Buzzard Bait

by Brett Cogburn

  “Don’t think that Colonel Herrera’s regulars don’t know that the Apache are likely to run for the border. That game’s been played for a long time,” Horn said. “The Colonel will have all the men he can patrolling between here and there and cutting for Apache sign.”

  “Just me and you and the boys,” Newt said. “We could travel by night and lay up by day. Two nights from now we could be back in the States.”

  “The other thing we’ve got to worry about is that I don’t know if this is the last of the Apaches down here,” Horn said. “Might be more that haven’t turned themselves in, and the way we have to go is right through their normal war trails back and forth across the border.”

  “So you’re saying we go north with this bunch, even though a bigger party is more likely to be spotted by the Mexican regulars?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “They don’t have enough horses. Those women and children on foot are going to move slow as molasses in wintertime.”

  “If the Mexican army gets after us, we cut loose on our own and run for the border.”

  “You’re acting like Gok now.”

  “You said getting the boys back was what’s important,” Horn said. “All’s fair in love and war and trying to get your ass out of Mexico, I guess.”

  Newt hobbled over to the Circle Dot horse and unsaddled him. He took his saddle and gear over to the tree and set it down. Charlie had gotten up while he was talking to Horn, and the boy had lain down close to Billy at the foot of the tree. Horn put a blanket over both of them before he lay down and did the same for himself.

  His mind was racing with trying to foresee what could happen in the next two days, and he didn’t think he would be able to sleep. But sleep he did, and he slept very soundly.

  When he awoke an hour before daylight Charlie was gone, and so were some of the Apaches.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Newt scoured the camp for any sign of Charlie, while Horn talked to Gok and the other people in the camp. Nobody claimed to have known that some of their people were going to slip away in the night, but they didn’t seem bothered by it, either. Many of the Apache there were nervous about what would happen if they turned themselves over to the army and went back to San Carlos. Could they keep their guns? Would they be jailed? Would Nantan Lupan listen to their needs and let them live at a better place on the reservation? Would there be food enough to feed them, or would the agent picked by the Great White Father in Washington cheat them out of their beef allotments and rations? With such worries, none of those Apaches remaining in camp were shocked that some of their own had decided to go back up to the high country and continue to live the old way.

  They knew that the two white men were upset about the loss of one of their boys, but none of them was willing to do anything about it. The camp was rapidly being packed and the remaining Apaches prepared to travel.

  Newt was saddling his horse when Horn walked up with Gok following him.

  “What are you doing?” Horn asked.

  “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m going after Charlie,” Newt said as he slung his saddle up on the horse’s back.

  Horn tilted his head at Gok beside him. “He says that they left early last night and have at least ten hours head start on you.”

  “They left on foot. If I hurry, I can run them down.”

  “He says that they will already be in the mountains, and that you should know that no horse can keep up with an Apache in such country,” Horn said.

  “Then I’ll go to the mountains, and I’ll run them down on foot if I have to. I’ll crack the whole damned mountain wide open and pull them out if that’s what it takes.”

  “Apache never were a horseback tribe. Oh, they’ll use a horse same as anybody, but there’s never been nothing born with two hind legs that can travel like one of them,” Horn said. “Usually when we get in bad country our Apache scouts travel on foot, and I’ve seen them match a trotting horse all day long.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “They’ll leave little sign. When an Apache goes to ground it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and you are no tracker.”

  “Then tell him to get on his horse and help me.”

  Gok and Horn spoke to each other while Newt cinched his horse’s girth tight.

  “He says that they are scared and can’t be found right now,” Horn said. “Even if he were to go with you he couldn’t find them for a long, long time, and even then maybe not.”

  “We found him once; we can do it again.”

  Horn translated that and then what Gok replied. “Those were Mexicans that we tracked down and not Apache. Nantan Lupan’s army had many, many Apache scouts and he couldn’t find Charlie. He asks how do you think you could find the boy in so little time?”

  “Did he know that they were going to take Charlie? You ask him that.”

  “He claims that he knew some were likely leaving, but not that the boy was going with them.”

  “I think he’s a liar. You tell him that if you want to.”

  “He says that the boy had grown very close to the one he went with.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Newt quit what he was doing and looked directly at Gok. “That boy was stolen by your people, right here last night.”

  Gok had no clue what he had said, but he understood Newt’s tone. He stared back at him but said nothing.

  “Charlie went of his own free will,” Horn said. “You know that.”

  “Like hell he did.”

  “The signs were all there for us to see. He didn’t want to go back.”

  Newt jammed his rifle down in his rifle boot and looked at Billy beneath the tree. The boy was sitting up with his blanket still covering him and watching Newt.

  Horn noticed him, too. “What are we going to do with him if we go after Charlie? Are you going to trust leaving him with these Apaches?”

  “You stay here with him.”

  “You won’t find Charlie. If we had a whole company of Apache scouts we might find him. Might, I say, but we don’t. This bunch is ready to move north, and not one of them is going to help you. They don’t think it’s any of their business if some of the people don’t want to go, and they think it only natural that an Apache father who lost his only son would want to adopt another boy like Charlie.”

