Border Dogs

by Ralph Cotton

  “Hold on, McCord, ain’t you learned nothing from all this? That wagon ain’t back there where we left it.”

  “What are you saying?” McCord turned to him.

  “Can’t you figure it out?” Payton grinned. “What do you suppose happened to Verdere and that stinking Paschal?”

  McCord shrugged, looking confused. He had no idea.

  “They cut out on us. They went back and got that wagon.” Payton tapped a finger to his head. “Use your brain a little. They seen what was abut to happen. They’ve got that wagon and gone with it.”

  “Then let’s get after them.” McCord sounded impatient. “They can’t be far off.”

  “In the dark?” Payton chuckled. “You never want to hunt a Frenchman in the dark. We move toward San Carlos. That’s where they’re headed. There’s no place else they can go. We’ll pick up the wagon tracks on the flatland and ease right up on them in broad daylight.”

  “Yeah, and what if you’re wrong? What if the wagon’s still setting back there right now?”

  “Have I been wrong yet?” Payton said with his hand resting on the pistol in his holster, a strange tight smile on his face.

  McCord just looked at him. “No, so far you’ve done one hell of a job.”

  Above them on the edge of the canyon wall, Juan Verdere and Paschal had found the horse and the mule the women had left behind. They’d heard the gunfire and crept forward, peering down into darkness. With no firelight in the campsite below, all they saw was the flash of the final round as Payton Parker put a bullet in the young soldier’s face.

  “See?” Paschal whispered as they stepped back from the edge and to their horses. “With men like these, you must always count on their treachery. They are animals.”

  “Sí,” Juan Verdere said. “But now we are on the spot. When the federales come and see what happened to the soldiers, we are the ones they will hang.”

  “Perhaps not…not if we get the gold and take it back to them and explain what has happened out here. There is only one place for the women to go. They are headed to San Carlos.”

  The two women pushed the horses hard and fast, too fast for the rocky flatland in the darkness. As they descended onto a long stretch of flatland, they’d heard the sound of pistol fire in the distance behind them. They slowed for only a second, looking back into the murky dawn. Prudence asked, “Who could they be shooting at?”

  “I don’t know, but they will soon be on our trail.” She batted her heels to the horse’s sides. They pushed the horses even harder.

  In the gray hour before first light, Maria saw the glow of a lamp from the distant town of San Carlos and made for it, Prudence following close behind until her horse slowed all at once and whinnied, taking off sideways, walking wrong on its right front hoof. Maria had heard the animal cry out; she circled wide and came back as Prudence got down from her saddle, cursing under her breath.

  “I don’t know what happened to this thing,” Prudence said. She bent and struggled to raise the horse’s hoof, the horse whinnying, resisting her. “Stand still, damn it!”

  “Drop the saddle and come on,” Maria said, jumping down and leading her horse over to Prudence. “The horse is spent.”

  Without waiting for Prudence to make a move, Maria reached under the horse’s belly, loosened the cinch, and shoved the saddle from its back. She stripped its bit and bridle and dropped them. The horse turned, blowing its breath, and limped off sideways.

  “Are you going to shoot it?” Prudence asked, running a hand across her dusty, matted hair.

  “No. We do not have time, and they will hear the shot. Get on my horse. We’ll have to ride double.”

  Prudence stepped up, eyeing the saddlebags across the horse’s rump, and looked down at Maria. “Here, take these,” Maria said, handing her the reins. She saw a strange look come into Prudence’s eyes for just a second as Prudence seemed to brace herself in the saddle. Was she ready to bolt away? Maria quickly got up behind her on the saddle and reached around and took the reins. Prudence settled, as if having given something a second thought and resolved it.

  “Are you ready?” Maria asked. Yet even as she spoke, she kicked the horse forward. “We cannot make it across the sand flats and to the town before daylight. We must hide this gold somewhere out here.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Prudence shouted over her shoulder above the hoofbeats of the horse. “We’ve got our hands on it—you want to take a chance on losing it?”

