Dark Shadow

by Roy F. Chandler

  Logan chose his cartridge with extra care. He intended to drill the renegade squarely in the face, but, as with his shot at Juan of one eye, all did not always go as planned.

  This time it did. The bandit’s head blew apart with a spectacular blossoming of bone and tissue. Logan had never seen a human head struck by his exploding bullet. The experience was remarkable, but he down played the unusual effect, and made no mention of his special bullet. Logan’s interest had shifted to the two bandits still making their escape.

  Colonel O'Cortez's trackers lost the outlaws’ trail, but Logan was not surprised. To track far across solid rock was unlikely. It did not matter. Logan knew their direction had to be west. He was again on their trail.

  Logic said the pair were heading for the coastal lands where there were working ranches and decent sized villages. Sooner or later, he would find them.

  Logan's examination of the dead bandit was disappointing. He did not recognize the nearly headless remains as one of Punto's band. The horse carried no brand, and Logan could find nothing which could tie the body to Punto and his raiders.

  Logan did not doubt, however. The descriptions of the pair fleeing were too correct to be questioned. The band of twenty-one was now down to Punto and Juan of one eye. Logan had not killed them all, but if he could shoot Punto stone cold dead, Logan would believe he had completed his task.

  But for the bad shot way back in the beginning, Punto would now be alone. For now, Logan was not overly saddened by the miss that blew away Juan the tracker's hand. A Yankee with a blotched face and a one handed Yaqui were bound to be noticed once they returned to populated areas.

  Punto and the Yaqui would twist their way to other paths which the army would be unlikely to choose, and it would require a miracle to again encounter the fleeing bandits in the mountains. Still, it could happen, and Logan resolved to remain observant and even hopeful.

  Logan turned west, following a route described by Colonel O'Cortez. He expected to become lost more than once because a mighty distance with countless mountains still lay before him, but he would work it out, and eventually the plains would appear, and finally the sea.

  19

  The Letter

  Subject: A recent incident involving American citizens.

  Date: (Day and month illegible) 1886

  To: Major David Ormsby

  C. O. 3rd Regiment, Infantry, United States Army (Reserve), Tucson, Arizona

  From: 1st Lieutenant (Brevet)George Lilingham

  Attached to: Colonel Hernando O'Cortez 8th Regiment Infantry (mounted) Army of Mexico, District of Sonora

  Sir:

  Per your request, I send this informal report of an incident that cheered the entire regiment and probably saved the lives of a number of Mexican soldiers.

  To refresh the Major's memory, Colonel O'Cortez's regiment of two hundred and fifty (250) men is mule mounted and its primary mission is to maintain order across Northern Sonora and Chihuahua.

  A Post Rider brought word of some sort of banditry in the north central deserts that involved a number of deaths and vaqueros from local rancheros. The information was, as usual, seriously garbled, but the regiment rode east in rapid order aiming for the village of Caliente.

  En route we encountered three riders traveling down to Durango. The trio comprised an American who had a large bandage covering much of his face, an infected tooth we were told, a Yaqui Indian with a recently amputated right hand, and a particularly dull looking vaquero.

  The riders claimed to know nothing of bandit trouble and did not recognize the town called Caliente. The Indian's hand had been chopped off after a horse had crushed it beyond saving. As the travelers had no involvement with the still distant disturbance they were allowed to proceed.

  Only an hour's ride later, we came upon a terrible atrocity. A woman, barely more than a child, had been brutally raped and beaten, and a grandfather who had attempted to intercede had been stabbed to death. The father had returned from his goats too late, which probably saved his life as the woman described her attacker as the dull-minded vaquero we had recently passed. The American and the Indian had merely watched until the animal had finished.

  Colonel O'Cortez split his regiment sending the main body on to Caliente under Captain Sebastian. The Colonel then led twenty of his best mounted, including the undersigned observer, in pursuit of the evil men we had permitted to pass.

