Sudden Apache Fighter
Page 15
“An’ that’s what’ll happen to me if I slip,” the Texan muttered.
Remembering that his gun was empty, his hand went instinctively to his cartridge belt. With a curse, he discovered that the loops were also empty: he was unarmed. There was no time to turn back, or Shiloh would be assured of freedom. Without a second thought, the Texan ran out on to the foot-wide rocky ridge, surefooted as any mountain goat, running as fast as he dared for the end of the ridge, which descended gradually as he traversed it, dropping to its eventual meeting with the floor of the arroyo.
The perspiration pouring from him, Sudden quartered down the last of the ridge and to the arroyo floor, finding a rocky ledge a little to his left which overhung the exit from the arroyo. He eased on to this and waited; within moments he heard the heaving gasps of Shiloh’s breathing, and the half-breed came stumbling along the arroyo floor, dust-caked, bathed in sweat, but with a thin grin of triumph forming on his face as he saw the arroyo open out on to the plain.
In that moment, Sudden launched himself from the ledge, his arms wrapping around Shiloh, the sheer weight of his attack dragging the unsuspecting Shiloh to the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
With a scream of frustration and rage, Shiloh kicked and heaved clear, scrabbling away. Sudden leaped to his feet, reaching for the half-breed, ducking a murderous punch which, had it landed, might have ended the fight that instant. Shiloh came rushing in behind his punch, and Sudden chopped viciously at the man’s head, knocking Shiloh to his knees in the soft sand. Shiloh’s hand fumbled for the gun at his waist and Sudden, waiting, let him draw it from the holster before his well-aimed kick sent the weapon spinning from Shiloh’s nerveless fingers. The half-breed came up without warning from his crouch, his clenched hand opening to hurl a handful of dust and grit straight into Sudden’s eyes. Blinded, Sudden was defenseless as Shiloh slashed a wicked blow into his middle, folding Sudden forward, and then racked the Texan upright with a powerful uppercut. Sudden pawed the tears from his inflamed eyes, trying desperately to stay away from Shiloh’s punches long enough to clear them and get some semblance of returned sight, while the scalphunter came mercilessly forward, throwing wicked blow after damaging punch into the Texan’s unprotected body. Sudden fell forward into a clinch, grappling with Shiloh, trying to tie his arms up long enough to clear his eyes; the scalphunter brought up his knee in a wicked move which Sudden, sensing it coming, managed to take on the thigh. For a split second, Shiloh was off-balance, and in that moment, Sudden acted. He shot his arm upward rigidly, the heel of his right hand taking Shiloh beneath his snarling jaw, smashing his teeth together in a terrible impact which jarred the man back on his heels, half-stunned. Merciless now himself, Sudden dashed the last of the grit from his eyes and prowled forward; for the first time Shiloh saw the cold ruthless light in the Texan’s eyes, and as hope slipped away, desperation took its place. He threw wild and hurting punches at Sudden, punches which might have felled other men, but the Texan seemed impervious to them. He moved forward, relentless, unstoppable, and a final, mighty blow sent Shiloh full length, to lie on the flickering verges of consciousness in the dusty sand. Shiloh half-opened his eyes, turning his bruised face; the first thing he saw was his own pistol, lying half-buried in the soft sand. Waiting a second until his head was clear, he rolled over with a yell of triumph and grabbed it, sitting up and cocking the gun in one movement, his eyes slitted and evil, murder stalking through their deep darkness.
“So, Mister Sudden,” he whispered malevolently, “Yu win, but yu lose!” Shiloh scrambled to his feet, facing Sudden, who was warily watching his every move. Shiloh cocked the revolver. I’m goin’ to enjoy this,” he hissed. Then, as the pressure of his finger increased on the trigger, a movement behind the scalphunter caught Sudden’s eye.
“Shiloh,” he whispered. “Apaches! Behind yu!”
The half-breed laughed out loud. “Sudden, yo’re a pearl! Yu think I’m goin’ to fall for that old chestn—”
Shhhwuck!
Shhhhwuck! Shhhhwuck!
For a brief moment, astonishment came into Shiloh’s eyes as the arrows drove into his body. That faded, and into its place seeped a dying rage as Shiloh struggled to find enough strength to pull the trigger of the gun in his hand, to kill his Nemesis even as he himself died. But Shiloh’s strength ran out along the arrow shafts with his blood, and he sank to the ground, his last word a curse. The feathered shafts quivered slightly and then all was still. Sudden did not move; he knew that he was helpless. Two warriors rose from hiding; again he was astonished at how near they had been without him seeing them. They were painted for war, and both had arrows fully drawn in their short bows, trained upon him.
“Howdy,” he said to them. His eyes flickered to Shiloh’s gun; a good ten feet away, but there was a chance if he made a rolling dive…
“Do not think of that, Coyote!”
Sudden whirled as Manolito stepped out of the rocks behind his two warriors; his hand came up in the sign for peace.
Sudden returned the peace-sign gravely as Manolito regarded the Texan levelly from his position in the rocks.
“Scalphunter dead,” Manolito said. “Other men go from town-in-canyon. Many warriors dead. It is enough.”
