His plan was to again find high ground. He would watch the hacienda, hopefully from within his rifle's range, and if Seer showed himself, Logan would end it there. Probably, he would have to remain hidden for more than one day. Seer might not often leave his home, or the raider could be away. Logan saw no possibility of asking, so he would have to wait.
Logan found the closest lookout, but it was beyond rifle range, and the sight of Punto's hacienda was intimidating. The place was not the house he had anticipated, the hacienda was a fortress. Two foot thick walls topped with glass protected the buildings. There were guard towers, and although unoccupied, they appeared cleaned out and ready. Punto even had a cannon on the flat roof of his main building. A cannon, for God's sake. What good could launching cannon balls into the fields do anyone?
When dusk came to the valley, a gatekeeper closed Punto's massive gates. There was a small entrance let into the larger gate for humans to use, but Logan's glass showed the gatekeeper bolting even that small opening before swinging closed the main entrance.
Pondering his next move, Logan ate in encroaching darkness. It appeared that he would have to remain undiscovered until Punto left his compound. Then Logan could move closer into decent shooting range and finish the hunt.
Logan judged that unless a search was mounted, he could stay hidden for a few days. His lookout was bare of vegetation, but he was within broken rock, and no one would have reason to climb the slopes to his hiding place. On the reverse slope a shallow valley could graze his animals hidden from the hacienda and the road. He would have to take them to water each day, but he had passed a small rivulet climbing to his perch. It would be enough.
Logan chose his sleeping place, as usual beneath an overhang with the wind blowing to him. He would have preferred empty land to his front that would make unobserved approach more difficult, but on this high ground there were rocks everywhere. He spread his buffalo robe and covered himself with his blanket. He placed the scoped rifle out of the way, pulled the Spencer in close, and gripped the Colt pistol in his right hand beneath the blanket. He had slept this way so often that he was comfortable and barely aware of sleeping with a gun in a hand.
There was thinking to do before Logan slept. He should have sensed victory at hand, but the trail had been too long, and his enthusiasm had dulled. The terrible hatred flared, but time was ever more often closing down the rage. While raw anger might dwindle, Logan would not allow his determination to weaken. Punto would die no matter what the cost, but when it was done, Logan expected even relief would be tempered by a mission too long in completing.
Punto's ranch was handsome, and Logan wondered why a man with all of the advantages would prey upon his fellow humans in the worst ways possible. What would make a man of Wesley Seer's position travel thousands of miles to kill, rob, and rape innocents from another nation—his own nation? Wesley Seer must be mad.
Josh Logan drifted into his light sleep with those thoughts in mind. At times he roused to sniff at the breeze and listen and once to rearrange his sleeping robes. The night had chilled, and Logan put the thinner blanket under him and pulled the thick and heavy buffalo robe over his body. With the fur against his clothing he would remain warm and dry through the worst of temperatures.
Juan of one eye admitted his exasperation. Logan was as cunning as a fox. He never traveled in a straight line, and he did not go where Juan expected him to go. The one eye had tracked long before he realized that Logan slept during the light and rode after dark.
The stream riding had fooled Juan completely, and he could not find where Logan had left the water. Only luck led him to fresh tracks of a horse and mule in a ravine so far from where he had expected to find them that Juan knew shame at having been fooled so badly.
Sombra Preta was like a shadow, but they were now not far from the salt water, and Logan would have to turn left or right. If Dark Shadow searched for Senor Seer, he would turn to the north and later back to the east. Clever was Logan to approach from the west, even Juan of one eye would not have expected it.
From a distant ridge Juan finally saw his enemy. Logan was riding toward the hacienda, but he did not use the road. Juan immediately understood Dark Shadow's plan. Logan was heading for a higher point that could look into the hacienda courtyard. For a moment Juan of one eye worried, but then he realized that the distance would be too great for even Josh Logan's rifle to reach its target.
