Newt barely had time to look away from the camp before he saw one of the Mexicans’ Pima scouts appear out of the dust ahead, aiming a rifle at him. Newt never heard the report of the gun, but he saw the powder smoke at the rifle’s muzzle and saw the steer beside him take the bullet in the neck and tumble end over end.
Another steer crashed into his horse’s shoulder and staggered it, and Newt felt Billy’s arms tighten around his waist as the Circle Dot horse fought to regain his balance. Newt let the animal run freely, and they followed the mass of panicked cattle and horses as if all were melded into one fluid motion and motive to flee.
Somebody among the soldiers was blowing on a bugle, and Newt wondered what kind of soldier was fool enough to think he could organize anyone in that kind of chaos and confusion.
Newt and the boy had become separated from Horn, but Newt spotted him a little ahead of them. A fallen horse had caused a log jam in the flow of the stampede, and Horn had slowed some to navigate his way around it. A soldier on the ground at the edge of the herd swung a saber at Horn, and Horn blocked the blow with his rifle and jerked a foot free of his stirrup and kicked the soldier in the chest as he passed.
Horn was barely past the downed soldier when his horse went down in the front end and flipped end over end with Horn flying over its head and disappearing beneath the hooves of the stampeding herd. Miraculously, he popped up on his feet, minus his rifle and hat. A steer with massive horns knocked him down again, but somehow he staggered up again.
Newt was right upon him by the time Horn stood up, and there was no stopping to help him. The pressure of the herd and the force of its momentum were too much. Newt twisted in the saddle and saw Horn catch the mane of a horse than ran past him and swing up on its back like a circus trick rider.
The creek ahead angled in almost against the arroyo’s bank, and the marsh gave way and revealed a shallow, rocky shoal of water. The herd veered of its own accord and splashed across the creek and started up the arroyo toward the mountains. Newt looked ahead to the crossing and hoped his horse wouldn’t break a leg.
The Circle Dot horse hit the water at full speed and never stumbled once crossing to the other side. Behind them, guns were banging and he could hear Colonel Herrera shouting orders to his men.
Chapter Twenty-four
They crossed the border in the dead of night and made camp in the south end of the Animas Valley. There were no fires made, and the people huddled in their blankets and waited for daylight to come. Four miles or more away, the tiny orange glows of some other party’s campfires were visible in the middle of the valley.
The Apaches that weren’t asleep whispered to each other and watched the glow of those fires. Horn relayed to him that Gok said that the fires probably belonged to the American army. Gok claimed to be able to predict many things with his magic, yet neither he nor any of the warriors with him were confident enough that the fires belonged to American soldiers to ride into that firelight. Plus, all the Apaches believed that if it was the Americans, they might fire upon them if they surprised them in the dark with their arrival. The day before had been too great of a victory to spoil their journey now.
A great victory—that’s how the Apaches thought of running the herd through the Mexicans’ camp. Newt had to admit it had been a bold thing, something he thought to never see again.
A third of the stolen horses and cattle had been lost in the stampede through the Mexican camp, yet not one man, woman, or child of the Apache were killed or left behind. In fact, other than a bullet burn on one warrior’s shoulder and a woman with a broken leg where the horns of a steer had slapped her, the band had gotten through relatively unscathed.
There was no sign of pursuit by the Mexican soldiers, and that didn’t shock Newt, for he had counted the number of saddled horses among the herd and knew the Mexicans were probably mostly afoot.
Newt couldn’t sleep and sat with his back to a juniper bush watching those campfires up the valley. The sun would rise over the mountains soon. Billy leaned against him, sleeping soundly.
Horn was nearby. Apparently he couldn’t sleep, either, for he kept moving around from one spot to another and occasionally mumbled to himself. Newt wondered if his foot was bothering him again, but he suspected Horn’s bad mood had more to do with him losing his rifle and his horse in the run through the soldier camp.
Newt thought he saw streaks of light gray over the mountaintops, and he rose without waking Billy. He saddled the Circle Dot horse, and by the time he was finished Horn was saddling the Mexican cavalryman’s horse that had carried him away from the fight the day before.
“Do you think that’s our army out there?” Newt asked in a whisper.
“Either them or more Mexican soldiers,” Horn replied. “Nobody else would camp out in the open like that and build fires that big for the whole world to see.”
“How far up is that pass you were telling me about?”
From the sound of it, Horn was scratching at his whiskers in thought. “You mean Skeleton Canyon? It’s not far from here.”
“We could go now. Slip past that camp while it’s still dark.”
Horn’s silhouette tilted its head back and looked at the lightening sky. “We’re about out of dark, and besides, you don’t want to go through that canyon in the dark. There’s a reason they call it Skeleton Canyon. It chokes down to nothing where it goes through the mountains there, and we wouldn’t be the first fools to find our ending thinking we could just mosey on through it.”
“What about that ranch you told me about? Isn’t it somewhere up in this valley?”
“About a half a day’s ride from here, but I don’t cotton to just the two of us and that boy going it that way alone. These here with us aren’t the only Apaches still pilfering around, and this country right here is a veritable brick road for heathens and bad men crossing the border. What we do is wait and see if that’s the U.S. Army out there.”
