The Vengeance of Ender Smith

by Tony Masero

  Ender snapped his head up and looked at the horizon. They were coming out from the enclosing cliffs of the foothills and for the first time had a clear view of the land to the south. He saw it then. A pillar of smoke, rising tall in the windless air.

  “Oh, dear God!” he whispered. “It’s the ranch.”

  They approached the still smoldering ruin at an easy pace. Each of them knew there was no point in coming in faster. The Apache had seen it all before, it was the burnt-earth policy of the whites and they knew nothing would be left standing.

  The cornfields had been set alight and the flames had ripped through the drying stalks burning them up quickly and Ender and the others came in through a sea of gray ash. The vegetable patches had been churned under horse’s hooves and Ender could see the remains of dead cattle lying scattered in the outlying fields.

  But it was the log cabin that Ender centered his attention on. The roof had collapsed inwards and the heavy log walls still burned, flames licking around the upper rim.

  Both women were dead.

  They had been stripped and hung up on the porch, their naked bodies blackened and crisped by the roaring fire. Neither were a pretty sight, the figures were parodies of the human frame each one twisted and distorted by the intense heat. Delsay’s ropes had burnt through and she lay amidst the remains of the porch in a fetal coil. Catowitch still hung by the ropes at her wrists, tied to the charred porch roof, which sagged ominously.

  Ender dismounted in a daze and stood staring at what had once had been his beautiful wife, now a cruel imitation of her former self. A gaping face stared back at him, the mouth stretched wide in rictus under empty eye sockets. Her long hair was gone and the ravaged skin across her frame had curled back leaving intestinal seepage to leaking down in pink runnels from the cracked flesh. It appeared her breasts had been cut off before death.

  The two Indians were standing alongside him but Ender was not aware of their presence. They all stood in a state of silent shock at the devastation.

  When Ender spoke it was little more than a croak.

  “Quinlan!” was all he said.

  In the normal way, the girls should have been dressed in their best clothes and their faces painted then they would have been wrapped in a rich blanket.

  It was not possible though with the bodies so brittle and badly ruined. Women were brought from the reservation and they did their best. It was usual to give away all the dead one’s possessions but everything had been burnt in the fire so that was not possible either.

  They were taken into the mountains, the pair carried on a single travois with the reservation women trailing along beside the bodies, wailing and crying. Even Common Dog’s woman, Sigesh was there amongst them, her child carried in her arms and for once one of the tribe.

  A small cave was found and the blanket wrapped sisters placed inside, then Ender, Peyote and Common Dog filled in the opening with rocks.

  They sat outside silently for long hours. The women finally trailing away back to the reservation as night approached. Peyote lit a fire and the three continued their vigil. Each one remembering what they could of the two women.

  As dawn lightened the sky, Ender prodded the fire alive and spoke for the first time.

  “I know what I must do,” he said.

  “We must have blood,” interrupted Common Dog with an air of certainty. “It is war now. I will kill many whites.”

  Ender knew the simple outlook that filled Common Dog’s mind, to his way of thinking his kin had been murdered by white men so the white men must pay, whoever and wherever they were.

  “No, Common Dog, it is only certain ones that are responsible and it is they that must pay.”

  “Who then?” asked Common Dog.

  “It is the rancher Quinlan and his men. But they are many, he has an army. I have seen them. We are a few, it must be done with cunning.”

  “So how will you do this?” asked Peyote.

  “It is not your fight,” said Ender. “These are not your family.”

  “You are my family, En-da. We are brothers, I will be with you in this.”

  “Thank you, my friend”

  “Hah! It is good,” Common Dog clapped both hands together. “We will kill this Quinlan. I have slain his brother now I will kill him too.”

  “Not so easy,” said Ender. “But this must be done the Apache way, that is for certain sure. The soldiers will not help us even though this man has broken the law and killed innocent people. He is too rich and powerful and has many friends in high places so it is we alone that must do this thing.”

  “What do you have in mind? You have a plan?” asked Peyote.