  Realizing that they would be found out, and certainly thankful that they had not chosen to linger at the scene of their crime, the villains abandoned their pack animal and rode hard from where we had met them.

  I have developed respect for the mules ridden by Mexico's mounted infantry, and on the treacherous Sierra Madre trails they demonstrated their superiority by steadily closing the distance between our quarry and Colonel O'Cortez's twenty. Mules are, of course, more sure-footed than horses and in these mountains they proved more durable. By noon the following day our lead scouts had the enemy in sight and were steadily gaining.

  Then our efforts came to naught as the fleeing criminals did as Colonel O'Cortez feared. They led us into a narrow mountain cut and established an ambush. Their rifle fire from hidden positions wounded one soldier and halted our advance.

  I am uncertain of the Major's familiarity with these mountains so I will describe our situation. The Sierra Madre Range is undoubtedly an extension of our Rocky Mountains. Although not as high in elevation, the Madres are more eroded and are twisted and divided by narrow gashes that may or may not lead from one crest to another: Broad valleys are few while guts and dead end draws are common. There are high wooded valleys that seem to hang among the crags, but more of the mountains are treeless and barren. Wild Apaches still have villages in the deeper valleys, and the Mexican government has had difficulty rooting them out.

  The mountains into which our quarry led us was passable only on a few narrow trails. The ambush was laid where horses had to move in single file with much twisting and turning. To work to the flank of the roadblock was impossible because of vertical cliffs rising on either side, and to get behind the ambushers would require more than a day of brutal detouring.

  The villains' plan was immediately clear. After halting our advance, one man was left with a rifle to deny us passage while the other two fled. When dark descended, the remaining ambusher would also depart leaving as poor a trail as possible for us to follow.

  Colonel O’Cortez attempted to force the block by laying heavy rifle fire on all possible vantage points, but our rifles could not reach the enemy while he lay in comfortable cover shooting directly onto the narrow trail. The effort resulted in two dead mules which further blocked passage.

  Colonel O'Cortez immediately dispatched a detail of three men to attempt to circle behind the ambusher in case he was foolish enough to remain throughout the night, and to have our men closer on the bandits’ trail when the pass was found clear. However, we all recognized that we had been checked and probably mated. There was little hope in the camp that we would be successful in again overtaking the three bandits.

  Bivouac was established a half mile behind the block, and the company saw to their animals and rested for what all hoped would be further pursuit Two riflemen remained at the block site and occasionally fired or moved about. The wish was to draw return fire and to keep the enemy busy. It was the Colonel's intent to again attempt passage under cover of darkness using a few unmounted men, but it was also recognized that if the ambusher was alert, he would move close to the trail and no one could get through.

  Colonel O'Cortez is, of course, one of the part Irish adventurers who have recently risen to prominence in the National Army of Mexico. I have found Colonel O'Cortez to be an excellent commander and tactician, and I could offer no suggestion for doing other than what had been done. The Colonel was clearly exasperated, but as an experienced commander, he was able to resign himself to an unfortunate situation about which he could do nothing.

  We had rested more than an h
our when our rear guard brought a stranger into the camp. The rider had turned onto our trail some miles back and simply followed our route expecting to find a passage through the mountains. The horseman was an American, and he is the real subject of this lengthy dissertation.

  The newcomer immediately caught my attention. He was an old man, appearing weary from long traveling. He trailed a mule as worn as the horse and its rider, and he rode slowly despite our outguards' attempts to hurry him along.

  It may have been the man's weaponry that first piqued my interest. The American had a common Spencer sheathed along the saddle, but across his saddlebow he carried an extremely long-barreled Sharps with a telescopic sight mounted above the bore. Such a rifle is almost unknown in Mexico, and to display such a weapon while traveling alone could be an invitation to be assaulted for the value of the piece.

  The traveler dismounted at our command shelter and after loosening saddle-stiffened joints, introduced himself to Colonel O'Cortez in passable Spanish.