The shadows were already long, and Logan would reach his lookout only a short hour before night closed in. Juan of one eye lashed his horse into motion. He chose low ground where Logan could not see him. When it became dark, Logan might try to cross the wall. If he did, Juan would be ready, but he would not sit like a log until he felt Sombra Preta approach. Logan might choose to camp until new light allowed long shooting. Juan of one eye would go to meet the attacker, and during the dark he would kill. Logan was old, and his rifle would be worthless at night. Juan had only a single hand, but those fingers would grip his knife, and that knife would find its home in the body of Dark Shadow.
This night there was a half moon, and by its meager light Juan of one eye closed on Dark Shadow's sleeping place. The one eye knew there was such a place because he had found Logan's animals hobbled and leashed in a meadow behind the lookout. If Logan had been attacking the hacienda he would have moved his animals in closer where he could get to them without the effort and time needed to reclimb and recross the ridge.
Juan had studied one of Logan's earlier resting places. Dark Shadow had backed under an overhanging rock and had slept facing downhill. Juan expected Logan to protect himself in the same way, but Juan of one eye would find Logan's place and he would slide in more quietly than a serpent.
Before the moon set, the Yaqui believed he had his enemy marked. There were only a few overhangs among the rock jumbles, and he had scouted the most unlikely first. Only one remained, but it was the best of them. The Yaqui wished the moonlight would hold another hour. When he struck he wished to see his target, and even with moonlight he would see little under Logan's overhang.
Juan of one eye was still too far away when Logan reared up in front of him. For an instant Juan believed he had been discovered, but the barely seen gringo merely stretched his body and adjusted his sleeping robes.
Juan lay still for many moments after Sombra Preta resettled himself. Then he again slid ahead. His body flowed forward only inches before pausing while his hand searched ahead. He made no sound, and before he had gone much further he could hear the old man’s breathing.
The Yaqui readied his knife. If Logan rose again, Juan would leap on him, but it would be best if he could drive his blade into the man's sleeping form. The one eye gained another few inches, and he knew that Sombra Preta would be his.
Something snapped Logan awake. Experience kept his breathing almost natural. He heard nothing, but his nose caught a warning scent. An acrid stench. Apache! He had smelled Indians before. Close, very close, Logan tensed, but before he could move darkness rose between his eyes and the night sky, and a smashing weight slammed down and pinioned his body.
Juan of one eye heard Logan's breathing change. The gringo was awake, but it would not matter, he was close enough. He could not see, but he would feel. The Yaqui launched himself onto the breathing. He landed on the softness of Dark Shadow, and he plunged his knife home.
His attacker's weight drove the air from Josh Logan. Trapped beneath the buffalo hide he had no leverage, but he squirmed mightily to free the pistol pinned between their bodies. He heard his attacker's grunt of effort, and something burned fiercely along his ribs. Logan knew he had been cut. The unwashed stench of the Indian enveloped him, and his efforts to free himself redoubled. His body slid sideward almost out from under the enemy seeking to hold him, but he could not break free.
Using his empty hand Logan hoisted the buffalo robe rocking his attacker sideward, but the unseen enemy slammed it back down. Instinctively, Logan wormed his body in the opposite direct
ion and felt the attacker's balance falter. Logan's pistol hand loosened, but he could not clear the gun from beneath the buffalo robe.
Atop his squirming enemy, the Yaqui struggled to free his blade from the tough buffalo hide. That he had not killed with his first thrust disgusted him, but the unexpected thickness of the heavy robe had redirected his strike into the body he could not see, and Juan of one eye could not know if he had even drawn blood.
Beneath him, Dark Shadow thrashed like a roped steer. The Yaqui's still healing stump struck the earth and blinding pain stabbed through his concentration. He forced himself to use the stump as a lever, and regained his balance on top of Sombra Preta. His blade released, and Juan of one eye again drove it at the bulk of Dark Shadow's body.
