by Neil Hunter
At the back of his mind he was beginning to figure he and Sykes had made a mistake. There was something off—even though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Parmalee immediately thought about Turkey. They should have turned down his offer to come along. At the time it seemed an okay deal. Now Parmalee wasn’t so sure. Parmalee and Sykes had never partnered before. They were a two-man team and the pairing had always suited them. Allowing Turkey to side with them had broken their accord.
Parmalee moved out of the deeper brush and saw Turkey sprawled out. There was a bloody wound in his chest. Worse was the glistening red mess where his scalp had been torn away. The discarded tangle of flesh and hair lay on the ground a few feet away.
The moment he saw the bloody wound Parmalee thought of Tula.
He snapped his rifle up, turning as a moving shape erupted into view.
The Apache was still wielding his blood slick knife as he ran at Parmalee. Still eager to make another kill.
Not his boy, Parmalee decided.
He eased to a slight crouch, shooting from the hip and hit Tula with hard shots to the body. The Apache stumbled as the slugs struck, weaving to one side and launched the knife with a practiced motion. The knife caught Parmalee in the left side, going in deep and he gasped from the impact. His hands continued to work the Winchester, his shots taking Tula in the chest and dropping him to the ground feet away.
‘You son of a bitch,’ Parmalee said.
He felt the bite of the steel in his body as he moved. Looking down he could see where the handle protruded, some blood starting to ooze from around the blade. Someone had once told him the worst thing a man could do was remove a knife from a wound, especially when it was in such a place. Without medical help he would likely just bleed to death if he did. Not that leaving the damn thing where it was would help either.
Between a rock and a hard place, Parmalee figured. Damned if he did—damned if he didn’t.
Parmalee heard a soft footfall behind him. He knew without even turning it would be Ballard. His luck was getting worse with every passing moment. He swiveled his head and saw the big Texan edging across the slope. He had his Winchester in his left hand. His other hovered over the holstered .45 he carried.
‘This can go one of two ways,’ Parmalee said. ‘Either of them and somebody gets dead.’
He let his rifle drop to the ground. Kept his body turned away from Ballard so the knife in his side was not visible.
He knew he was going to draw.
What else was there for him?
He also knew he was taking the biggest gamble of his life. If he managed to beat Ballard the knife in his side might still kill him. If he didn’t beat the Texan it wouldn’t matter anyway.
‘Sykes?’ he asked.
‘If that was his name, he played out his string,’ Ballard said.
He had seen Turkey’s bloody corpse. And Tula stretched out.
‘Me and you, then,’ Parmalee said.
‘What was your deal in this?’
‘Sykes and me were after the Apache. Hell of a bounty on him.’
‘Turkey?’
‘Kind of dealt himself in. Tracked you from Rattigan’s place.’ Parmalee managed a soft laugh. ‘He shot Rattigan before we rode out. Figured he’d taken enough from the man and wanted to move on.’
‘Looks to me he didn’t get very far.’
‘Well, hell, mister, you could say that about yourself…’
Parmalee’s hand, already close to his holstered pistol, made its move. He drew, half turning his body, head coming round so he could fully see Ballard. His draw, as always, was fast and smooth, but when he went to dog the hammer back he heard a shot. Saw the wink of flame from the big Colt in Ballard’s hand. Then he felt the slam of the bullet that thudded into his chest and the pain in his side was overwhelmed by the hurt from Ballard’s gun. His pistol slipped from his grasp, falling on the ground at his feet. Parmalee followed it down, landing on his side and the tiredness that rolled over him was just too much to fight so Parmalee didn’t even try.
‘Schichobe.’
Ballard crouched beside the Apache. Tula was breathing slow and deep. His body was wet with fresh blood, the wounds raw and ugly.
‘Usen did not look upon me with favor today,’ he said. ‘My medicine was not strong.’