“Yu makin’ peace-talk, Manolito?” Sudden asked.
“Maybe one day,” the Indian replied. “Manolito owe you a life. Now it repaid. Adios!”
With a sort of salute, he wheeled and disappeared amongst the rocks. A few moments later, Sudden heard the ponies thundering away to the east. The Apaches were gone. Sudden found a flat-topped rock, and sat down on it, gazing in the direction the Apaches had taken.
“I guess if we work at it real hard for about the next six or seven hundred years,” he reflected, “we’ll mebbe begin to understand how an Injun’s mind works.”
He was still sitting there, gazing into space, when Rusty and six of the Davis riders came riding down the arroyo and found him.
Chapter Nineteen
“I don’t care if he’s an outlaw! I don’t care if he’s the biggest rogue as ever forked a saddle – I want Green to work for me, Bleke, an’ yu got to make him do it!”
The speaker was John Davis. He stood once more in Governor Bleke’s office, his chin thrust forward in that characteristic pose, glowering from beneath knitted brows.
Bleke smiled tolerantly. Many things had happened since the rancher had returned from Wilderness with Sudden and his daughter. Davis had left the town a smoking ruin, its motley inhabitants scattered. At Fort Cochise, Manolito had led his people in under a white flag and told the commanding officer that the Apache were no longer taking the war trail and wished to live in peace with their white brothers. The delighted Colonel Morris had telegraphed these glad tidings immediately to Bleke, who had been only too pleased to pass on such wonderful news to the people of Tucson. With the threat of war lifted, a holiday atmosphere prevailed in the little town.
Davis himself was shipping out supplies to rebuild his ranch-house, and smiling indulgently at the way that his daughter, now fully recovered from her ordeal in the mountains, stayed constantly within touching distance of the young man who had helped to rescue her. It had been but the work of an hour to discover that the gambler whom Rusty had thought he had killed was plying his trade, as healthy as a horse, in the same saloon in Bisbee. With that threat gone, Rusty had revealed his identity. His real name was Tom Freshwater, and his father owned a ranch over Los Alamos way. The news could hardly have pleased Davis more; his constant fear had always been that Barbara would end up married to some pasty-faced Tucson bank clerk. To see her so obviously in love with a cowman’s son had done much to remove the deep lines of grief from Davis’s face. With Sudden, however, he had been less fortunate. Despite all their pleading, he had shaken his head.
“I got a job to do,” he said doggedly to Davis, refusing all the man’s offers. “An’ I got to do her.”
It was his departure which had prompted Davis to appeal final
ly to Governor Bleke, who had, after all, brought Green here in the first place. But Bleke was proving no help either.
“John,” the Governor reasoned. “I don’t own him. He’s his own man – and like old Tobias Eady, he has his reasons for leaving.”
“Damn foolishness, if yu ask me!” snapped Davis. “I offer him the job o’ foreman on the new ranch – he turns me down. I tell him he’s gotta take the reward for findin’ Barbara – he tells me to give it to the kids as his weddin’ present. Like to broke Rusty’s heart when he wouldn’t stay,” he mumbled.
Bleke spread his hands helplessly. “John,” he said quietly. “I want to remind you of something you said to me in this office not long ago. You said – and these were your exact words – you’d never met a man who couldn’t be bought. Well, it’s time you faced up to something: you’ve finally met one.”
“Well, hell an’ blue blazes, Bleke!” exploded the rancher. “All the more reason for wantin’ him to stay an’ help me to build the JD into a big ranch again.”
Bleke sighed and rose from his seat. He walked across the room and poured out two drinks from a decanter which stood on the table. One of these he held out to Davis, who took it.
“Maybe he’ll come back one day, John,” he said softly to the rancher. “When he’s done – what he has to do.”
“By God, Bleke!” exclaimed Davis. “I’ll drink to that!”
A heavy rain had fallen the preceding night, and suddenly transformed the desert into a verdant garden. Leaves had burst from naked branches, and the bare ground was carpeted with tiny shoots and blades of green. Carpets of flowers – daisies, dandelions, verbenas – spread in a riot of color across the bleak land, and upon the ugly cactus bright bursts of bloom softened the uncompromising outlines. Amid this loveliness, in a spot far out in the now-peaceful Apache land, a lone man stood bareheaded beside a fresh-dug grave upon which he had piled smooth desert stones. By the rough cross he had placed some wild flowers. He stood silently until his horse nickered softly behind him, and he allowed his breath to sigh out between his lips. “Yo’re right, ol” feller,” he told the horse. “Time to be movin’ on.”
Had there been anyone to see, they would have noted the gentleness in the grey-blue eyes, the way that the hard lines upon the young face had softened as Sudden looked down for the last time upon the grave of the man who had saved his life.
He climbed into the saddle, and turned his horse’s head towards the setting sun. A sad smile touched his lips. “I’m thankin’ yu, Tucson,” Sudden said softly. “Yu – big dumb ox.”
ALSO IN THE SUDDEN SERIES
SUDDEN STRIKES BACK
SUDDEN AT BAY
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