by Rory Black
Gunfire crisscrossed the bleak desert until the Rangers and the Apaches slammed straight into one another. Within seconds the sand was covered in the blood of valiant men. Men who were reduced to fighting hand to hand.
The fading light danced off the honed edges of countless flashing knife-blades as both sides found their firearms almost useless at close range. Within seconds the Texas Rangers had emptied their sixguns into the bodies of the Apaches and were forced to start using their pistols as clubs.
As the horses crashed into one another, both Apaches and Rangers fell into the churned-up sand. Caufield Cotter drove his charger through the wall of Indian ponies, reined in hard and turned the blood-stained animal.
He fired his last bullet and saw an Apache drop only yards away from him.
Cotter then reached down for his rifle. To his horror he saw the war bonnet of one of the Apache chiefs as the brave broke free of the furious fighting and drove his pony directly at him across the sand.
As his gloved hands lifted the Winchester up and swiftly cranked its mechanism he saw the knife cutting through the hot air.
Before he was able to lift the cocked rifle to his shoulder and aim, Cotter felt the full impact of the dagger in the center of his chest. He rocked in his saddle and managed to squeeze the trigger.
The Indian was blasted off the back of his pony and crashed on to the sand.
Caufield Cotter then saw more Apaches screaming through the gun-smoke towards him. He cocked the rifle again and felt himself rock as he fired once more.
His eyes closed as pain tore through him. He tried to stop himself falling but a rifle bullet ripped into his belly and lifted him up off his saddle. Cotter fell.
He hit the sand hard but did not feel any pain.
The colonel heard the unshod hoofs getting closer but could do nothing.
His hooded eyes opened and saw the screaming warriors jumping off the backs of their ponies. They scrambled across the sand and surrounded him. Cotter saw the bloody knives in their hands.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
Chapter Fifteen
The five horsemen had waited until sunset before they thundered out of Devil’s Canyon and up through the crags at the base of one of the massive flat-topped mesas and on towards the desert. They had heard the unnerving sound of the brief but bloody battle that had taken place to the west of their temporary camp. Only Iron Eyes had shown little interest in the sound of so many weapons being discharged as he had silently consumed his first hot meal for nearly nine months. Marshal Lane Clark and his three remaining deputies had watched the smoke-signals until the light had faded from the vast Texan sky to be replaced by storm-clouds. The lawmen had found it difficult to swallow any of their food and scraped most of it on to the flames of their small camp-fire. Iron Eyes could not understand why his companions seemed so restless.
It took more than Apache war-smoke to trouble him. He had been in far worse situations and survived.
Clark had tried vainly to ignore his own fears. Even with the reassurance of the bounty hunter that the Apaches would neither see nor be interested in them whilst there was bigger prey to fight, the men had covered the fire with sand as soon as they were finished.
None of the lawmen from Waco had any experience with Apaches, unlike the bounty hunter. Their minds were filled with the terrifying stories that they had either read about or been told by people who claimed to have encountered the bold tribes of the Apache nation. Iron Eyes had firsthand knowledge of them and to him it was simple.
They hated him and he hated them.
But Iron Eyes held no fear of the people whom he secretly respected. For unlike most whites he had encountered during his life, Apaches would never say one thing and mean another. They had a basic honesty that he understood. You could trust an Apache to kill you if he said that was what he intended doing. Only white men spoke with forked tongues.
With storm-clouds masking the moon Iron Eyes had led the four lawmen through the darkness until they had spotted something out on the now silent landscape. He had guided the four riders towards the distant glowing fire out on the desert as if drawn like a moth to a candle-flame. Clark and his trio of deputies had no idea what could be burning out in the middle of nowhere, but Iron Eyes had already caught the scent of death in his flared nostrils long before he had set eyes on the fire. He knew that a supply wagon and its contents took a long time to burn, especially when human and animal fat were added to the grisly recipe.
