"We'll be in a tight," Kendrick pointed out, "if we have to make a run for it. Our horses have been going all night with only a few hours rest, they ain't got a whole lot of chase in 'em right now."
"I am aware of that," Estraleta said tersely, gigging her horse once more into motion.
The sun climbed higher and the day's heat began to build.
They almost made it.
As they were moving along the sandy floor of a broad, shallow gully, an eight-man patrol of Rurales suddenly appeared on the left-hand bank about sixty yards ahead. The patrol leader, riding at the head of the truncated column, was clearly startled at the sight of Estraleta and Kendrick. His eyes went wide, body stiffening in the saddle as he simultaneously jerked hard on his reins. Those riding farther back in the column were slower to react and there was an awkward bumping and stumbling of some of their mounts before all were brought to a momentary halt.
Kendrick spat out a curse. "Turn around! Back!" he shouted without hesitation. "Ride for cover!"
He and Estraleta wheeled their horses sharply, bolting back the way they'd just come. Gunfire erupted behind them. Bullets rattled and ricocheted off the rocks to either side. Frantic shouts also reached their ears as the patrol riders swung their horses down into the wash and then spurred in pursuit.
"Knock on it!" Kendrick urged, putting to the spurs to Blockhead as well. He knew the big chestnut would give it everything he had. But he also recognized that the wiry, mountain-bred mustangs being ridden by the Rurales were fresher and more accustomed to this terrain. A chase lasting any distance, as he'd warned Estraleta earlier, would quickly take its toll on Blockhead and the silver stallion.
Kendrick's mind raced, trying to visualize the twists and turns of the gully as it now lay before them, the way they had only recently traveled. But they'd been in and out of so many washes and arroyos in the course of the night it was hard to differentiate … Then, right after the gully made a hard juke to the right, he saw a likely spot about a hundred feet straight ahead! A ridge of broken, bone-white boulders had tumbled down from the higher rocks on one side, nearly choking the width of the gulch. Kendrick remembered how tight the squeeze had been when they'd passed that way earlier. He'd even grumbled about it at the time, but now the very same inconvenience looked suddenly like a godsend.
"There!" he shouted to Estraleta. "We'll make a stand behind those boulders!"
They crowded through the narrow opening, Kendrick motioning Estraleta to go first. He pushed Blockhead through right behind, immediately hauling back on the reins once they were on the opposite side. Sweeping his Winchester Yellowboy from its scabbard, Kendrick sprang from the saddle and rump-slapped Blockhead over to the protection of the boulder pile's highest point. He then dropped into a crouch farther down, where the jumble of rocks began to taper off, aiming his Winchester through a jagged notch. A moment later, Estraleta was at his side with Remoza's big revolver raised and ready.
Thinking they had their quarry on the run, the Rurale patrol came barreling recklessly around the sudden turn of the gully. When they did, Kendrick and Estraleta were ready.
They opened fire the instant all eight riders were fully in view, greeting them with a hail of lead. The riders reacted as if they'd slammed into a wall, skidding wildly to check their forward momentum, veering sharply to one side or the other as they desperately tried to find cover or get turned around so they could flee back to safety. Riders cursed. Horses screamed, their pounding, pawing hooves quickly kicking the sandy ground into a boiling cloud of yellow dust.
Kendrick and Estraleta continued to pour lead into the cloud.
Three soldiers toppled from their saddles. One of the horses went down with a high-pitched, agonized squeal.
The riddled patrol finally got turned and went tearing haphazardly back around the bend, disappearing from sight.
Kendrick and Estraleta ceased firing and immediately began reloading their weapons.
"They'll be back," Kendrick predicted. "You can bet on that."
"Let them come. I would welcome the chance to kill more," responded Estraleta.
"Maybe so. But they won't make it so easy next time. As it was, we made a damn poor showing, only cuttin' down three of 'em." Kendrick frowned. "You figure any of the other patrols might be close enough to have heard the shooting?"
"No way of knowing for sure. But it is possible, yes."