Newt leaned against his saddle and waited. It seemed like an eternity before the sky brightened enough to be able to see any detail. It wasn’t true daylight yet, but that gray light before true dawn.
Two of the Apache warriors came from the north on foot, and Gok rose up out of the rocks he had bedded down in and went to meet them. They had a long discussion before they began waking the rest of their people.
“We’re about to get our answer,” Horn said.
The Apaches mounted their horses. Although there were several saddled cavalry horses taken from the Mexican camp, none of the Apaches chose to make use of the saddles and still rode bareback or with only a blanket thrown over their horses’ backs. Of all of them, Newt only saw three of them riding with saddles, and those had done that since they left the Sierra Madre foothills.
The young boys and the women began to gather the herd from where it lay bedded down by the river and to start it up the valley.
“There’s our answer,” Horn said.
Newt went over to Billy and gently shook him awake. The boy was still half asleep when Newt sat him up on his horse and climbed up behind him.
“That’s the American army up there, Billy,” Newt said as he pointed to the north where the smoke of campfires gone cold was drifting into the orange-streaked sky overhead.
Billy muttered something and then lay his head against one of Newt’s arms. The boy’s steady, slow breathing made Newt sleepy himself. He was bone tired and ready for it all to be over.
The entire band and the herd moved toward the army’s encampment. Seeing the valley for the first time, Newt thought he had never seen a prettier piece of country. The floor of the valley where they were was broad and flat and shin deep in good grass. To the east were the high mountains that formed the Continental Divide, and to the west the Peloncillo Mountains divided Arizona Territory from New Mexico Territory.
The army’s camp was beside a spring-fed pool at the end of an outcropping of lava rock that jutted out into the valley’s western side. When they neared, the
Apaches became skittish and held up a quarter of a mile out. An Apache scout came out to meet them and they all sat on the ground and held council.
An hour later they rode into the camp. Newt was surprised to see that there were only two tents. And he was more surprised that one officer, three soldiers, and a few Apache scouts comprised the entirety of the population. That officer was none other than the lieutenant that Newt had seen taking roll call back at San Carlos, and the same one that had refused him the use of any Apache scouts and sent the Indian policemen to make sure he left the reservation.
The lieutenant greeted the Apaches and went into immediate talks with Gok and the rest of the warriors. Newt noticed the lieutenant watching him while continuing his negotiations with the warriors.
Newt and Billy got off his horse and took a seat on an empty box beside the lieutenant’s tent. From the trash and debris lying around, it was apparent that the lieutenant had been camped there a long while or it was a popular camping spot for anyone coming down the valley.
Horn sat beside them on the ground and took off both of his moccasins and unwrapped the filthy bandage on his wounded foot. After a while he leaned back with his arms behind him and his legs outstretched before him. He wagged his feet back and forth and studied them with a wry smile.
“I’ll sure be glad when this bad hoof heals up,” Horn said. “But I guess I maybe hold a record.”
“How’s that?” Newt asked.
“Well, lots of men have wandered around Sonora, but I bet I’ve limped over more of it than about anyone.”
Newt knew that Horn wasn’t looking forward to meeting with the lieutenant and was stalling. The Apaches were helping themselves to the lieutenant’s supplies, and it was at that point that the young officer came over to where the two white men sat.
He was a stocky young man with a stiff posture. He glanced at Newt and the boy, and then his attention landed on Horn. Horn was still looking at his feet and intentionally didn’t look up at the lieutenant or act like he was there.
“Mr. Horn,” the lieutenant said.
“Why hello, Lieutenant Davis.” Horn looked up with a sheepish smile and tried to appear surprised and innocent—both things that he failed at. “Fancy meeting you here. Why, I thought you’d be back at San Carlos counting Indians and breaking up tiswin parties.”
“Oh, I bet you are surprised to see me here,” the lieutenant said.
“Now listen, Lieutenant. It was like this . . .”
The lieutenant waved off whatever excuse Horn was about to give. “What I need you to do is to go over there and talk those Apaches into leaving their stolen livestock behind. Captain Crawford will have a fit if I let them bring them back to San Carlos, and the general won’t be any happier about it.”
“You mean I’ve still got a job?” Horn asked.
“Horn, you ran off from your responsibilities and the employ of the U.S. Army, and that’s what we call dereliction of duty,” the lieutenant said. “A man with sense wouldn’t do that, but then again a man of sense wouldn’t make a good mule packer. And you are a good packer, and fortunately for you, your Spanish is a lot better than mine.”
Horn got to his feet with his moccasins in hand. He started to leave but held up and pointed at the lieutenant. “Newt Jones, this here is Lieutenant Britton Davis. Lieutenant, this is Newt Jones and that young gentleman with him is Billy Redding.”
Lieutenant Davis gave the boy careful study. “I’ll send a rider ahead of us to wire the boy’s father.”
“Do you know where to send it?” Newt asked.
“Rest assured, Mr. Redding has been in contact with us. I’ve had messengers sent down here by him at least once a week.”
“I was under the impression that he might be in the field looking for the boy,” Newt said.
