, repeating this until he was properly accustomed to the half-light. His arms and legs were stiff and sore; penalty, he knew, for the Herculean exertions of the preceding day. A faint slithering sound touched the edge of his hearing, and his hands moved instinctively to his hips. The empty holsters mocked the gesture.

  The Apache came out of the bushes with a shrieking yell, and Sudden, twisting like an eel to avoid the diving downward thrust of the knife in the Indian’s hand, shouted “Tucson!” He saw the big man sit up and then wince, his hand going to his wound, as the Apache hit the ground scrambling on his knees.

  Sudden moved back now, his left hand reaching for the thrusting, glinting knife, his right pulling Tucson’s hideaway weapon from his own belt. The Apache came in in one smooth sweeping run, and Sudden rolled backwards, taking the Indian down with him and pushing up and outwards with the knife, burying it to the hilt in the Apache’s heart as the grease-slippery body hurtled over his own. He felt the wiry body tense as the steel bit deep and he pulled back, and was on his feet now, ignoring the dead warrior. Picking up the fallen knife that the Apache had held, he turned to see Tucson on his feet, roaring out oaths, two warriors clinging to him as he swung around like some great grizzly bear, both of them trying to free themselves long enough to strike at him with their knives. With a terrible oath, Tucson lifted one of them in his mighty arms and raised him high up above his head. Then he smashed the Indian to the ground. The warrior writhed once, his face contorted in agony, then lay still, his back broken. The other raised his knife hand to slay the giant Tucson, who had dropped to one knee, bright fresh blood staining the bandage where his wound had burst open. The fell blow was never delivered. In the same second Sudden hurled the heavy knife in his hand. It turned only once, winking in the faint traces of morning light, and buried itself in the Apache’s throat. With a muted gurgle he melted to the ground. Tucson dropped to one knee, supporting himself on the flat of his right hand, coughing weakly. Sudden, with a quick glance around to make sure that no furth
er Apaches skulked nearby, dashed over to the big man’s side. Tucson had fallen, and was lying flat, the streaming blood pumping into the dry, greedy sand.

  “Hell, Jim,” he coughed. “I – never figgered more – o’ them.”

  “Me neither,” Sudden told him grimly, “Juano’s bucks musta lost Quincy’s trail an’ doubled back to find it again. Them three was scouts: the others can’t be far off.” He put an arm under Tucson’s shoulder and raised him. “I got to get yu out o’ here,” he said.

  Tucson groaned in agony, and his face went a pasty shade of grey. “No use…” he panted. “Somethin’ – busted, inside.”

  His eyes were narrowed against the burning pain of his wound, and the veins in his temple throbbed visibly. His face was quite white now, tinged with the color of the sunrise. Already, above the distant hills, a ball of flame heralded by a blaze of red gold, was pushing up into the sky. As yet the valleys and gulches surrounding them were deep in shadow, and any one of them could hide a thousand Apaches.

  “Them bucks musta had hosses,” Sudden told his comrade. “Yu rest easy a moment, Tucson; I’ll take a look-see.”

  He found the three ponies tethered to a bush not fifty yards away, and tied to the saddles were two water canteens with the legend ‘U.S.’ stenciled on them.

  “Army,” muttered Sudden, seeing in his mind’s eye the ambush: the soldiers fighting back, the killings, the stripping of the soldier dead. “Water’s water,” he said resolutely. “No matter what it comes in.” He also found two rifles, some ammunition pouches, also stenciled with Army markings, and a short Apache bow with a quiver of arrows. All of these he loaded on to one horse, and led it, with another, back to where he had left Tucson. At the sound of his approach, Tucson opened his eyes.

  “Hosses!” he gasped. “Jim, if – yu ain’t…” He shook his head. “Shore – a pity – I can’t git aboard one.”

  “Take some water,” Sudden told him, offering a canteen. The giant swigged greedily, his Adam’s apple bobbing, until the Texan snatched the canteen away.

  “Too much is as bad as not enough, Tucson,” he told his companion. “Yu feel any better?”

  “A mite, Jim,” admitted Tucson. “A mite.”

  “Then yu’d better try gettin’ on board one o’ these ponies, or we’re goners shore,” Sudden said grimly.

  The frown of puzzlement on Tucson’s face was wiped off when Sudden explained this curt command. “The rest o’ them just turned up,” he said, pointing with his chin. Turning his head, Tucson could see them outlined against the rim of a ridge perhaps half a mile away to the west, well-spaced out, the lance points catching the sunlight, and the mottled colors of their war paint sharp and clear in the morning light.

  Sudden squinted at the band. Seven, eight, nine of them. It couldn’t be Juano, then. So, it must be Manolito! The Apaches must have split up to cover both escape routes. Juano had taken the desert route and Manolito the valley. Finding no trace of the fugitives, he had cut across to join forces with the rest of the war party, and his scouts finding Sudden’s tiny fire, had led him to them. A curse escaped Sudden’s tightly pressed lips. They were in no condition to fight, and Tucson wouldn’t be able to hold on long even if he got him mounted. He opened the breech of one of the rifles and loaded it.

  “Help me up.”

  Tucson’s voice was hard, and there was a returned strength in it which surprised the Texan. Tucson had rolled on to his side, and though his eyes swam with pain, he was trying to rise. Putting an arm under Tucson’s, the puncher helped the giant up. Painfully, his full weight on Sudden, Tucson got to his feet.

  “Help – put me on – that pony,” was Tucson’s next command, and he lurched over towards the pinto, which skittered slightly at the smell of Tucson’s blood.