For more than an hour the intrepid quintet had ridden in almost total darkness. Then at last the moon appeared from behind the large black storm-clouds and cast its haunting light on the scene of total carnage below.
At first it looked as if sagebrush was scattered around the burning wagon. Then the truth became evident to all of the horsemen as they drew closer and the moonlight became brighter.
There was no sagebrush.
It was a sea of bodies that covered the sand.
Iron Eyes used his spurs to urge the pony beneath him on and on towards the still-burning chuck wagon that lay at the center of the scene of devastation. Marshal Lane Clark and his three deputies vainly tried to maintain the grueling pace that their new-found companion was setting. Yet none of the lawmen would inflict such punishment on their mounts as the bounty hunter did on his.
Only when he had reached the first of the bodies did Iron Eyes allow his pony to slow to a stop. For more than two seemingly endless minutes Iron Eyes sat astride his small lathered-up mount waiting for Clark and his men to catch up with him. Even his gruesome features could not hide the horror he felt in his guts at the sickening sight.
Only when the lawmen hauled rein and stopped their exhausted horses alongside the silent bounty hunter did Iron Eyes throw his long thin right leg over the neck and head of the pony and slide to the ground.
‘Took your time getting here, boys,’ Iron Eyes said, walking to the still-burning chuck wagon. His narrowed eyes studied the fire before looking at the bodies of Indians and Rangers as well as countless horses scattered all around them.
Lane Clark dismounted and gazed all around the sand.
‘Look at this carnage. There’s been a damn war here, Iron Eyes.’
‘Stupid,’ Iron Eyes growled angrily.
Clark stared hard at the troubled bounty hunter.
‘What you mean, son?’
Iron Eyes looked at the marshal.
‘All this killing for nothing, Clark. Ain’t no profit been made here by anyone. To kill for killing’s sake is just damn stupid.’
‘Don’t you think of anything except bounty?’ Tom Ripley snouted down from his mount. ‘Does everythin’ come down to just dollars and cents?’
Iron Eyes gave the tired deputy a sideways glance that could have frightened even the most sturdy of men.
‘Nope. I’ve killed me a lot of Apaches over the years and not made a penny.’
‘Then why did you do it?’ Ripley asked.
“Coz they was trying to kill me. There weren’t nothin’ personal in it. This is just stupid. So much death and nothing was gained by anyone. In my book, that’s stupid! Damn stupid!’
‘That must be what them smoke signals were sayin’, Lane,’ Col Drake said as he climbed down off his saddle. ‘They must have spotted the Texas Rangers and decided to ambush them.’
Iron Eyes walked along the charred wood and blackened wagon-roof hoops. He paused at the sight of the roasted carcasses of the horses. The four animals had burned to death, trapped in their traces.
‘Them signals was about me, Deputy,’ he muttered. ‘Them Apaches have been looking for me for the longest time. Reckon these poor Texas Ranger varmints was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘You rate yourself mighty high, Iron Eyes,’ Pete Hall said, looking at the bodies of Texas Rangers and Apache warriors bathed in the moonlight. ‘I’d say them Injuns just thought they’d kill a lot of Texans. Why would they be interested in you?’
Iron Eyes p
ut a cigar in his teeth and bit its tip off. He spat it at the sand and then leaned over the smoldering wagon and lit it from a glowing ember.
‘Them Apache don’t like me.’ He puffed. ‘But then, it’s mutual.’
The stunned deputies ambled away from the wagon and started checking the bodies in a futile search for any hint of life. The tall bounty hunter watched them, then returned his attention to the sky above. Although the moon was big and bright, more storm-clouds were gathering. He looked at the flashes of white away in the distance and knew that the storm would overtake them long before they ever reached Diamond City.
‘Don’t let them boys of yours stray too far, Clark,’ Iron Eyes warned, looking at the troubled marshal.
‘Why not, Iron Eyes?’ Lane Clark asked.
Iron Eyes exhaled a long line of smoke and pointed the glowing tip of his cigar.