“He was, but he’s not anymore. That bunch of drunks and blowhards he brought with him from San Antonio got themselves lost down in Chihuahua and then they ran out of water and horses and barely made it back to civilization in one piece,” the lieutenant said. “I think they’ve had all the Apache hunting they want for a while.”
“Where’s William Redding?”
“He’s in Benson, last I heard, but he has reminded me that any telegraphs addressed to him or the Southern Pacific Railroad will find him.”
“Railroad barons,” Newt muttered under his breath.
The lieutenant seemed not to have heard him or had no comment of his own that he was willing to add. “You’ve done something there; that happens rarely.”
Newt knew that he was talking about Billy.
“Child captives are rarely recovered.”
“It wasn’t easy.”
“I doubt it was. Geronimo has filled me in on the general events of your expedition, but I would like to hear it from you.”
“Geronimo?”
The lieutenant gave him a funny look. “Yes, Geronimo. He told me that it was slave traders who stole the boy and not Apaches. He said that he rescued you from a band of hostiles and you accompanied him to recover the Redding boy.”
“What the hell?”
The lieutenant’s eyes shifted for an instant to Gok standing over by the tent. Horn started laughing.
“His name is Gok,” Newt said.
Horn laughed even harder. “Jones, you have the worst ear and the worst tongue for human language on any man I ever saw. His Apache name is Goyahkla, but the Mexicans call him Geronimo.”
“You never told me,” Newt said, and the anger rising in his voice was plain to Horn.
“Well, I better be going over there and talk to Gok like the lieutenant says.” Horn was looking sheepish again.
When Horn was gone the lieutenant said, “It seems that you have been made the butt of one of Horn’s jokes. You aren’t the first man to have that happen. He’s a fine packer and a good man to have on the trail with you, but as you’ve seen his opinion of his own sense of humor is greatly overblown.”
“Did Gok, I mean Geronimo, tell you that the Apaches kidnapped this boy first?” Newt was still trying to get his brain wrapped around the fact that the man he had thought of as Gok was actually the famous Geronimo.
“No, but I knew he was stretching the truth, which is a trait he and Horn often share,” the lieutenant said. “We already were sure that it was Apaches that took that boy there. Geronimo is just trying to curry favor with me before he goes back to the reservation.”
Newt gave the lieutenant an account of his travels in Mexico, and before he was finished the young officer had taken a seat on the ground and was listening intently.
“Are you sure it was Charlie McComas?” the lieutenant asked when Newt was through telling his story.
“No doubt about it. Ask Horn.”
“The general is going to be very surprised to hear that young Charlie is still alive. The newspapers and the people in Washington will have a field day with this.”
“Newspapers?”
“General Crook has received a great deal of scrutiny for his failure to recover the McComas boy.”
“Well, I didn’t do much better than the general did.”
“Mr. Jones, what you have accomplished is an extraordinary feat. Few men could have done what you did.”
“I just kept my word.”
Lieutenant Davis stood. “I must be getting back over there and see if Horn has had any luck talking that old devil into leaving this herd behind. All I need is the Mexicans running me down and finding their stolen livestock. And Lord help me if the newspapers get hold of it.”
Newt reached down and adjusted the blanket on Billy until it covered him better. The lieutenant stopped and looked back when he was several strides away, as if he had thought of something.
“Could I ask one question?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s bad manners, but I would like to ask anyway.”
“Go ahead and ask.”
“How much are they paying you for getting this boy?”
The lieutenant nodded his head as if he had heard a different answer. “I understand if you do not want to say. I’m sure it must be a goodly sum to get you to do what you’ve done. I know I would not risk what you have risked for less.”
Newt started to correct him, but the lieutenant was already walking away. Newt eased away from Billy and got to his feet. The boy was sound asleep again.
Newt stood there and watched Geronimo arguing with Horn and the lieutenant over the livestock, and without thinking he said the words he was thinking out loud, “Geronimo.”
He must have said it louder than he thought, for Geronimo’s head swiveled around in an instant and his eyes locked on Newt.
“Geronimo,” Newt said again.
The old warrior nodded.
Chapter Twenty-five
Geronimo did not give up his stolen herd, nor did he give up his guns. Lieutenant Davis, with only three soldiers and Horn to aid him, escorted the Apache band through Skeleton Canyon into Arizona Territory and began the long journey to San Carlos. One of the soldiers and an Apache scout were sent ahead to the town of Willcox to send a telegraph to William Redding that his boy had been recovered.
Billy took a liking to the young lieutenant and talked more than he had since Newt had known him. They did not want the boy’s family to see him in the condition he was, and the lieutenant had also ordered that the messengers bring back a boy’s suit of clothes if such could be found.
Geronimo and Newt kept their distance from each other.
Six days later the party neared Willcox. The messengers had returned and said that William Redding would be waiting there for them, and that other telegraphs had been sent to General Crook as Lieutenant Davis had ordered.
Newt helped Billy into his new suit of clothes, and with his face scrubbed and his hair combed the boy looked like so different that Newt could barely recognize him. Although the child was talking more, he still had the same scared expression on his face most times. And he often cried in his sleep. Newt wondered how long the nightmares would stay with the boy.
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