The Vengeance of Ender Smith

by Tony Masero

  The training had been hard and merciless but had been softened by the insistence that he trust the mysteries of the unseen world about him. The war shaman’s had taught him something of the esoteric value of mystical medicine and he had seen the truth of their magical ways as he had watched such men predict events before they had happened and determine the proximity of enemies solely by the vibrations felt in their fingertips. In such a way he had come to accept the natural mysteries of his environment and to stay in touch with the subtle shifts of the world in which he had grown.

  The next day early their mission began in earnest as they entered the outlying border country of the Quinlan ranch. They picked their way carefully through hilly country amidst great chimneys of pale rock and as they climbed higher they saw below them the spread of land with its scattered heads of cattle wandering loose.

  It was with surprise that they turned the corner of one particularly large pillar to be confronted by a group of vaqueros enjoying their breakfast in an enclosure, fenced in by a low sloping wall of rock. The wind had blown the scent of their campfire away to the south and the Apaches had received no hint of the group.

  The six men were obviously trail hands preparing to herd the cattle spread out below, their ponies were hobbled to a line and they wore leather chaps and only a few carried hand guns at their waists.

  A cry of alarm came from the first to spot the Apaches and quickly all six made for their stacked rifles.

  Without hesitation, Ender surged forward, drawing his pistol as he went. His pony breasted the first man he came to and knocked him aside. Ender charged on scattering those standing next to the campfire and racing on through the embers, he fired at a vaquero who had managed to get a rifle in his hand.

  The rifleman spun away and Ender twisted the pony around. He saw Peyote firing his Winchester point blank into the man he had knocked down and Common Dog racing past him, his bow drawn and an arrow at the string waiting for release. With a whoop, Common Dog loosed his arrow and a vaquero clutched at his throat as the barb sunk home. Dropping the bow, Common Dog leapt from the pony’s back and launched himself at another terrified vaquero, bringing him to the ground. The two rolled away in a cloud of dust and Ender saw Common Dog’s broad-bladed butcher knife flash and come down heavily.

  One of the cowhands was firing wildly at Ender; he heard the bullets zing by his head. He ducked down alongside the pony’s neck. Slipping under the horse he positioned himself hanging with one leg over the saddle, He fired twice and watched blood spray from the vaquero’s breast before the man dropped.

  Two of the others, were mounting their tethered horses. Swirling the ponies they made a break for it. Peyote took his time and still on horseback, felled the first of the two with a single rifle shot. The Mexican in front was safely away though, protected by the body of his fallen comrade. He broke around the corner of the crop of boulders at the gallop as Peyote’s second shot brought a burst of stone chips after his disappearing back.

  Ender looked around, all the vaqueros were down except the escaped rider.

  “None of them must live to tell of our coming,” he called, slipping from the saddle and drawing the Sharps. In a bounding run, he scaled the rocks at the back of the campsite. Scampering to the summit he looked down and saw the escaping vaquero, evidently a skilled rider, he was looping his pony efficiently around obstacles in the trail. His pony leapt and bounded as he drove the beast at top speed down the rough hillside.

  Ender lay down, spread legged and raised the Sharps. He hunted through the telescopic sight and gauged distance. It was a difficult shot with the rider lurching about and the distance changing with each second. Ender slowly tucked the butt in deep, he knew the kick the heavy rifle would make. He cocked the hammer and slowly released his breath in an even flow. Calming himself, he took his time and allowed the adrenalin to cool in his blood. On the out-breath, he fired, aiming at a spot slightly above the vaquero’s head, hoping the rider would rise into the bullet as he jagged down the trail.

  There was a flying cloud of crimson haloing the vaquero’s head and the man flew forward over the pony’s neck before dropping in a loose bumping pile at the edge of the track. The pony reared and turned sideways, unsure of where to go without a guiding hand at the rein. It stopped and skittered nervously before coming to a standstill.

  Ender reloaded, keeping his eye on the fallen body below him but it made no further movement and he was sure the man was dead. Sliding back down the rock, he called to Peyote.

  “The pony! Bring it back before it makes for home.” With a wave of his rifle, Peyote rode off along the trail to fetch the horse.

  Common Dog was moving amongst the fallen, his bloody knife in hand. Singing a victory song he strode amongst the dead, dropping to his knees now and then as he took a scalp.

  “Not now, Common Dog,” Ender called. “Keep all the horse together, none of them must get away.”

  Ender knew it meant killing the beasts, he did not like to do it but there was no other way. They could not release them to find their way home or leave them hobbled at the site to slowly starve to death.

  When it was done, they rode on. As they passed the dead vaquero on the trail, Ender looked down to see his bullet had taken the rider in the back of the skull and taken his face completely away. It was only a bloody mess of shattered bone and tissue that looked back up at him from the crumpled heap. Ender turned and stared off down the trail ahead.