‘Rest,’ Ballard said. ‘Let your…’
A strong hand gripped Ballard’s arm. ‘My rest will soon be long,’ Tula said. ‘My foolishness denies me avenging Chey. Now only Ballard can do this thing.’
‘I promised Nante when I spoke with him. You know my word was always true.’
Tula nodded slowly. Blood was working its way from his lips. His dark eyes never wavered from Ballard’s face.
‘Then leave now. There is nothing you can do for me and the trail will grow cold.’
‘Leave you like this?’
A bloodied smile edged Tula’s mouth. ‘Now you speak as Pinda Lickoyi, not as an Apache. My death will present my flesh and bones back to the earth. It is where we came from. Schichobe, have you not learned anything from us?’
Ballard rose to his feet and walked across the slope, searching until he located Tula’s pony. He found the Apache’s rifle on the ground where Tula had placed it. He took the rifle and returned to where Tula lay. He placed the rifle in Tula’s hands and the Apache grasped the weapon tightly.
‘My heart is heavy I cannot do more for my brother,’ Ballard said.
‘Do what we have already spoken of. Find the one who killed Chey. Who has betrayed Colter and his woman. Do these things and my heart will rest in peace, schichobe.’
‘If I am able I will return here and take you home.’
‘Then I can lie here in peace until you do.’
They were the final words from Tula.
The warrior Apache.
A true brother of The People.
~*~
‘I’d say we’re getting close,’ Colter said.
He held up the dried horse droppings for McCall. The Texan had dismounted as well. It was an excuse to ease his stiff body from the long hours in the saddle. He took the horse apple from Colter’s hand.
‘Yesterday at least,’ he said. ‘They’re still makin’ it easy for us.’
Colter had moved to inspect his own horse, checking its legs for any cuts, or grazes that might prove risky. They had been riding through areas dotted with spreads of heavy brush. McCall followed suit and felt satisfied the chestnut was unmarked.
Taking his canteen Colter swallowed a mouthful of the warm water. He tipped some into his hat and let the horse drink.
‘We could do to find fresh water,’ he said.
‘Right there, son.’
Colter splashed water onto his face to remove the trail dust.
‘Something still on your mind?’ McCall said.
‘It showing that bad?’
‘Only when you kind of get quiet and do that staring off into the distance. Which you’ve been doing a lot of the time.’
‘Had that time to do some thinking while we’ve been riding. About this taking of Rachel and what happened at my spread. We already figured it’s to do with me following the trail that’s been left…’
‘Left deliberate to lead you on.’
‘Jess, I’m not a rich man. Cash wise I make enough for me and Rachel to live comfortable. Hope to build up my business over the next few years but that takes a while. So what is it I have that makes a man do what’s been done? Has to be something at the end. And I might be getting there.’
‘There is something?’
‘Hadn’t thought about it in years. Near enough just slipped away ‘cause I had other things on my mind. Scouting for the Army. Meeting Rachel and getting married. Building the spread. Hell, Jess, life has a habit of making you concentrate on the day to day things that are important…’ Ballard began to remove his possibles bag. ‘Late enough to make camp,’ he said. ‘You want to fix a fire. I could go a mug of coffee.’
From their combined supplies they cooked bacon slices and a pan of beans. Biscuits were part fried in the fat from the bacon. They used water from their canteens to fill a coffee pot. Spooning in Arbuckle’s Arioso coffee from a half bag Colter had in his sack. When the coffee had just boiled they added some cold water to settle the grounds. It was no gourmet meal but it suited McCall and Colter.
~*~
McCall sensed his companion had more to say on his thoughts but didn’t raise the subject and waited for Colter to speak.