  “The gold means nothing! It is only extra weight. We must hide it. It might become a bargaining chip to save our lives.” The horse pounded on beneath them toward San Carlos on the distant horizon. A mile farther ahead, Maria reined the horse down near a dry wash running alongside them. In the east, the first sliver of golden sunlight pierced the purple sky. “Hold the horse,” Maria said, loosening the ties on the saddlebags before jumping down.

  “Where will you hide it?” Prudence looked all around.

  “In the wash, beneath the cottonwood stump.” Maria pointed out the jagged dead stump, and hefted the saddlebags off the horse and onto her shoulder, bowing under the weight.

  “You’ll need help,” Prudence said.

  “No…stay with the horse.”

  She struggled with the saddlebags and hurried over the edge of the dry wash, sliding down the few feet to where the brittle dead roots of the cottonwood stump reached out of the sandy soil like the talons of some otherworld beast. She scratched and scraped, her breath heaving in her chest. As she dug out a place in the soil behind the stump roots, she looked all around the bottom of the dry wash, catching sight of a flat rock standing three feet high back against the opposite bank.

  “How is it going?” Prudence shouted.

  “I’m almost done,” Maria called back to her. She hurried, shoving some of the dirt back beneath the stump roots, then smoothed her hand back and forth across the dirt. Glancing up the wash and making sure Prudence didn’t see her, Maria hefted the saddlebags once more, moved across the bed of the dry wash, and dropped them beside the rock.

  Maria pulled the flat rock out from the wall, put the saddlebags behind it and shoved the rock into place. She smoothed her footprints out with her hand as she backed across the wash.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Prudence asked as Maria came from the edge of the dry wash, dusting off her hands.

  “I am sure of it.” She gazed toward the tiny glow of light from the town of San Carlos. “We must rest our horse as much as possible. Get down. We will walk a mile and ride a mile from here in.”

  “But it didn’t take the men over three hours last night. Why will it take us so long?”

  “Once the sun gets overhead, you will understand how a three-hour ride turns into an all-day ordeal. The heat on the sand flats can kill you as surely as a bullet,” Maria said.

  “It can’t be that far,” Prudence said, stepping down. “We can see it from here.”

  “This land will fool you. It may look close, but we will be lucky to reach it by the time the noon sun is boiling overhead. We cannot afford to spend this horse.”

  They moved forward on foot, pulling the tired horse by its reins, both of them heaving difficulty on the rocky, sandy terrain.

  Chapter 17

  The Ranger and Sergeant Baines lay behind the cover of rock at the edge of Diablo Canyon, the morning silence surrounding them like an open grave. Beneath them on the floor of the canyon, the new campfire glowed in the gray dawn amid the bodies of the dead federales. Forty yards across, on the other side of the canyon, Durant lay in hiding, Tackett’s pistol in his belt, which was filled with ammunition.

  On his way across the canyon, Willis Durant had stopped long enough to gather brush and some scraps of dried wood. He’d built the campfire and moved on, taking note of the soldiers’ bodies on the ground and the body of Delbert, so smeared against the rock wall that it appeared he had been put there by some sort of large stamping device.

  Now
the Ranger, Baines the soldier, and Willis Durant the prisoner waited as sunlight spread in long stripes, like ribbons of gold spun out from the far edge of morning. Baines craned his neck, looked out across the canyon, and said to the Ranger as he settled back beside him, “You seem awfully sure you can trust that man Durant.”

  “Yep, I trust him.” The Ranger looked up from running his bandanna along the barrel of his big Swiss rifle. “I knew him years ago. He got off on the wrong foot for a while, got in some trouble, and paid his time. He settled down after that. Then this thing happened to his family. His only interest now is the Parker brothers, plain and simple. He knows his odds at getting them are a lot better without me breathing down his neck. Willis Durant hasn’t come this far to stop now, not until he’s played out his string.” The Ranger smiled. “He gave his word.”

  Baines started to say something about the word of a prisoner, but then he thought better of it, and gazed out across Diablo Canyon once more. He said, “I was no more than a young civilian the first time I ever saw this place. After hearing its name so much all my life, I found myself a bit disappointed when I first laid eyes on it.”

  “Yeah, it’s not much more than a hole in the earth,” the Ranger said.