  There was nothing to say about the slaughter of these innocents and he put the thought from his mind, he considered all the deaths an unavoidable necessity.

  That evening they came to the head of the valley and Ender told them to dismount.

  “From here we go on foot,” he said. “It is heavily wooded and there may be guards, so stay alert.”

  They had seen no other sign of life on the final part of their journey except for the great herds of cattle that roamed the tracts of grassland. To Ender’s way of thinking it was too quiet, he had expected more lookouts and it worried him that they had come this far with only a single accidental encounter with some of Quinlan’s cowhands.

  Leaving the ponies hobbled out of sight in a safe gully they loaded themselves with their saddlebags and canteens and headed into the soft greenery of the verdant valley. Soon they struck the bank of the stream and as daylight dimmed the three followed its course and made their way deep in amongst the trees.

  Peyote stopped suddenly, his hand raised in a quick single jerk. Each of them melted silently into the shadows nearby and crouched down.

  A horseman was approaching. They heard the steady thump of the hooves on the soft earth. Peyote gave Ender a questioning glance and Ender nodded affirmatively. Without a word, Peyote laid aside his rifle and loped off towards the sound of the approaching pony.

  A rider came fast along the trail, his outline flashing between the tree trunks. A Mexican going by his sombrero, Ender decided. He watched Peyote’s silhouette flit from cover to cover, his destination a coinciding path with that of the rider.

  Without missing a stride, Peyote increased the length of his step and in one flowing motion leapt up and flew through the air to hook his arm around the rider’s neck. Allowing his weight to do the work, Peyote swung away and dragged the man down, the pair falling across the pony’s rump. The horse neighed in distress and twisted its head against the pull of the reins. As the two flopped to the ground the pony began to continue on down the trail at the trot and Common Dog chased after it.

  Eyeing the surrounding forest carefully, Ender came up with the Sharps in his hand. Peyote knelt across the fallen vaquero, his knifepoint pressed dangerously deep into the man’s throat.

  “Let him speak,” said Ender quietly.

  “Please, please, senor!” the fallen man pleaded, as Peyote eased off the pressure. “I am nothing. A messenger is all. I have no quarrel with.”

  Ender knelt down and bent over the man, he spoke in a whisper close to his ear.

&
nbsp; “You know who I am?” he asked.

  “Si, senor. You are the man called Smith, the one they beat and then escaped.”

  Ender nodded. “Then you know I am here on a hard business. What is your name?”

  “Enrico, senor. But believe me, on my mother’s eyes. I was not one to take part in the harm they did you.”

  “I see that, Enrico. Be calm, amigo, just tell me how many men has Quinlan in the ranch?”

  The Mexican was shaking, his teeth chattering in fear. Automatically, he copied Ender’s pitch of voice and answered in a whisper.

  “Maybe fifteen or twenty men, I am not sure. Senor, senor,” Enrico begged. “Do not let the Indians kill me, I beg of you.”

  “What message do you carry?”

  “I am to go to Caliente, to see a man called Emmett Crawford. He is to be told to bring his men and come to the ranch, he will be paid well.”

  “Who is this Emmett Crawford?”

  “He is one who lives by the gun, senor.”

  Ender paused thoughtfully. So Quinlan was sending out for more hired guns. He must be running a little scared to do that, Ender considered.

  He looked down again at the Mexican. “There are guards ahead?” he asked, nodding down the trail.

  “Yes,” stuttered Enrico. “But most are in the ranch house.”

  “The senora is there?”

  “She is.”

  “Where does she sleep?”

  “In the tower, senor. They sleep together in the ranch house tower.”

  Ender climbed to his feet

  “You will let me go, senor Smith? I have answered truthfully everything you have asked. I will say nothing of your presence, I swear it.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that, Enrico.”

  Ender turned away with a swift jerk of his head at Peyote, who still squatted across the Mexican’s chest. In one swift motion, Peyote swung the knife down and across the neck below the messenger’s chin. The man gasped and gurgled, his body thrashing as blood pumped from his sliced throat and within minutes he was still.

  Common Dog came loping back down the trail towards them.

  “The pony?” Ender asked.

  “It is done,” said the Indian watching Peyote drag the dead messenger out of sight beneath some bushes. “We are leaving many dead,” he observed casually.

  “This is war,” answered Ender coldly. “There will be more of them before we are finished.”

  “What now?” asked Common Dog.

  “Tonight we rest. We eat and sleep. Tomorrow at daybreak we will find where the lookouts are waiting for us and reconnoiter the ranch house.”

  They ate cold that night. A brace of doves Common Dog had caught earlier in the day with his bow. Uncooked the meat was tough and stringy but it would supply the energy they needed to continue. They refilled their canteens at the stream and climbed the valley side to find a burrow in the undergrowth and sleep for a few hours.