‘Has to do with a story about a hoard of Spanish gold and silver my grandpa learned about years back. He heard the tale from an old Mexican he knew. There was a legend about a Jesuit priest. Back in 1622. A Father Ignacio Corozon. He was supposed to have been leading an expedition of Spanish soldiers who were protecting a great treasure taken from the Mexicans. The expedition was supposed to be taking the hoard to a Spanish fort where it would eventually be sent back to Spain. The story has it the party lost its way completely when they were caught in a great sandstorm that lasted for days. According to the legend they crossed the border and ended up somewhere in what would become New Mexico. They lost men and horses. Became so off their path they had no idea where they were. Led by Corozon they wandered into the mountains until even the faithful soldiers despaired of ever finding their way back. Sick. Weak. Their food and water running out they came on a cave where they hid their gold and silver while they searched for a way out of the mountains.
‘My grandpa—Josiah Colter—heard this from an old man he had befriended many years previously. He had done what he could to help the sick old man when he came across him in the badlands. Dying, the Mexican handed my grandfather a map he had drawn, showing the location of this treasure hoard. He said he had found the cave himself many years back. Said the bones of the priest, still in his robes lay in the cave, alongside the gold and silver. He found a letter the priest had written, telling of his lack of hope of ever leaving the place.
‘Josiah wanted me to have the hoard. Told me he felt bad ‘cause he’d not provided anything while I grew. Hell, he’d given me a home. Clothes. Food. All this after my folks both died when I was a younker. There was no other family for either of us. We looked out for each other. Became friends. We might not have had much money but he gave me a lot. Taught me how to survive. When he gave me the map he told me to memorize it, then burn it. Keep the directions to myself. He left the decision to me, whether to go look or not.
‘Josiah died of a sudden after a long winter. Took a fever and it killed him. After I buried him I figured it was time to move on. I drifted for a time. Worked cattle drives. Anything I took a mind to. Now Josiah and me were both friendly with the Apache. Had a good relationship with them after I pulled Nante out of some trouble one time. It was Nante who told me to sign on and scout for the Army. Said he trusted me to do right by The People. He knew the time was coming when the Apache would have to do what the Pinda Lickoyi told them. He wanted someone who could talk between the Apache and the whites. Help to give the Apache honor when the time came. I did what I could while I took Army pay. But I could see the way things were going and after a few years I didn’t renew my contract. I saw the chance to start trading in horses. There were plenty of wild herds around. Good business in catching them. Breaking them in and selling to ranches and the military. Started small, but built my name. That was around the time I met Rachel. Her pa had his own freighting business and Rachel worked with him in the office. Had a smart head on her shoulders as well as being beautiful. I guess I was smitten from the minute I saw her…’
Colter took a breath, reaching down to refill his coffee.
‘How did she feel?’ McCall asked, sure there was more to the story.
‘Nobody was more surprised when she made it clear she had the same feelings. That was where the trouble started. Rachel had another suitor. Nathan Horn. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Horn was a wild feller. Ran with a pretty rough bunch and was always close to breaking the law when it suited him. Thing was we were friends. He was the same age as me and he was about the only person who ever sided with me. Even then I knew he was trouble. He was always getting into scrapes. Wanted to drag me along but always stayed away. Whatever we had going for us vanished once Rachel came on the scene. It became ugly. The more Nathan pushed himself on her the more Rachel ignored him. It made him mad. So mad he tried to…I showed up at the right moment and we went at it. Battered each other pretty hard until I put him down. I didn’t see him for a while after that. Last time I spoke to him he was bitter. Said it wasn’t over and one day he’d settle with me. Told me I’d regret what happened over Rachel. Before he rode away he said something that had me puzzled at the time. And there was hate in his eyes when he said it. But the truth is I never thought much more about it. Too much going on. Setting up my business. Marrying Rachel. Been years since it ever crossed my mind.’
‘Until now?’
Colter nodded.
‘Just before he left he told me when he came back he’d take it all. Rachel and the one thing I thought no one else knew about…something Josiah had left me…’
‘That’s what you’ve been thinking about?’
‘Kind of deliberating over it,’ Colter said. ‘He burns down my house. Kills Chey. Scatters my herd and takes my wife. Leaves a trail I was bound to follow. Man wanted to kill me he could have done it from ambush. Why go to all this trouble unless there’s something bigger at the end. And it took a while before I realized the direction we’ve been drawn to.’