  “Aye, but aptly named, nevertheless. Devil’s Canyon…” Baines said, his words trailing, thinking about it. He looked at the fire and the dead bodies scattered about on the canyon floor. “Those poor bastards. Devil’s Canyon sure had its claws around them last night, I’d say.”

  The Ranger just looked at him, shook out the bandanna, and tied it back around his neck. He laid the big rifle across his lap and rested a gloved hand on it. Suddenly, he cocked his head. “I heard something,” he said, his voice going quiet.

  “Zell.” Baines whispered the name under his breath as if uttering a curse.

  “They’ve seen the wagon and the glow of the fire…they’ll have to come check it out,” the Ranger whispered in reply. “He’s probably sending a man forward. Get ready.”

  Baines stared along the thin trail into the canyon, sitting as still as stone until he caught the faintest sound of a horse picking its way slowly below them. They waited, the Ranger casting a quick glance across to where he knew Willis Durant lay in hiding. When he looked back at Sergeant Baines, Baines held up two fingers without turning to him.

  The Ranger nodded, then watched as Baines slipped a long knife from his boot well, lowered himself down onto his belly, and crawled away along the rocky edge.

  Back at the mouth of the canyon, Zell, Bowes, and old man Dirkson sat atop their horses, gazing at the empty wagon and past it into the shadows of Diablo Canyon as sunlight lit slantwise across its eastern edge. Zell pressed a hand to the wound in his chest. Behind them, the other men waited, some of them wounded and sitting stooped in their saddles. His men needed water and food. The horses needed sustenance as well—even the strongest of the lot stood staggering in place, their manes hanging limp and wet against their necks.

  When nearly a full hour had passed since his two best scouts rode forward, Zell looked back at his men, then to Bowes and the old man beside him. “They’re dead,” Zell whispered. “I can feel it.”

  Old man Dirkson spat, his mouth dry and cottony. “The Parkers, you suppose?”

  “No. It’s the Ranger you told us about. The Parkers couldn’t get the drop on them this way—with no gunshots and no noise of any kind.”

  “Say the word, Major.” Liam Bowes spoke in a lowered voice. “I’ll take some men around the edge of the canyon and flush him out.” He watched Zell struggle with the pain in his chest, his hand clasped against it for a second.

  Then Zell collected himself. “No. This Ranger will not allow himself to be flushed out. He has our ammunition stashed somewhere, and he’s not alone. This is his way of sending us a message. He’s saying whatever we want, we’ll have to take it from him here and now.”

  “There were three sets of hoofprints back at the wagon tracks,” old man Dirkson said. “One will be the black feller. Who do you figure the other ones are?”

  “Haven’t the slightest idea,” Zell said. “And it doesn’t matter.” He looked back once more at his men, then to Liam Bowes. “The Ranger has no intention of us getting our hands on the ammunition. He’ll destroy it first.”

  “But it’s just three men, Major,” Dirkson said. “Surely to God we can handle three men.”

  “It’s not the numbers that count this time. It’s their position,” Zell said. “Three good men in Diablo Canyon are worth twenty men on level ground, especially when those three men hold the ammunition—the object of the hunt. The Ranger knows that. He’s no fool.”

  “We don’t know for sure he’ll destroy the ammunition, Major,” Dirkson said.

  “I know it. It’s the very thing I would do in his situation. He knows we don’t have the women…knows we have nothing to bargain with. He’s ready to fight it out with us right here, so he can go on to more important business. He wants the two women—wants them bad.” Zell winced, thinking about it, looking all around at the rough land. “Damn Diablo Canyon. And damn the Parkers. They’ve caused all of this. We never had a problem until those two joined our cause.”

  Their cause…Liam Bowes had been wondering about their cause lately…and the more men he watched die, the more he wondered. He shook the thought from his mind, let out a breath, then straightened himself in his saddle and adjusted his hat brim down tight on his head. “We’re going to lose some more men here, sir. We’re down to thirteen, counting ourselves.”

  “I’m fully aware of our situation, Mr. Bowes,” Zell said, again clutching his hand to his chest wound. He coughed in pain under his breath. “But this fight can’t be avoided.”