  “I do,” said Ender. “I have been thinking of little else when I have not been thinking of Catowitch and Delsay. We shall collect weapons and ride south if you will come with me. Then I shall tell you how it will be.”

  The two others grunted acceptance and they kicked out the fire and leading the travois pony they began the long walk back to the ranch where the other horses were tethered.

  Ender went first to Fort Bowie, as he needed a favor.

  He was in the office talking with Sergeant Giltrap when the Major came out and spotted him.

  “Can’t say how sorry I am for your loss, Mister Smith,” he sympathized.

  “You going to do anything about it?” Ender was short with the Major, he already knew the answer and had determined that he could expect no help from the authorities.

  “I will make a report of the affair and have it sent direct to Washington,” the Major offered limply. He compressed his lips and looked apologetic. “I’ll be straight with you, Mister Smith. I don’t reckon much will come of it though.”

  Ender nodded, a bitter expression on his face. “I know, Quinlan is too well connected and what’s the lives of a couple of Indian squaws amount to anyway?”

  The Major picked up on the tone and took a sterner attitude. “I trust you don’t intend doing anything rash?”

  “I’ve got nothing rash at all in mind, sir,” Ender allowed truthfully.

  “That’s good to hear. We wouldn’t want our local law officer going off alone on a personal vigilante raid. That wouldn’t do at all.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of going it alone, Major,” promised Ender, again truthful as he thought of his two companions awaiting him back at the ranch.

  “Very well, carry on then and make sure you bring in that damned runaway, will you?” The Major bustled off to call on his engineering officer, followed by an orderly with a folder of yet more construction plans.

  “He’ll be busy for a while,” Giltrap assured. “What is it you need?”

  “Weapons,” said Ender shortly.

  “So you will be making a show of it then?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose I would,” sighed Giltrap. “It’s an awful awesome odds that you face though, m’boy. I hear tell the wretched man has the worst sort of fellows down there to help him out.”

  “Is there a Sharps in the fort anywhere?” asked Ender, ignoring his assessment of the dangers.

  “A Sharps! Now that’s smart,” allowed Giltrap. “Some long range shooting is a good plan. There is an enlisted lad here, used to be a buffalo hunter until they ran out of buffalo, now he’s on a charge, knocked down from lance corporal and sweeping up doo-dah in the stables. Might be he’ll part with his old gun.”

  “Will you take me to the fellow?”

  “Surely. Come along I’ll take you there now.”

  He was a tall auburn haired man with deep brown eyes that had a sad look to them and he was raking up mire stained straw in an empty stall in the officer’s stables. He wore a blue bib-fronted blouse that some of the troops paid out for from their own money and it was open down the front against the heat in the enclosed stable.

  “Trooper Ryan!” called Giltrap as they entered. “Someone here to see you.”

  Ryan looked up from his work slowly and squinted his eyes at the two sil
houettes standing in the doorway.

  “Sergeant?” he said, leaning on his rake.

  “A quiet word,” said Giltrap. “I have a friend here who would be interested in purchasing that old Sharps rifle you have.”

  Ryan paused thoughtfully, staring at Ender’s outline. “And why would I want to be separated from a perfectly fine weapon?’

  “Because I’ll give you good money for it,” said Ender.

  “I had that rifle made personal for me up at Bismark,” said Ryan. “Cost me one hundred dollars.”

  “I’ll give you two.”

  “Two hundred dollars!” Ryan blew a whistle. “You must want that gun awful bad.”

  Ender waited silently as Ryan thought it over.

  “You’re that Marshal and scout, ain’t you?” he said. “Lost your lady recently.”

  “I am.”

  Ryan leaned both hands on the rake top and looked keenly at Ender. “I heard what they did. I don’t have much liking for the red man but that was cruel and unnecessary to my way of thinking. Cowardly even. I guess somebody is going to have to pay for that,” he paused waiting for an answer but Ender said nothing. “Tell you what, mister. I won’t sell her to you, I have too much affection for that gun but I will loan her you. You do your business and bring that ‘Betsy’ back safe to me and we’ll say no more about it.”