  “Get up on his right-side,” Tucson said. “’Paches don’t mount—”

  “— I know, I know,”

  Sudden told him. “Take it steady, Tucson.”

  The big man was referring to the Indian custom of mounting their ponies from the right hand side. Any attempt to mount from the left, as was normal range practice, would result in the animals shying.

  With a deep groan, Tucson slid on to the horse’s back, swaying, his head lolling. “Tie – my feet, Jim,” he whispered. His chin came up defiantly, drawing upon his last reserves of strength.

  A quick glance showed Sudden that the Apaches had seen them. With a shrill cry they put their horses to the gallop, sweeping down the long shallow side of the ridge, moving in a fast, deadly sweeping arc towards the two men. Sudden lashed the big man’s feet beneath the pony’s belly and at Tucson’s command handed the giant one of the rifles and a handful of cartridges.

  “That’s – dandy,” Tucson gritted. “Jim – lissen to me. I ain’t got – long. Yu make – yore run, yu hear?”

  “No! Yo’re ridin’ with me!” Sudden told him flatly.

  Tucson cocked the rifle in his hands and pointed it at Sudden, gritting his teeth against the slight motion of the pinto.

  “Do like I – tell yu,” he said, grimacing with pain. “There’s no point in – both of us gettin’ kilt. Yu – find that gal. Tell her – tell her what I – done.” He managed a smile. “Shore sorry – we never finished – that fight. Yu – scrap real – good.”

  Without another word, he wheeled the pony about and slashed it across the rump with the barrel of the rifle. With a snorted squeal of rage the pinto leaped into a gallop, thundering at top speed directly across the path of the advancing war-party. Tucson had regained his balance now, and with his feet tied, had both hands free to load and fire the rifle. Right across the front of the advance he rode, blasting a hail of bullets into the Apaches, toppling one, two, three warriors from their horses before the Apaches had recovered from their surprise. The last thing that they had expected was to be attacked, and with a screech of hatred they fell back, their line breaking. Then they regrouped to thunder in pursuit of the speeding Tucson, who was half turned in the saddle, pulling the horse around in a quarter turn to pour more shots into the milling Indians.

  Sudden heard the thin defiant yell the giant gave as another Indian slid out of his saddle, and then the Apaches started firing, the shots flat and dead, sounding like the snapping of twigs. Tucson’s horse dropped out of sight behind the level of a ridge perhaps a mile away, the Apaches in hot pursuit. Now Sudden swung into the saddle of the Apache pony, booting it into a dead run, away from the scene of one of the bravest actions he had ever witnessed. Far off, now, he could hear the sound of the guns, and then he could hear nothing except the thunder of his pony’s hoofs. Tucson’s ride was over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They had ridden long miles over mighty stretches of bare desert, crossed flat topped mesas, toiled up wide sweeping slopes of shifting sand, and threaded their way through tracts where Nature, by some internal convulsion, had disrupted the land into little hills, rocky gulches, and ravines. Above them a sun of polished brass poured down its blinding rays. A desolate and sterile land, without water or timber, its scant vegetation consisting of sage, greasewood, mesquite and cactus. Well might men shudder at the prospect of crossing such a trackless waste. The sand reflected the sun’s rays back into their faces, and they seemed at times to be wading through a lake of shimmering heat.

  “Well, one thing,” Quincy said, his voice rusty with thirst. “No preacher’ll be able to scare me with hellfire no more. Gawd! To think o’ the times I coulda gone swimmin’ an’ didn’t.”

  He turned his dust-reddened eyes upon the flaming disc in the heavens and mouthed a curse beneath the handkerchief which covered the lower part of his face.

  “How far yu reckon we got to go?” croaked Shiloh. To emphasize his question he held up the water canteen and shook it. The thin swish of liquid indicated a perilously low level, and Quincy frowned. “Just about make ’er, I’d reckon,” he grunted. “Providin’ we don’t get no more trouble from them war whoops.”

  There ha
d been no sign of Apaches for the past twenty four hours, but neither of the scalphunters was foolish enough to believe that this automatically meant they had outdistanced the Indians. “It’s when yu don’t see the red sons that yu got to most ready for ’em,” was Shiloh’s unspoken thought. He glanced at the girl, riding slumped in her saddle, and then at Rusty, who favored him with a look of pure detestation. Shiloh scowled. “Yu got yore come-uppance to get, sonny,” he muttered. “An’ yo’re a-goin’ to get it shore.”

  He squinted off to the left, lining up their route mentally with his own picture of the land through which they were passing. They had swung west, away from the route that Sudden had planned, the one which would have led almost due south to Fort Cochise. That route would have brought them out of the desert within a day, but Shiloh’s plan necessitated one further day in the desert. By evening, he figured, they would reach the edge of the desert, and then, skirting it, move down the long valley which dropped through the badlands to Wilderness.

  He signaled with his eyes, and Quincy edged his horse alongside.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “By my reckonin’ we oughta be out o’ this hellhole in a coupla hours,” Shiloh replied. “We got to see if the kid’s goin’ to do like he’s told.”

  “Yu reckon he will? He was killin’ mad when we left Sudden for the Injuns.”

  “We got a double hold on him,” Shiloh leered. “Fust off, he’s sweet on the gal. Second, he still thinks he beefed that cardsharp in Bisbee. He ain’t goin’ to give us no trouble. He knows the gal’ll get back to her o’ man on’y if the reward’s delivered. And if the kid makes him understand that she won’t lack for some lovin’ I’m guessin’ Davis’ll come across pretty pronto.”