"That's what I was afraid of. The other thing, since we left five of 'em alive, is that they might send a rider to for sure round up one of those other patrols, return with some reinforcements. Any way you cut it, our advantage here is about used up. They come at us again, they'll come more cautious, higher up on the banks of this gully, probably on both sides. Try to catch us in a crossfire. If they bring re-inforcements, they'll almost certainly try to come in behind us, then they'll really have us in a bottle."
"We must make another run for it."
"We try that, they'll just ride us down again. Might even herd us into a worse spot."
"So what, then?"
"Our best bet is for you to ride out. I'll hold 'em off here, you make it to the rebel camp and get some help. Bring us back some reinforcements."
"No! I cannot leave—"
"Yes, you can. It's our best chance. It may be our only chance. I know a few tricks, ways to cost 'em dear before they'll ever manage to pin me down. All I have to do is buy enough time for you to make it back. The rebel camp should be fairly close, right? Bring Doc, he'll know what to do."
Estraleta's eyes were filled with anguish. "Is there no other way?"
"Not a better one. Leastways none I can think of right at the moment. Talkin' about it is only wastin' precious time. You need to get a move on!"
Estraleta's anguish-etched eyes continued to gaze up at Kendrick for another long moment. Finally, she said, "Very well. If you insist."
"I do … just give me a minute." While Estraleta kept watch down the gully, Kendrick withdrew from his saddlebags a pair of high-laced moccasins. He hurriedly kicked off his boots and pulled on the mocs in their place. Next he checked the cartridge loops in his gun belt to make sure they were all filled and then stuffed two extra boxes of .44-40 shells—for which both his handgun and rifle were chambered —into the pockets of his buckskin vest. His final bit of preparation was to unloop the canteen from Blockhead's saddle horn and sling the strap over his shoulder.
"Okay. I'm ready," he announced. "Now you hightail it out of here. Take Blockhead's reins and lead him along with you for a ways. Make as much noise ridin' off as you can. With luck, those Rurales might think the both of us are makin' another run for it. If they poke their heads around that bend to give chase again, maybe I can pick off a couple more before they know what hit 'em."
Estraleta looked confused. "You want me to take your horse?"
"For what I need to do here, he won't be of any use. Rather have him clear when the lead starts flyin' again. Turn him loose after you've gone a ways. I'll catch up with him later."
Estraleta swung up into the saddle.
"Stay low and ride hard," Kendrick told her. "Keep a sharp watch for other patrols."
She gazed down at him, hesitating for a moment. Then, abruptly, she leaned over and planted a hard, quick kiss on his mouth. "Vaya con Dios!" she whispered huskily.
And then she was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Once Estraleta was fading in a cloud of yellow dust, Kendrick dropped back down behind the jagged notch in the boulders, his Winchester muzzle extended through it, ready.
Exactly as he'd hoped for, the sound of the departing horses drew the Rurales out from around the bend. At first, only two mounted soldiers danced out tentatively, cautiously. Spotting the retreating dust cloud, they jabbered and motioned excitedly, causing two more riders to prance into view. Only two more. Kendrick gritted his teeth. So they had sent the fifth man to bring back-up.
The four came galloping toward his position, skirting around their falle
n comrades already littering the ground, and then started to pick up speed.
He took aim and fired at the closest one. At the last instant, his target's horse tossed its head and took the slug square to the center of its forehead. The animal emitted a loud Huff! and went immediately limp and lifeless, front legs crumpling as its entire body pitched forward and down. Its rider was thrown clear and sent sprawling to the ground. Levering fresh rounds as fast as he could, Kendrick snapped two more shots at the man but the bullets only sent sand spurting up behind his rolling body.
The horse running slightly behind and to the right of the one Kendrick inadvertently shot was bumped hard and knocked off balance by the falling animal. This second horse and its rider also went spilling to the ground. Swinging his sights to find a new target, Kendrick triggered off a shot that found its mark in the unseated rider as he went flying, the bullet blowing apart his left hip bone, spinning him in mid air and spraying a gout of bright red blood.