  Joshua Logan claimed to be from Perry County in Pennsylvania, although he had lived in the western lands for many years. Logan stated that he was simply seeing Mexico and asked the reason for the occasional rifle fire close ahead and the company's halt in such an uninviting gash in the mountains.

  Colonel O'Cortez invited the visitor to sit and offered a drink and a cigar. Logan refused both on the grounds that he was married to a Mormon who did not approve of such diversions.

  Although interested by the unexpectedness of encountering a fellow American in this wasteland, I believed Logan to be little more than a wanderer who wished to see beyond the next hill.

  Eventually the talk turned to the bandits we were following. Colonel O’Cortez chose to practice his English and explained, "There are three of them, Senor Logan. The one who raped and killed is apparently a dullard. There is an Indian, a Yaqui actually, who has recently lost a hand, and a white man who has a bandage wrapped around his face protecting a bad tooth."

  I must tell you, Major, that something happened within Joshua Logan that I could not explain. In the instant his personality altered, and I actually experienced a chill, as if suddenly facing a terrible but still unrecognized menace. What followed was so unexpected and remarkable that I will attempt to repeat the conversations as they occurred.

  Colonel O'Cortez felt the tension as well, and I saw his attention sharpen. Yet, Logan spoke softly in almost indifferent tones that denied any special interest.

  "Then you could not clearly see the American's face, Colonel?"

  "No, I am sorry to say that I could not recognize him if we met."

  Logan sat silently for a moment before again speaking. "Then you will have to wait until the ambusher escapes in the dark before you can again take these outlaws' trail?"

  The Colonel threw his cigar aside in disgust. "That is it Mister Logan. To force a passage would mean the deaths of too many of my men. We must wait and hope to find their trail in daylight and again catch up." The Colonel then spat on his abandoned cigar. "And we have almost no chance of that happening in these mountains."

  We all sat in silence, each weighing the situation and none liking it.

  Logan sighed aloud, but spoke with no more emotion than he would have announced a need to relieve himself. "Well then, Colonel, I will have to kill this man for you."

  I must explain, Major, that Joshua Logan was sitting in a folding camp chair with his Sharps rifle again across his thighs, and it seemed obvious that he proposed to somehow shoot our common enemy with the scoped rifle.

  Colonel O'Cortez attempted to disguise his smile, but I am sure that Logan detected the Colonel's certainty that one rifle, no matter its sighting equipment, could not do what our many could not. Furthermore, the suggestion that one elderly Yankee wanderer might accomplish what his own soldiers had not may have rankled, but Colonel O'Cortez undoubtedly respected Mister Logan's advanced years and the colonel is always a gentleman.

  Colonel O'Cortez said, "I appreciate the gesture, Mister Logan, but I doubt that you could get a decent shot at the ambusher. Sometimes we can see a bit of his head as he peers at us, but I assure you, the range is far beyond anyone's abilities to hit what little of the man that is exposed."

  Colonel O'Cortez may have sounded a trifle condescending when he added, "I have a few remarkable shots in this command, Mister Logan, and they do not bother to attempt such shooting. This is a cunning bandit, and he is protected by twists and turns so that we cannot get close without exposing ourselves to certain death."

  Logan nodded acceptance but asked, "Will you mind if I give it a try, Colonel? My Sharps can shoot pretty straight. I will stay behind your soldiers and out of their way. If I cannot hit your outlaw, I might help to make him leave sooner than he had intended."

  The Colonel chose another cigar as he considered, and I expected him to suggest that Mister Logan not involve himself in military matters, but he merely drummed his fingers for a moment in restrained irritation, then he shrugged and said to my surprise, "Why not, but you must not expose my men to any added danger, and do not get yourself wounded because we will not abandon our efforts on your behalf."

  I thought Colonel O'Cortez a bit harsh in the clarity of his declarations, but Logan merely nodded and rose to examine the notch where our riflemen tempted the ambusher.