Logan feared his pistol might be aimed at his own belly, but he fired anyway. He squeezed the trigger and heaved mightily. The burn of a knife again snatched at him, but he had no time to consider it. The weight holding him moved, and Logan swung an arm free of the imprisoning hide. He hammered the arm against the loom of the barely seen figure, and the weight again moved. He got a little room for his pistol, raised it as high as he could and drove another bullet upward.
An impact deadening beyond any he could have imagined struck Juan of one eye. His descending knife lost its momentum and barely penetrated the hide. Juan's mind wondered how Logan could have reached a gun, but sudden and complete numbness had shut off all feeling in his legs. He sensed himself being rolled aside, and he again heard the gun's explosion as another numbing blow somewhere in his middle drained the strength from the Yaqui. Still Juan of one eye got his blade free. With waning strength, he aimed it where Dark Shadow's throat should be.
Logan was still struggling when an arm slammed across his throat. Panicked into unexpected strength, Logan surged against his attacker's weight, and astoundingly, the attacker rolled clear. Logan saw him only as a form darker than others and closer. Starlight glittered on steel, and a knife slid down Logan's shoulder cutting as it went. Without hesitation, Josh Logan thumbed his hammer and drove bullets into the middle of his enemy. He fired until the pistol was empty.
Even then, Logan did not pause. He fumbled in the dark until his fingers closed around the stock of his Spencer. Rearmed, he scrambled away from his unmoving enemy until his back was against stone. His eyes searched for moving shapes, but none came charging.
Logan could not listen for enemies. His breathing rasped as if he had run for miles. His limbs quivered from strain, and he felt the burn of slashing along his side, on his chest, and across a shoulder. He supposed he was cut to ribbons and possibly bleeding to death, but he was not done in yet.
Gradually his breathing eased, but the burn of the knife wounds sharpened. Only weeks before he had suffered in darkness wondering how badly he had been shot. Logan doubted that he would ever enjoy the dark again.
There was other breathing. It came from his unmoving enemy, and Logan anxiously shifted his rifle to the still form. The Indian was alive. God, Logan thought he had shot the man to death twice over. He could punch a Spencer bullet through the body and make sure, but the first firing had been swift and finished in seconds. If anyone searched they might not have the shooting located. Logan would prefer quiet.
Where was the Indian's knife? After a moment, Logan saw its glitter closer to his feet than to its user. Logan decided to wait. If the m Indian made a move, Logan would shoot, but it would be better if the attacker just went ahead and died.
Juan of one eye wondered how he lived. He had no life in his legs, and he wished to scream with the agony of bullets in his body. If he could have moved, the Yaqui would have tried for his knife, but the arm with a hand had been shattered by a bullet. It too lay as if dead.
Logan had moved deeper into shadows, but Juan could see his form. Dark Shadow waited, watching him like a cat over prey, allowing his enemy to suffer until he felt ready to kill. Truly, Sombra Preta had been a worthy enemy.
Summoning waning strength, Juan of one eye spoke to his enemy.
"Did the Apache fight as strongly as I, Sombra Preta?"
The voice astounded Josh Logan. He had hoped the Indian was near death, but the words came with some strength. Logan pondered an answer. Why should he speak at all? The Indian had attacked him in his sleep, and Logan doubted such an attack deserved recognition.
Yet, the man was dying, and if not, Logan would kill him at first light. Logan said, "No Apache reached me as I slept."
Logan did not mean the words as a compliment, but the Indian accepted them with gratitude.
"I would have liked to have killed you, Sombra Preta."
Logan did not doubt the statement, but he wondered at it. Punto's men would have no personal interest in his death.
"You do not know me, whoever you are?"
The voice was proud. "I know you, and you know me, Sombra Preta. I have waited for your coming. I am Juan of one eye, of the Yaqui, and we are powerful fighters. Others said you would not find us, but I knew you would come."
Logan was stunned. "You are Juan of one eye? You have only one hand."
The Yaqui's voice was weaker. "If I had two hands I would now own your head, Sombra Preta."
Logan guessed that was true. He wished to end the talk, but there could be information for him.
"Your knife cut me badly, Juan of one eye. Perhaps I, too, will not live."