  Bowes looked him up and down, seeing how the wound had taken a terrible toll on him. “Then if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll prepare the men to make a charge.”

  “Yes, you do that, Mr. Bowes. Prepare three squads, one on either side of the canyon, and one straight up the middle. We’ll make a fast sweep and see what we’re dealing with.”

  “Lord, Major,” old man Dirkson said. “Can’t we figure out something else? I was counting on this to be my last go-round. Planned on getting me a place with a porch on it.”

  “So did I, old man,” Zell said. “You were right about one thing. This might well be your last go-round. Our losses will be strong.”

  “Damn it all.” Old man Dirkson drew a rifle from his saddle scabbard, checked it, and laid it across his lap. “I’d hate dying in Mexico. You know what I mean?”

  “I know what you mean.” Zell looked at him. “Feel free to pick which squad you’ll ride in with. Mr. Bowes and I will lead the assault up the middle, of course.”

  “Then that’s all the picking I need.” The old man grinned and dropped his horse back a step and waited as Liam Bowes prepared the men to attack.

  Back among the group, Liam Bowes explained what Zell was asking them to do. As he spoke, he noticed they cast guarded glances back and forth to one another. Finally, the young southerner Chance Edwards took a step forward and said in a quiet tone, “This is not the best thing to do, is it, Bowes?”

  Bowes looked away, then back to him. “No, it’s not. Major Zell is hurt bad—maybe dying. He’s losing the ability to make sound decisions.”

  “I knew it,” Chance said in a tone of remorse. “Nobody takes a bullet that deep in the chest and lives through it.”

  Bowes continued. “As far as I’m concerned, this campaign stopped the moment we found this empty wagon. If the Ranger is sending any message at all, he’s telling us that from here on in, we’ll be fighting for no good reason. I agree with the major—we’ll never see the ammunition unless it explodes in our faces.”

  “Then for God sakes, Bowes,” Chance said, “relieve the man of his command and take over.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “I can’t do that, gentlemen. I swore an oath of allegiance to Zell long before most of you joi
ned us. As long as he can give an order, I’ll obey it. Any of you who want out, don’t tell me about it. Just don’t show up when we hit the canyon. Nobody will hold it against you.”

  “This is crazy, Bowes,” Chance Edwards said. “Don’t put us in a spot like this. We’ve all been good soldiers.”

  “Yes, you have, no one can say otherwise. But this is the best I can offer you,” Bowes replied. He looked around at the haggard, dusty faces, then raised his voice slightly. “Squads, separate—prepare to attack.”

  As the men stepped up into their saddles, drew their rifles, and checked them, they looked to Chance Edwards. “What do you think, Chance?” one of them asked. “Are you going through with this?”

  “Yeah, I’ll give it one last try. After that, who knows? It all depends on who’s left standing once the smoke settles.” He pulled his horse sidelong, the four-man squad behind him doing the same.

  A mile ahead of them, halfway up the canyon wall above the burned-out campsite, the Ranger sat in a crevice of rock with the big Swiss rifle laid out in front of him. He’d taken the tripod from his saddlebag and attached it to the rifle barrel. From here, no one on the canyon floor could get to him. He could hold here for as long as his bullets lasted. He looked at the bullets on the rock beside him. Six for a reload, and six in the rifle. It would have to do.

  On his right, near the edge of the canyon, Willis Durant lay prone behind a stand of mesquite, down in a shallow pit he’d scraped out for himself. From there, Durant could fire across the flatland or down into the canyon itself. On the Ranger’s left, Sergeant Baines had taken a position behind a deadfall of dried cottonwood. His field of fire was the same as Durant’s, but beneath him, back into the crevice where the three federales had reined their horses earlier. The ammunition now sat stacked out of sight and ready for use.

  When the Ranger heard the first sound of the thundering hooves coming from the far end of the canyon, he crouched behind the butt of the big rifle, worked it back forth on the swivel, scanning through the scope, and waited. The first shot he heard came from Durant’s side of the canyon, then from Baines as two of Zell’s small squads rode forward, sweeping the edges of the canyon.