  “Tell them that we’ll tell the army that they took Charlie from us.”

  “If I say that, it’s liable to get us killed,” Horn said. “Gok is hiding it, but he’s worried about that very thing. He wanted Charlie with us so he could say what a good heart his people had by bringing Charlie back. I think he would try to get the boy back if he thought he could.”

  “You tell him.”

  “I won’t tell him that. Jones, there’s nothing you can do right now to get Charlie back. He wanted to go, for whatever his reasons were,” Horn said. “And you can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving.”

  Newt frowned at Horn. “You know, Charlie said almost those very words to me once.”

  “He’s an unusual kid.”

  Newt was tying his slicker behind his saddle, and he jerked the knot so tight on his saddle strings that he broke one of them. “He’s just a messed-up little boy.”

  “Yes, but he’s strong.”

  “He needed time to get his head right.”

  Horn cleared his throat. “I’ve seen captive children that plumb lost their mind and never would get it back. They couldn’t take it. And I’ve seen others that turn more Indian than the Indians themselves. It’s an odd thing.”

  “I’ve got to try to get him back.”

  “You’re just mad and not thinking straight.”

  “Damned right I’m mad.”

  Horn put a hand on Newt’s saddle, blocking him from finishing what he was doing. “Nobody thought Charlie McComas was alive. And he won’t be to them. He’s somebody else now, and I think that’s the way he wants it.”

  “I shoul
d have kept a closer eye on him.”

  “We can put out the word that we’ll pay a big ransom for him,” Horn said. “That little bunch he’s gone off with will have a hard time, and come a month or two from now they might be more than willing to trade Charlie back to us. We know who he went with, and there’s no way they’re coming back on the reservation without giving up the boy to the army.”

  Newt took a deep breath. “I’ve seen how hard it is to get anything back down here.”

  “When General Crook finds out maybe he will send some Apache scouts down here to find Charlie and try to talk those he’s with into going back to the reservation.”

  “I failed him,” Newt said. “The army failed him, and now I’ve failed him. He didn’t have a chance.”

  Horn gestured at Billy. “There’s a boy right there that’s counting on you. I think he needs your help more than Charlie ever did.”

  Newt thought of Charlie McComas and then he looked at Billy. He knew Horn was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  There were eight warriors and twenty-two women and children in the band that broke camp that morning. He put Billy up on a horse of his own, despite the boy’s protests, and half expected to have to loan the Apaches the spare horses that Horn had rounded up after the first fight with the Hatchet. But he was soon surprised at how many horses the band had. Instead of the women and children being on foot as they often were, everyone had a horse to ride. He and Billy rode with Horn near the back of the line.

  The belt of oak trees at the bottom of the mountain disappeared as they rode into the foothills south of the great bend in the Bavispe River. They hadn’t traveled three miles when they came to a shallow, wide canyon. Although they could have avoided the canyon and a much better way would have been to go around it, the warriors guided them down a cut into its mouth.

  Newt and Horn were still high enough above the canyon to see down into it when Newt stopped his horse and stood in his stirrups for a better view.

  “That dirty old devil,” he said.

  Horn stood in his stirrups and looked down into the canyon below them. The canyon bottom was crowded with horses and cattle. There must have been four hundred head of cattle and at least that many horses.

  “Gok’s bunch was holding out on us,” Horn said. “They had these cattle gathered before yesterday.”

  “That dirty old devil,” Newt repeated. “He’s going to get us killed.”

  Horn acted as if he read Newt’s mind and said exactly what Newt was thinking. “With a herd like that we’re going to have to stick to the flat country and the easy ways. And there won’t be any driving them at night.”

  “Yeah, and a herd like that is going to stir up a lot of dust,” Newt said. “Easy to spot for anybody that’s looking for us.”

  “You’ve got to admit, these folks are leaving Mexico in style.”

  “Whoever those animals belong to is going to be real mad in a real big hurry,” Newt said. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  * * *

  The Apaches pushed the herd fast, and as a result the first few hours on the trail were hectic, and at times comical. Their style of driving the stock was less centered around keeping the animals in an orderly herd, and more about never letting them slow their feet and basically chasing them ahead of the band. Stragglers and the lame were left behind, for there was no time to coddle or alter the pace for them. Cattle and several horses escaped at every challenging bit of terrain or when passing through heavy brush.

  In that fashion, they drove the herd out of the foothills and across the Bavispe River onto the valley floor. Everyone was nervous to be traveling such open country, and more nervous about the great dust cloud they stirred up. Anyone who wanted to stop had to hurry to catch back up. Mothers nursed their children on horseback, and lunch was taken on the fly. When someone needed a fresh horse, one of the warriors would rope one and lead it out of the herd. The worn-out horse the Apache had been riding rejoined with the herd or was left behind. They changed horses often to keep up the pace, and the herd never stopped.

  Most of the warriors rode at or near the front of the herd, and a couple of them ranged far ahead to serve as scouts. They camped in the broken country at the western foot of the Sierra San Luis, and by noon of the next day they were nearing the big arroyo of Cajón Bonito Creek east of where it joined the Rio San Bernardino.