The two Rurales still mounted were frantically trying to get their horses turned in order to make it back to cover around the bend. As Kendrick tried to draw a bead on one of them, a bullet came sizzling in from an elevated spot up on the bank of the gully. It streaked a quarter inch past his right eyebrow, splattering boulder fragments that stung his cheek. Kendrick twisted his head away, feeling hot blood blossom on his cheek from where the rock shards had sliced skin.
He tossed himself to one side and scrambled to find a new spot. Two more rounds whistled in, slamming through the notch where he'd just been.
The sneaky bastards! The fifth Rurale rider hadn't left to go get reinforcements after all. He had instead hung back, taking up a higher position on the rim of the gulch, to provide cover for the other four when they rode out. Kendrick swore under his breath as he backhanded sticky blood from his cheek. But a moment later he couldn't repress a grudging half-smile for the shrewdness of the move—even though he damn near got his head blown off by it.
Kendrick was still smiling as he rose up and snapped another shot after the remaining two riders, now barreling in retreat. As expected, this brought return fire from the shooter up on higher ground. But, in so doing, the discharge of smoke from the man's rifle pinpointed his position for Kendrick who wasted no time pumping three rapid-fire rounds at the spot.
Then he made a diving roll to yet another position. This time when he rose up, he returned his attention to the two Rurales who remained alive on the ground in the middle of the gully. The one whose horse was killed had crawled in behind the fallen animal for cover. The soldier with the shattered hip was trying to join him, dragging his body across the sand, reaching out and pleading with the man behind the horse carcass for help. His comrade, reluctantly, was responding—extending one arm a minimal distance, urging the wounded man to grab hold so he could drag him to safety.
Kendrick blew a hole through the extended arm and when its owner recoiled involuntarily, wailing in pain, exposing himself, a follow-up kill shot to the head knocked him down permanently. Kendrick shifted his sights and spent another bullet to put the crawling man out of his misery.
This drew a furious volley of shots—accompanied by much cursing and vile name-calling—from the remaining three Rurales. The rain of lead peppered the spine of dislodged boulders indiscriminately, kicking up dust and shards of rock and sending ricocheting bullets whining off in all directions. Kendrick hunkered down low, motionlessly enduring the barrage, more concerned about getting struck by a ricochet than a direct hit.
Suddenly, the shooting stopped. A deathly silence settled over the gully, hanging in the air along with the layers of dust and gunsmoke. Five men and two horses lay forever stilled in the middle of it all, the only movement being the spreading patterns of crimson staining the sand around them.
Kendrick wiped some more blood from his cheek. He'd been lucky. So far. But it wasn't over yet. He shifted his body and began automatically reloading the Winchester, thumbing in cartridges to replace the rounds he'd fired, his hands performing the task without conscious thought.
What he was thinking about was what the next move might be—and who would make it. The one thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't about to stay where he was. His plan, if the Rurales hadn't allowed themselves to be drawn out by Estraleta's departure, had been to work his own way to higher ground in order to keep from getting outflanked and pinned down in the gully. He saw no reason not to follow through with that now. The Rurales already had one man posted high, albeit on the opposite side of the wash from where Kendrick meant to ascend. They'd shown a certain amount of fighting savvy with that maneuver. It was certain they wouldn't be foolhardy enough to try another mounted attack. But they'd be angered and humiliated by how many members of their patrol had been killed—especially the way Kendrick had cold-bloodedly cut down those last two—making it equally certain they'd be coming after him, and doing so with vengeance burning in their guts.
It was clear the next clash was going to be on higher ground. And whoever got into position first was bound to have the advantage.
Kendrick rolled over and began bellying up along the edge of the boulder slide. The sun in the cloudless sky was hammering down harder by the minute, its intensity increased as it reflected off the broken slabs of bone-white rock. His moccasins found sure, silent purchase as he climbed.
He ascended steadily but cautiously. He paused periodically to scan and listen intently for any sign of activity from the Rurales. Rivulets of sweat cut tracks through the dust and blood on his face and he could feel more of it running down his back inside his shirt.