‘Where the hoard is located?’
‘General area. Got me to thinking. Add it all together and someone wants me in a particular place.’
‘You thinking it’s Nathan Horn?
‘It’s all starting to make sense. Nathan Horn has enough knowledge from what I told him before we crossed the line over Rachel. I’d made mention of the hoard and where Josiah had told me where it was located. I’d done a fool thing. Talking about it when we’d both been pretty drunk. Now he never mentioned it again, so I figured it had gone from his mind. Plain now it hadn’t. Nathan’s always had the eye for the easy action. Why work for money when there’s a fortune just sitting for the taking. That would suit him just fine. Truth is, Jess, I can’t see anyone else doing this but Nathan.’
‘And he just needs you to point the finger for the final push.’
‘Jess, I could still be way off.’
‘And you could be on track,’ McCall said. ‘Pull all the pieces together and the reasons and the ending make sense. If you’re right this feller needs you alive to show him where this Spanish hoard is. Chet, he’s using Rachel as his ace. He’s gambling you’ll do whatever he wants as long as she stays unhurt.’
‘And that hombre knows me too well,’ Colter said. ‘He’ll figure I’ll do exactly what he wants to keep her alive.’
~*~
Rachel had not been idle, working on the rope binding her wrists as she sat her saddle. She maintained the action, ignoring the discomfort it caused. The thin, coarse binding rubbed at her skin. It didn’t stop her. She had determined to try to escape, convincing herself that Nathan Horn, as intent as he was to draw Ben to follow him, wasn’t going to do anything that might harm her.
Rachel Colter was ready to admit she could be wrong. That if she tried to escape Horn would have her shot. He had a mercurial temperament and could change from being friendly and amenable, to exhibiting unreasoning anger very quickly. If he thought she was becoming more trouble than she was worth he might simply shoot her. Understanding that cautioned her. It made her realize the fragility of her position. Nevertheless she refused to simply sit by and do nothing.
While they rode, in a long, single file, Rachel took note of her surroundings. They had moved into the lower slopes of a low range of rocky hills. In the far distance higher peaks dominated the skyline. She knew the general lay of the land though where they travelled now was fairly new territory. Ben would k
now it better. He had a greater knowledge of the country, learned during his time as a scout, and his time with Nate’s Apache had taught him more about the terrain. He would be able to follow without much difficulty.
Ben Colter was a man who made little outward show of his skills, yet he possessed a natural ability to grasp a given situation and make the best of it. In the years she had known him Rachel had become impressed by his quiet competency. The way he adjusted to a problem and solved it, always in his own way and contrary to what was usually expected. She admired him for that as much as she love him, and now she knew he would come through for her. Somewhere along the back trail he would be riding after her and he would find her.
She knew, too, that he would be working out why Nathan Horn had started this. His mind would be going over everything as he figured it out. Which he would. He wouldn’t let it lie until he had it clear in his mind.
Rachel was harboring a similar thought.
Why had Nathan Horn kidnapped her?
There had to be more than his thwarted desire for her. Too long had passed for it to still be a driving force in his life. What he might have felt for her must have passed. Or had it? Did he still believe he could win her over? She found it hard to accept. Horn had destroyed her home. Killed Chey. Taken her captive. Accompanied by a group of men he seemed to command. Rachel just couldn’t imagine all that being because he still wanted her. There had to be a larger issue.
But what?
What was the secret behind all this?
The secret that also involved her husband.
Rachel imagined she knew everything about Ben Colter. They had always been honest with each other. Never kept anything from the other. Was there something Ben had kept from her? Something that tied him to Nathan Horn. For a moment she was filled with dread. Whatever it was had pushed Horn to extremes. How bad could it be?
Bad enough that Ben had kept it from her, she decided.
It had to be something linking them together. She saw it had to be in the past because Ben and Horn had not been in contact for years.