  Newt and Horn were riding on the upwind side of the herd when they saw two of the warriors racing their ponies back to them.

  “That can’t be good news,” Horn said.

  And good news it wasn’t. The two warriors who had ridden ahead reported that Mexican cavalry and several Pima scouts were camped a little ways ahead, directly in their line of travel.

  The warriors held a hurried conference, and some were for turning west, and some were for abandoning the herd and going into the mountains and crossing into New Mexico Territory farther east. However, it was Gok’s argument that won them over. His fierce eyes flashed as he scolded them and his chin jutted forward at the finish of every closing word. They would go straight ahead, and they would go fast.

  “What are they planning?” Newt asked.

  Horn barely had time to answer him before the warriors were riding to the rear of the herd to join the women and children. “They’re going to run this herd right through the Mexicans’ camp.”

  “Is he crazy?” Newt scowled at Gok’s back.

  Horn got down from his horse and tightened his cinch, and then checked Billy’s saddle. “You’ve got to ask that now?”

  The Apaches already had the herd up to a trot. They crowded the weary drag animals and lashed at them with quirts and switches and the tails of ropes. The Apache women scolded the slow cattle like they would a disobedient child or a camp dog under their feet.

  “It’s a damned fool stunt they’re about to pull,” Newt said.

  Horn got back on his horse and adjusted his reins. “Well, you better make up your mind in a hurry, ’cause this train’s leaving the station.”

  “How many soldiers did they say were in that camp?”

  “Plenty, and there’s liable to be another camp to the west on the San Bernardino riverbed. I’m thinking that they’re wanting to block every easy way to the border.”

  “They wouldn’t bother two white men and a boy,” Newt said. “We’ve got no part of this herd, or these damned fool Apaches.”

  “If that’s Colonel Herrera up there, do you want to count on him letting us pass if he catches us?” Horn asked. “He’ll have those Pima scouts up on every high point, and the odds of us passing through there without being seen are next to nothing.”

  “It’s only a short run to San Bernardino Springs,” Newt said. “If we ride hard they won’t have time to do anything about it.”

  “And what if the army isn’t at San Bernardino anymore? You think Herrera is going to let some imaginary line stop him if he wants to go across it?”

  “He’s got no call to be after us.”

  “Not unless he was really in on that slave trading and he’s a little peeved that we interrupted his business,” Horn said. “And what if his buddy, the Hatchet, is with him? Did you think about that?”

  Newt scowled at him as he had scowled at Gok, and then he got down and tightened his own cinch.

  “What are you doing?” Horn asked.

  Newt went to Billy and pulled him off the horse he sat on. Without a word to him he stuck him behind the saddle on the Circle Dot horse. He climbed up in front of the boy and jammed his hat down tighter on his head. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting ready to run like hell.”

  The Mexicans’ camp was at the edge of a wetland marsh on the south bank of the creek in the center of the wide shallow draw or arroyo that ran down out of the mountains. Several single-file, rutted cattle trails from the south merged together into one and broke over the edge of the arroyo in a wide gully that led down to the cree
k and the Mexicans’ camp, and it was along that course that the Apaches aimed their herd.

  The Apache women began to wave empty flour sacks and rags tied on the ends of sticks at the cattle, and the mass of the herd steadily built speed. By the time it came over the lip of the arroyo it was at a dead run. The Apache warriors yipped and screamed at the herd to urge it on.

  The Mexicans soldiers had virtually no time to react. They and their scouts were caught taking a midday siesta, with most of them napping or sitting around their fires. The first one of the soldiers to stand up at the sight of the herd coming over the lip of the wash took a bullet in his throat and fell to the ground, choking on his own blood and the warning he had been about to shout. At that same instant all eight of the Apache warriors plunged their horses down the slope, firing their rifles and carbines on the run.

  The distance between the side of the draw and the creek was so small that most of the lead animals in the herd had too much momentum going and crashed right through the camp and splashed belly-deep into the bed of cattails and willows at the edge of the marsh. The animals knocked men down and trampled their gear. A white canvas tarp had been rigged into a tent awning, and the first wave of the herd became tangled in the tent ropes and yanked it down. More than a couple of the Mexican troopers were unfortunate enough to end up under the herd’s hooves.

  The rest of the herd veered east of the camp and ran up the wash. The soldiers’ horses were saddled and tied to long picket ropes strung between iron stakes driven into the ground, and those animals jerked free and bolted in the confusion. They were soon running with the stampeding herd.

  Newt and Horn pushed their horses into the middle of the herd, and all around them the Apache women and children were doing the same. They broke over into the arroyo amidst a cloud of dust and the throb of so many hooves churning the earth. Below them the camp was in a storm the likes of which Newt had never seen.

  Newt got a brief glance of Colonel Herrera waving his saber around and shouting orders. His fancy uniform coat was torn and he was hobbling on one boot. One of his soldiers dropped his rifle and tried to flee into the marsh, but the colonel hacked him down from behind with the long curved blade. The colonel spun around on his heels at the same moment Newt flashed by him. Newt knew that the colonel saw him, for he grabbed at the pistol on his belt. But he was too late, and the herd had already carried Newt away.