by Neil Hunter
He heard something land close by, turned and saw the pistol he had retrieved earlier.
‘Pick it up, Nathan. You want to shoot me? Here’s your chance. I’ll even turn my back for you. Just remember my friends are outside. You might get me but I wouldn’t bank on getting by Ballard or McCall. And Rachel has her hands on a gun as well.’ Colter walked to the cave entrance. ‘You’ve got six shots there. When were gone you’ve a long way to go and there’s no telling who might be waiting to take your gold off you. Six shots…think on…’
Colter left and a little while later Horn heard the clatter of hoofs as they all rode away. He sat for a long time, his back to the cave wall, letting the pain subside. When he felt able he moved, turning to stare at the piled treasure. It helped his spirits rise as he ran his gaze over the gold and silver.
It was his now. All of it. There was no one else left to share it with.
No one.
He would have laughed but his mouth was too sore. He considered what he was going to have to do. Would Colter have left him a horse? Perhaps he could catch one of the stray animals. Pack the gold on one of them. Enough to set him up so he could outfit himself and come back for the rest.
Thinking about the horses he remembered they would have canteens of water on them. He would need water. Soon. The interior of the cave was hot. Though he wasn’t moving he was still sweating. It ran down his face and stung when it touched the torn flesh of his lips.
The thought of water made his thirst worse. That was his priority. Find water. Out the corner of his eye he saw the pistol Colter had thrown him. He eased away from the wall of the cave and crawled on hands and knees until he was able to pick it up. The feel of the heavy weapon in his hand felt good. Reassuring.
Now he needed to stand up and make his way outside. It caused him a great deal of discomfort. His damaged ribs ached with every breath and his face felt badly swollen, slick with drying blood. He had the brassy taste of it in his mouth and he had to fight off the waves of nausea that threatened to make him vomit. He walked to the mouth of the cave, leaning against the warm rock as he stared out at the bright daylight.
He looked around. Saw nothing. Heard nothing.
Yet he had a sudden feeling he was not alone.
The sensation grew as he glanced left and right. Again he saw no movement. No indication there was anyone in the canyon but himself.
And then the words came. Seemingly out of nowhere.
‘We are here, Pinda Lickoyi, and we have come for you…’
~*~
They had moved on silent feet, barely a whisper as they converged on the spot. Even in the hard glare of the sun there was no sight of them as they flitted from rock to rock. No speech, yet they each knew what the others wanted as they closed in.
Led by Nante, old as he was, the Apache came to the cave and gathered at the narrow entrance. There were no more than six of them, stocky built, lean and brown, dressed in their cotton shirts and breechclouts, legs covered by knee-length N’deh b’keh. Headbands held their shoulder length black hair away from expressionless faces.
Between them they carried an assortment of weapons. Mostly well-used but cared for rifles of differing vintages. Lever action Winchesters. Henrys. Seven shot .56-56 caliber Spencer Repeating rifles. Some were decorated with brass headed nails driven into the wood stocks. Each warrior carried a broad-bladed knife in sheaths. One of them had a bow with a full quiver holding hand-crafted arrows. The quiver was carried across the man’s broad back.
‘Pinda Lickoyi, come and face us,’ Nante called. ‘We have words for you, murderer of Chey.’
From inside the cave there was a sound of movement.
The crash of a pistol shot came then, the slug passing harmlessly because the Apache were standing to the sides of the entrance.
‘Pinda Lickoyi there is no escape. Nowhere to run for a coward…’
A second shot came.
The sound of someone moving around inside the cave.
‘They call you Na-tan. Na-tan Horn. I have spoken with my friend Colter. He has given me the words on your treachery. How you destroyed his home and took his woman. And you killed my nephew, Chey. Because of what you did Tula followed and he is also dead, so there is much on your shoulders, Na-tan Horn. Now your deceit has brought death to the ones who rode with you. Colter and his woman are free and going home. And you, Na-than Horn, you have your gold. We will go and leave you with it. As you wished you have your treasure. Here you can be with it for the rest of your life…’
Twice more the hidden gun fired, the brief muzzle flashes showing in the shadows beyond the opening.
‘Go to hell, you sons of bitches. I ain’t coming out.’
The ghost of a smile flickered across Nante’s grim features.
‘Of that I am certain, Pinda Lickoyi.’
Nante raised a hand to the pair of Apache who had climbed up and perched on the rock face over the cave entrance. They moved to use the thick lengths of timber they carried and began to lever at the splintered slabs of granite behind which they stood. At first there efforts were ineffectual, but their persistence paid off. First it was a faint trace of dust and loose stones slipping free and cascading down the rock face. Once they had purchase they were able to dig in beneath larger chunks of rock. Larger pieces broke off. Fractured sections that slid free and tumbled down, trailing more dust. The sweating pair thrust their levers in deeper, finding larger, heavier fractured rock and began to move a wedged mass.
Nante took his warriors back, clear of the entrance to the cave as more and more debris came down. He stood watching in silent approval as the cascade increased. The fallen rocks began to build at the cave entrance. Dust fogged the air.
From inside a wail of despair reached Nante’s ears as Horn realized the true intent of what was happening.
‘No … you can’t … I’ll give you the gold …’
The plea was cut off in the heavy rumble as the laboring Apache finally loosened the mass of rock. As it slid away from them they quickly scrambled away to avoid being taken by the rock fall they had created.
The resultant avalanche was spectacular. Tons of larger boulders and slabs of granite came crashing down, piling up around the cave entrance, spreading out across the ground in either direction. Smaller rocks bounded free and the rock fall piled up. The fall continued for long minutes, dusting the hot air and when it cleared away the section around the entrance had been altered beyond recognition.
Nante remained watching until the dust cleared, nodding in silent satisfaction. He raised a hand to his waiting warriors.
‘The Pinda Lickoyi has his treasure. Let us go and find Tula. We will take him home. Where he can be with his family … ’
~*~
Dust had billowed back into the cave. It caught Nathan Horn’s throat and set him coughing harshly. Any light that might have filtered inside the cave earlier was gone now, blocked off by the massive fall of rock that effectively sealed the cave. The massive rock fall, bringing down those tons of granite would never be moved. He was here to stay. The darkness was absolute. Horn couldn’t even see his hand when he held it close to his face. In the panic that had overtaken him as the rock fall took place he had dropped the pistol. He fell to his knees now, searching in the darkness.
He had to find the gun. There was one cartridge left in the cylinder. Even though he felt sick at the thought he knew the gun offered him a way out. Horn knew he would not be able to break free from the cave. The Apache had made sure of that. They might not have pulled a trigger on him but they had condemned him to death as surely as they might have if they had shot him.
He stumbled back and forth, scraping the flesh of his hands on the cave floor as he searched for the elusive pistol. At one point he located the leather satchels holding the Spanish gold and silver. He felt tears scald his cheeks as he touched them. All the wealth around him and it was useless.
Horn turned himself around and began to search again for the pi
stol. He had to find it. Surely if he kept searching he would locate it.
A harsh chuckle escaped his lips.
He would find it eventually.
He had all the time in the world … the finality of his situation came to him and he hung his head and wept …
~*~
Only the brittle scratching of the quill moving across the parchment broke the silence of the canyon. Tiny dust motes danced within the shimmering waves of heat, dipping and rising on gentle air currents.
High above the solid walls of ochre colored stone hung a strip of blue-washed sky. Empty. Cloudless.
The scratching ceased. The quill paused as the writer’s train of thought wandered, returning the canyon to total silence once again.
And then …
‘God save me from this terrible place!’
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