  Wishing to observe Logan's efforts I requested permission to accompany the old hunter, and Colonel O'Cortez agreed, suggesting with some sarcasm that I make sure Logan did not get himself into difficulty.

  To my surprise, Logan did not proceed further into the canyon where he might have been able to catch glimpses of the ambusher as the man moved about peering from here and then from there so that our men could never know where to look.

  Instead, Logan worked his way up a nearby talus slope edging forward as he went up until he could look down on the activity taking place within the canyon.

  I must admit that Logan's lookout was admirable, and it exposed all of the activity to an observer, but I estimated the distance to his hoped-for target as half a mile leaving us as spectators.

  Logan seated himself on a rock to regain his breathing. The climb had pulled heavily on him while I, the younger man, had scarcely noticed. Of course, he had the weight of the Sharps. In retrospect I should have offered to carry the weapon, but I believed that he should have left the rifle with his horse because no shooting could be done at the ranges we were observing across.

  Soon Logan removed his hat and used it as a rest to steady his rifle across a boulder. Through his telescopic sight he examined the soldiers attempting to contain the ambusher, and after a moment raised his head from behind the rifle and completely astonished me with his words.

  "Guess I'll try him from here, but I'll need my cleaning equipment and my buffalo robe to use for steadying, Lieutenant. Would you have someone bring them up so that I don't get all heaving and panting climbing up and down this slope?"

  "From here? My gosh, Mister Logan, that has to be more than half a mile, and I can't even see the ambusher."

  And, I could not. On the other hand, if there was any shooting to be tried I wanted to see it, so I went down myself and caught up my binoculars as well as Logan's cleaning rod from a saddle bag and the buffalo robe from the mule's pack.

  I told the Colonel that Mister Logan was going to shoot from where he lay, and the Colonel snorted amusement. One of the Sergeants laughed aloud, and I gave him a black look because I did not enjoy having Americans believed ridiculous even when they were.

  Mister Logan spent considerable time adjusting his buffalo robe and the rifle until he had them just so. He lay behind the rifle appearing to be completely comfortable without any straining of neck or head. I was impressed by his confidence, but a half a mile or more and only a human head for a target? Really!

  When he was satisfied, Logan leaned back, and we exchanged a few words. I gathered that he now wished to completely calm himself and to restudy his estimate of the distance he
had to shoot because he began to talk to me about the difficulties.

  "Now, Lieutenant, did you give your name as Lilingham?" I assured him that I had.

  ”Well, Lieutenant Lilingham, I can see the devil we're after every once in a while. What he's doing is slipping around and peeking out from different places. From this far out I'll have to wait until he settles, and even then we’ll have to be lucky to get him on the first shot.”

  First shot? I wished to snicker, but Logan was serious, so I asked, "How far do you believe it to be, Mister Logan?"

  "I make it out as eight hundred and thirty five yards with a downhill slope of about fifteen degrees. How do you see it?"

  Having no real idea of the range, I chose to agree, and Logan continued.

  "Glad you see it the same because at this range you'd best be right or you will miss by a huge distance.

  I used my binoculars, resting them across another convenient rock. Sure enough, I could see the enemy, just one man as we suspected, pausing then moving, keeping our riflemen guessing where he was. The bandit's horse was tied a few hundred yards behind the roadblock, and the villain could be mounted and gone in a moment. Unless a miracle occurred, we were not going to capture anyone.

  I studied the bandit’s distant figure until I was sure, then I told Logan. "It is the dullard who did the raping, Mister Logan, and there is no sign of the other two."

  Logan grunted and said, "That's how I figured it. I wish it was the American. I would especially like to punch a large hole in his carcass."

  Surprised I asked, "Why would you prefer the American, Mister Logan? This is the one who raped and murdered."

  Logan was slow in answering, and I thought perhaps he was being evasive, but he said, "I reckon the American would be the man in charge and therefore most responsible."