“Coz the Apaches who didn’t die here are over yonder. I reckon they’ll be back to bury their dead before the sun rises.’
Clark swung around on his heels and stared off into the darkness. He felt a cold chill trace up his spine.
‘Are you sure?’
Iron Eyes pulled the cigar from his mouth and tapped the ash away. He edged closer to the lawman.
‘I’m sure. I can smell them.’
Clark looked back at Iron Eyes.
‘You can?’
Iron Eyes nodded.
‘Yep. I reckon there are about fifty of the critters about half a mile in that direction.’
Lane Clark gulped.
‘We better get out of here and head on to Diamond City. I reckon we’ll get there by sunset tomorrow.’
Iron Eyes paced back to his skittish pony and dragged the animal forward until it was standing next to what remained of the burning wagon. He stepped into the stirrup and hauled himself on to the saddle.
‘I know a short cut, Clark. We can be there just after sun up if we ride now.’
Clark’s jaw dropped.
‘By sun up?’
‘Yep.’ Iron Eyes reached back and plucked his whiskey bottle from the saddlebags. He pulled its cork, took two long swallows and then tossed his cigar into the belly of the wagon. ‘Get them boys back here and mounted before them Apaches get our scent.’
‘But they won’t attack in the dark. Right?’ Clark asked.
‘Don’t bet your pension on that one, Marshal.’ Iron Eyes spurred hard and rode through the slaughtered bodies. ‘C’mon!’
Chapter Sixteen
Lightning flickered in the black sky above Diamond City as the storm unleashed its fury. The temperature was dropping fast as a cold wind replaced the hot stifling air amid the buildings. An hour earlier the moon and every star had disappeared behind the gathering storm-clouds that loomed ominously above the high ridges and fertile ranges far to the south, yet the two men who crept between the buildings and through the shadows were drowning in their own sweat. For they knew the dangers that they faced if they were to be discovered by the Darrow brothers. Rain started to fall as Luther Cole led the way towards the deserted telegraph office with Henry Jardine a few paces behind him. The pair of outlaws had ridden together for more years than either of them could recall and knew instinctively how to protect each other’s backs.
The two men took advantage of the fact that no one had lit any of the street-lanterns along Diamond City’s main street. Neither of them wanted to be spotted by their unpredictable and deadly companions.
Even though it was the early hours of the morning, light from the middle saloon still cascaded across the wide street and reached the porch of the telegraph office. It looked as if countless precious jewels were dancing in the light as droplets of rain continued to fall. Cole and Jardine stepped cautiously up on to the raised boardwalk and ran the last few yards to the still-open doorway.
They entered the office and moved behind the desk. Dried blood still covered the papers next to the telegraph key where Cole had chopped the fingers off the small man who had tried to send a message to the outside world begging for help.
Jardine sat down on the swivel-chair and carefully checked the telegraph key.
It was operational.
‘Now we put the fox in the henhouse, partner,’ Jardine said, rolling up his right sleeve and flexing his fingers. ‘I sure hope that I ain’t forgot how to do this.’
Luther Cole kept staring at the street and the rain between themselves and the saloon.
‘Just do it.’
‘Don’t fret. Even the Darrows have to sleep sometime.’
‘There’s somebody in the saloon. If it’s them, you and me are in the line of fire.’
‘Go and stay by the door, Luther,’ Jardine ordered as his fingers started to tap the key. ‘Keep them eyes of yours wide open. If you see just one of them Darrow boys, tell me!’
‘Hurry up. We gotta get out of here.’
Cole made his way to the door. He rested a shoulder against the warped frame and stared out into the quiet street. His eyes focused on the flickering lights inside the saloon as shadows moved across the painted-glass windows.
‘It has to be Toke and his brothers, Henry. I seen most of the rest of the boys going to their beds hours back.’
Jardine said nothing as his index finger continued to tap the telegraph key. Within a few moments he received a short response.
‘We got Waco!’
Luther nodded but kept his eyes on the street and the saloon that was bathed in lantern light, unlike any of the other buildings in the long street.