  Ender smiled thinly. “I’ll do it.”

  “She’s a fifteen pounder with a telescopic sight, fires a .45 caliber shell and she shoots damned straight and over a fair distance.”

  “Sounds good enough, why don’t we say a fifty dollar rental fee?”

  “Okay, I’ll go fetch her, there’s a box of ammo too, if you’ve a mind.”

  “If you can keep it out of sight I’d appreciate it,” said Ender. “Wrap her in a sack or something, will you?”

  “My little beauty comes clothed in a watertight fringed buckskin sleeve,” Ryan chuckled.

  “Very well, get ye along, Ryan,” said Giltrap, looking around to see if anybody was listening. “You’re now relieved of stable duty and I think you just earned yourself back your stripe into the bargain.”

  “Why, thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Say nothing to no one,” warned Giltrap.

  Throwing his rake aside the trooper hurried from the stable.

  “Seems a right nice fellow,” Ender allowed, pleased with the result.

  Giltrap shrugged indifferently, “Fair enough, I suppose. Now, is there anything else you’ll be wanting?”

  “Just one more thing….”

  Chapter Six

  In the early hours before they left, the three prepared themselves for war.

  They took out hoddentin, the holy cattail pollen that each carried in a pouch. With it they made offerings to Usen, The Lifegiver, to the ‘Killer of Enemies’, the sun god and to ‘Child of the Water’, the moon goddess both of whom would help them destroy any harmful creatures to mankind. And to Ender’s way of thinking both the Quinlan’s fulfilled that description.

  There were no women to sing them on their way, as was the practice for warriors leaving on a raid, and with that thought he brooded again over the cruel loss of his two Apache brides.

  When the rituals were done and the rising sun cracking the skyline, the three rode out, packed and ready for war. The Indians travelled light, they needed little and apart from their weapons only carried rope, a blanket and canteen. A fire drill for the camp and rations of mescal leaves for roasting and some beef jerky. They knew how to live off the land and there was plenty to find if you knew where to look. Acorns and wild potato, honey and sunflower seeds. The soft inner bark of the pine, pumpkin and the gum of the mesquite. Turkey, quail, rabbits and field mice, even a favorite horse or mule if the occasion arose. The seemingly desolate landscape of Arizona was rich with a surplus to the Apache who had learnt its ways across many generations.

  Peyote carried his Winchester and service revolver, whilst Common Dog had painted his face with a lateral white band and wore an owl-feathered war cap as protection against harm. Slung across his back he had added a bow and quiver full of arrows to his weaponry. Ender kept the Sharps under his saddle along the pony’s ribs and had picked up a new Colt and full ammunition belt at the fort. Each man had a butcher knife at his side and their saddlebags were packed with spare ammunition and the other more exotic item that Ender had finagled out of Sergeant Giltrap.

  Ender rode out front and led the train onto the Butterfield Stage road heading south. Soon though, they moved away from the road and took off across country leaving the trail behind. It was rougher going but Ender wanted no word of their approach to reach Quinlan. He knew the man would be expecting him and would be on the lookout, and for what Ender had in mind a cautious line of attack was necessary.

  He explained his plan to the others when they camped that night in a deep hollow below a range of high hills.

  “The way I see it is this,” he began, the firelight from their small fire lighting the underside of his face and casting deep shadows into his eyes. “The man has taken our women from us so we shall do the same. His wife is a witch, an evil creature full of a sickness that craves to cause pain and takes pleasure in the causing. Quinlan loves this woman in a passionate way, he hungers for her and she means much to him no matter that their love is founded on the basest of instincts. We shall take her and ask him for ransom, this will bring him into the open.”

  “We cannot kill him in his bed?” asked Common Dog.

  Ender shook his head. “His place is a fortress and is too well guarded. He is strong there. This way is better. This way he shall pay before he dies.”

  “So how do we take the woman?” asked Peyote.