The one eye's voice held satisfaction. "That is good, Sombra Preta."
Logan managed a grunt in response. Then he said, "If I live I will kill Wesley Seer. I will do it tomorrow when the sun shows the way."
Logan believed the one eye laughed, but he could barely hear the Indian's words.
"Senor Seer has two men at his side. He will not come from behind his walls, and within his hacienda there is a place no enemy can enter. Soon Federales will come, and they will run you into the mountains and follow you until you can go no further. Then they will kill you as they killed many of my people when I was a boy."
Later, Logan heard the Yaqui whisper,
"Sombra Preta” but nothing followed. They lay in silence, each suffering his wounds until the sun rose and lighted their place under the overhang.
23
Sunlight struck the high ground early, and Logan kept weary eyes on the Indian's still form. He detected no rise and fall of breathing, and when he spoke there was no answer.
Moving was an agony, and Logan feared opening wounds that might have closed during the night, but until he was certain that the Yaqui was dead he could not look to his own injuries. He fought himself erect using rocks and his gun as props. Quick glances showed his own body bloody and torn, but he concentrated on the Indian.
Logan held the Spencer ready until he could look into the Yaqui's face. Juan of one eye's stare into the distance did not waver. The tracker was dead, and Logan guessed that he had bled to death. He could see where bullets had bored the Indian low in the body, and the Yaqui's usable arm had been broken above the elbow by another bullet. Juan of one hand could not have held a knife or made a fist. It was clear why the tracker had not fought until dead.
Logan had been armed with two hands and a pistol, but the Yaqui's knife had found him repeatedly. Dried blood stiffened Logan's shirt and pants along one side. A stab into his chest bones and a vicious slash in his shoulder and upper arm made examining the nastier rib wound difficult. When he tried to raise his right arm, Logan felt tissue part, and blood dimpled along the wounds.
He steadied himself with the carbine braced like a cane and wondered how he could make it further. How could he load his animals? Where could he find shelter? How long before he healed enough to run for the mountains? How soon would circling buzzards and Juan of one eye's absence reveal the battle on the lookout? When that happened, Punto's killers would be on his trail.
Logan recognized that he had no real choice. He had to move and move now, or he would be located and killed. The longer he sat, the stiffer and less mobile he would become. So, he
would try. He would do what he could, but they would surely run him down.
When he had taken Punto's trail, Logan had not expected to survive the hunt. So, nothing unexpected had happened, except that he was close to winning. Then why not keep trying?
The thought struck like lightning, and Josh Logan heard himself chuckle. Why not? If he could get to his horse why not ride down to the hacienda and do whatever he could? Punto was there, and Logan doubted that the raider would risk himself in a hunting party to run him down. With his last raider missing, Punto might be careful of his own skin, but he would send others, and Logan feared he would be easier to kill each hour it took to find him.
Logan got himself straightened up. Then he had to bend again to recover his pistol and his very heavy Sharps rifle. Even those small efforts punished him, but he believed that his bleeding did not increase. In fact, the bleeding he could see was surprisingly little. That gave him strength, and he struggled over the ridge and wobbled down the reverse slope to where his animals waited.
He could not hoist a saddle and certainly could not have loaded the mule. To mount, Logan had to walk the horse to a rock and use it as a mounting block. He had released the mule from its tether, but when he started off the animal fell in behind in the position it had occupied for a thousand miles.
The old horse looked over his shoulder, surely discomforted by the lack of a saddle, but he walked away, and Logan let him find his own pace down to the road.
The ranchero road was not deserted. A boy leading a small burro was approaching from the direction of the hacienda, and Logan decided to use him. The youth approached hat at his breast but his eyes rounded in fear when he saw Logan's blood drenched condition. Logan guessed he looked about as bad as a living man could. His wild beard and matted hair, worn out moccasins and ripped and torn clothing would have been bad enough, but with dried blood soaked into most of one side lie was enough to scare the fight out of most anyone.
Dark Shadow Page 23