Once above the boulder slide, Kendrick found himself in a ragged-edge groove of steeper rock, the unhealed scar in the steep cliff face from which the boulders had originally broken away. The climbing was more difficult here and he felt dangerously exposed all during the time he was squirming up through it. He topped the crevice without incident, however, and emerged onto a broad ledge with some brush and irregular stone outcroppings that offered good concealment. He burrowed in gratefully, taking a minute to catch his breath and drink from the canteen.
As he let the water trickle slowly down his throat, his eyes and other senses stayed busy, keenly alert. The cliff face across the way, on the opposite side of the gully, was flatter and steeper than on this side, with no visible ledges. It sloped back and rounded off at the top. That was all to Kendrick's benefit, making it almost impossible for the Rurales to find any spot over there from which to plink at him from behind cover such as he'd found. The cliff face directly above Kendrick's position rose equally flat and smooth, breaking off sharply at the top. That was good, too—anyone climbing up there to try and shoot down at him would have to lean out and reveal themselves. That left his main direction of concern off to his right, either on his own side of the gully or from some lower spot in the irregular rocks on the other side. For the time being, he decided, it looked like his best bet was to just sit tight and see what the Rurales had in mind, let them make the next move.
Kendrick tried to judge how long it had been since Estraleta rode away. A half hour, at least. A full hour, maybe? After admitting she'd wandered off course in the darkness, Estraleta had estimated they were still approximately an hour from the rebel camp. They'd traveled some distance after that, before encountering the Rurale patrol. That meant she'd hopefully had time to reach the camp by now … unless she ran into more trouble.
From his perch, Kendrick had a pretty good view of the gully below for a fair distance in either direction. He could even see around the bend behind which the Rurales had been appearing and dis-appearing during the earlier skirmishes. He noted no horses were in sight. It would have been nice to believe the remaining Rurales made a cowardly retreat, fleeing to get reinforcements before again engaging an enemy who'd already cut their force by more than half. But that was too much to hope for. These soldiers had shown better mettle than that. More likely they'd simply hidden the horses away somewhere. At most, they may have done what th
ey failed to do earlier and sent one rider to seek help. Even if that was the case, it still left two of them out there to stalk him.
Kendrick sank a little deeper into his concealment.
Let 'em come, I'll damn well be ready.
From a comfortable crouch he waited, watched, and listened. Minutes ticked by. High overhead, a pair of vultures began circling lazily, drawn by the carnage down on the gully floor.
And then, seemingly all at once, several things happened. Directly across from where Kendrick waited, from high on the rounded top of the opposite cliff, came a shriek of pain and surprise. A moment later a body pitched into view, toppling outward and down, skimming the smooth cliff face as it dropped until it crashed onto the embankment jutting up along the far side of the gully. The body was clad in the unmistakable tan uniform of a Rurale and jutting from its throat was the feathered shaft of an arrow.
Before Kendrick could completely comprehend the meaning of this, more shrieks and shouts and the pop of gunfire sounded from off to his right. Another uniform-clad body pitched out off a slightly higher point on the cliff about twenty yards from where Kendrick crouched. No arrow protruded from this victim but the trail of blood streaming from a gaping bullet wound in the back of the soldier's head indicated he was quite dead before ever hitting the ground below.
Down on the gully floor, also off to Kendrick's right, a cacophony of yips and shrieks started to build in volume. Accompanying this was the low rumble of hoofbeats and an approaching dust cloud coming down the gulch. Kendrick tensed, beginning to grasp what was happening but scarcely able to believe it.
When the Yaqui riders pounded into view, there was no longer any doubt. There were seven of them, some armed with bows and spears, some with rifles. They were mounted on sturdy-looking mountain ponies and leading six Rurale horses. Behind the pony of one of the riders, the body of a Rurale soldier was being dragged at the end of a rope.
As Kendrick watched—mesmerized, motionless, gripping his Winchester so tight his knuckles creaked—the riders galloped up to the part of the gulch where the five previously slain Rurales still lay. Several of the warriors dismounted and began looping hemp ropes around the ankles of the dead soldiers. Two of the Indians ran to the bodies recently fallen from the cliffs, tied their ankles in a similar manner, dragged them over to the others.
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