‘Just get it done,’ he pleaded.
Jardine started to tap out his message to the marshal’s office in Waco telling them that the D arrow brothers were headed their way. He also added that the three brothers had slaughtered over two hundred men, women and children during the previous couple of months. The only omission was his and the rest of his gang’s part in the gruesome slayings of so many innocent souls in town after town before they had reached Diamond City.
‘What ya tellin’ them, Henry?’ Cole whispered.
‘I’m telling them that they will soon have the company of three of the baddest bastards ever to ride into Waco, Luther,’ Jardine replied. ‘I’ve left our part in the killings and robberies out of it.’
Cole chuckled quietly. Then suddenly he stopped and stood upright. The swing-doors of the saloon were pushed wide enough for the three figures to step out on to the porch.
‘Damn!’ he gasped.
Jardine moved away from the desk to his friend’s side and squinted out towards the saloon through the driving rain. He took a deep breath.
‘Blast their hides. I really thought that they were in their room by now, sleeping!’
‘So did I, Henry.’ Cole slid his gun from its holster and cocked its hammer. ‘So did I.’
The three Darrow brothers looked far from sleepy as they stood on the saloon boardwalk staring around the quiet street at the rain that had begun to wash away the blood that had covered so much of its sand since their arrival.
Jardine felt uneasy.
He knew that if he and Cole were caught in the telegraph office, even the Darrows would be able to work out what they were up to.
‘With any luck, we might be able to get out of here unnoticed and make it to our room.’ The older outlaw sighed.
‘Has this office got a rear door?’ asked Luther Cole.
Jardine looked around the small office for another way out but could see none. A window on the back wall had bars against it for some reason that the veteran outlaw could not fathom.
He rubbed the sweat off his face with the tails of his bandanna and then saw the three outlaws turn up their collars before stepping down into the street. It was as if none of the trio noticed the rain.
Their minds were on something else.
Something entirely different.
‘What they doin’, Henry?’ Cole asked nervously. ‘Where they going at this hour?’
‘Damned if I know, Luther,’ Jardine admitted
. ‘I thought they said that they were making an early start for Waco in the morning.’
‘They did,’ Cole confirmed.
Jardine glanced at the wall clock. It was just a few minutes past four.
‘It’ll be dawn in less than two hours’ time. What in tarnation are they doing walking around town when they got themselves such a hard ride ahead of them?’
Luther Cole ran his left hand across his bald head as he tried to think.
‘You’re right. What are they doing ambling around town? I thought they’d wanna get as much shut-eye as they could before setting out for Waco.’
‘What if they ain’t going to Waco?’
Jardine asked. ‘What if they’ve got other ideas?’
The Darrow brothers continued walking towards the telegraph office, talking to each other in unusually hushed tones for them as rain ran off their hat brims.
Something suspicious was happening, Jardine thought. These were men who enjoyed being loud, as if they took pleasure in hearing their own raised voices. For some unknown reason they were making a point of being quiet.
‘I don’t like it. They’re up to something, Luther.’
‘But what?’
Jardine ducked and moved across the doorway until he was next to the large window. He stared at the three men as they walked past the telegraph office and on towards the bank.
‘Now I know what Toke and his brothers are up to, Luther.’
Cole moved to the side of his companion.
‘What?’
‘The bank. They’re going to the bank where we have all our money stashed, Luther!’ Jardine gasped. ‘Can you believe it? The bastards are gonna steal our money.’
Cole grabbed the arm of the older man.
‘You can’t be certain of that, Henry. Remember, some of that loot belongs to them anyway. Besides they’d need the keys and you have them. Right?’
Jardine checked his coat pockets and then spat at the floor angrily.
‘Not any more. They must have picked my pocket in the saloon earlier.’
Luther Cole shook his head. Then he saw Toke Darrow produce the distinctive keys to the bank and its vault from his inside vest pocket. Cole tapped his partner and pointed.