  “We must go inside for that unless we see her outside the ranch.”

  “If we go inside surely we can kill him then,” growled Common Dog, he was full of aggression and ready to take any risk to avenge his sisters’ death.

  “No,” said Ender. “I want this one to pay. Not just in gold but in suffering also.”

  “Which is as it should be,” agreed Peyote. “You are wise in this, En-da.”

  “I am unsure,” said Common Dog. “Why play with him? The risk is great, there are many that face us.”

  “You can always return home if you do not agree,” said Ender coldly. “I shall do it this way, with or without you. The woman is the key, it is his weakness, and there we shall strike.”

  “I do not mean…” Common Dog began angrily. “It is just that I want to see his neck under my knife and his scalp on my lance.”

  “So you shall but I understand what troubles you. Think on this though, we are only three and it seems the odds are great against us. We are a small group but there is our advantage. These men expect a mighty party to attack not a mere band of three. They are like all white men, they build a big fire thinking it is the best to heat themselves but it is too big and hot to go near. The Apache builds a small fire to warm himself and which he is able stay close to.”

  Peyote chuckled. “And now the white boy, will tell the Apache the ways of the Apache. You have learnt well, En-da.”

  “But there is one thing more,” said Ender seriously. “None must know of our coming. We must have absolute surprise on our side that is the only way we shall succeed.”

  When they were done discussing, each lay back to sleep for the night. But Ender could not sleep, he lay awake and stared up at the stars above. The vast black void stretched above him scattered with a myriad pinpoints of light. The night was silent, only the steady breathing of his companions beside him audible and Ender soon lost himself in the vastness of the sky above, it’s majestic splendor enveloping him as if in a voluminous blanket of soft silk. He thought again of the man who had taken him in when he had been with the Apache as a child.

  His name had been, Cuchillo Negro, called Black Knife after the way he blackened his weapons in camouflage. A broad shouldered, sinewy man, like most of the other warriors he had been a r
eserved person, demonstrating expressionless features and a distant attitude. A family man already, he had added Ender to his brood and treated him exactly the same as other members of the family. But there had never been any particular show of affection or tenderness shown to Ender.

  One day whilst he was still young and new to the tribe, the council of warriors had sat to discuss some tribal matter and Ender had innocently crawled to sit at the feet of Cuchillo Negro. He craved for attention, for some note of his existence in this world of strangers. Those that had cared for him in the other white world had gone, he knew not where. The Indians around him spoke in an unknown tongue; they ate odd things and behaved in a different way to his earliest experiences.

  Ender was confused by the change in his circumstances and was in need of direction. Instinctively he found his way to Cuchillo Negro. For a long while the Indian ignored him, listening attentively to what was being said in the meeting. And then, quite suddenly, he had reached down and taken the young Ender’s hand in his and held it gently until the meeting was done.

  The thrill that ran through Ender at that touch he would remember the rest of his life. That moment of acceptance had assured his longstanding commitment to the tribe and the People.

  As he looked up at the stars, he knew that Cuchillo Negro, who had long since departed, was up there amongst the multitude of lights that marked each soul no longer on the planet and in his mind, he called to him, asking that he might hold his hand in this venture too.

  A shooting star shot across his vision, a tiny etched line no more than a flash of weak light that came and vanished in a brief moment. It was enough for Ender though. He knew his prayer had been answered and that Cuchillo Negro’s spirit rode with him. The feeling of assured strength that coursed through Ender filled him with a thrill of confidence as he acknowledged the additional power sent to him by his long dead mentor.

  He lay back and closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.

  As if in following his thoughts his dreams replayed his education in the Apache way as a child. How he had learnt to run long distances, his training hard and relentless. With the other boys he had been made to run uphill with a mouth full of water and return with it un-drunk or un-spilled, so he would breath evenly during exertion. He dreamt how he had learnt the art of camouflage amongst the gramma grass and how to scatter at any attack to reconvene at a prearranged rendezvous. To track and leave no trail, to climb like a deer and run on foot for a day without tiring.