  Ender slept restlessly, his nerves were vibrant with expected battle and he instantly felt the presence next to him as he awoke in the darkness. The shape was a silent shadow against the black night sky and Ender’s hand automatically went for his pistol.

  “It is me, En-da,” said Common Dog, crouching down beside him.

  “What do you want?” asked Ender.

  “I would ask you….” The Indian paused, finding it difficult to continue.

  “Speak,” ordered Ender abruptly. He was in no mood for a midnight chat; he was tired and too fired by the prospect of what they must do in the morning.

  “It is about my sisters,” Common Dog finally managed. “I want to know how it was between you and them.”

  Ender sighed, he guessed then that Common Dog was feeling some sort of remorse for their deaths, his escape being the reason that Ender had not been on hand when the white men had come and ravaged the homestead.

  “It was good,” he admitted. “Catowitch and I found love together. She was a brave and proud woman and we were fine with each other, it was as a hand fits in a glove. Delsay was my sister also, in everything but blood and she was not a wife in that other way. I cared for her, we both did. It was a pleasant arrangement. Catowitch was happy to have her sister with her and it made all our lives together easier.”

  The Indian was gloomy and although Ender could not see his face he heard it in his tone. “It is good you brought happiness into their lives but I feel bad, En-da. I have caused much suffering to my family.”

  “There was nothing anyone could have done,” sympathized Ender.

  “But if you had been there and not chasing me in the mountains….”

  “The last time they came calling it was in a band of ten men. Hell, there’s nothing I could have done against those odds but end up dead. If you want to look at it different, you saved me. Now at least I’m here to pay back those bastards for what they’ve done.”

  “It troubles me though,” grumbled Common Dog.

  “When we are done here you shall go to the shaman, he will clean your spirit for you. But I tell you, these things have been forced on you and except for the shooting of Sanza and the soldier nothing could have been done different.”

  “The soldier means little to me,” growled Common Dog, “He was a white and an enemy. For Sanza, I am sorry. It was not meant to be that way but the sight of that rope waiting to hang me before even you had spoken, well, it made me crazy.”

  “I see that,” agreed Ender. “This is why I have no blood feud with you over Sanza’s death. Anyway,” shrugged Ender. “Now we are both outlaws and in this mess together. For what we are set on doing is certainly outside the law.”

  Common Dog shook his head in the darkness. “You understand these white men and their laws, En-da. I never shall. If a man takes your family from you it is right that you take his from him, is it not?”

  “It is not that the whites see it different, just that they have a process to make sure that the punishment is just. It is a way to bring order where chaos could reign.”

  “But we have lived without that law for many years, why do we need it now?”

  “You do not know the place from where all the white men come, Common Dog. It is a big place across the great water where there are many of them, far more than the Apache can know or number. They have learnt there that without the rule of law there is only murder and continual war.”

  “But now you step outside that law, how can that be?”

  Ender raised himself on his elbow and looked out into the night. “I suppose its because in my heart I am more Apache than white. I see only the here and now and do not think on the white man’s larger scale. These men have offended me, they have taken from me what I loved and cared for. I am impatient, I want to see justice and there is little enough in this country. It will come, believe me, but it has not come here yet awhile.”

  “So we must make our own law,” growled Common Dog. “This is the Apache way.”

  “So we must make our own,” agreed Ender.

  With a satisfied grunt, Common Dog got to his feet and slid away into the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  They rose early and made their way back down into the wooded countryside alongside the stream. In a spread band they walked slowly through the camouflage offered by the trees and undergrowth, their eyes and ears tuned sharply to the natural sounds of the awakening forest.

  Even so, it was the Mexican that surprised them.

  “Who are you?” called the voice from hidden cover.

  Ender looked quickly in the direction of the call as the two Indians on either side of him slid out of sight and melted away amongst the surrounding trees.

  “Ho! Amigo,” he answered in Spanish. “I am a friend.”

  “Come here where I can see,” called the voice.

  His hands in plain view, with the Sharps held away from him, Ender made his way forward into the small clearing before him.

  “Lay down the rifle,” ordered the voice.

  Care
fully Ender lay down the gun. “You see, “ he said. “There is no danger. I am just back from guarding the head of the valley, that is all. I am hungry for breakfast.”

  He had located the hiding place of the Mexican; it was a dense growth of bush on the far side of the clearing.

  “You are alone?” asked the voice.

  “Do I not look alone, tired and hungry? Come, even Quinlan himself must take a break from this stupidity sometime.”

  The Mexican chuckled and climbed to his feet, pushing his way through the cover of the bushes.

  “You are right, amigo,” he agreed with a grin but still keeping his Winchester pointed at Ender. “The whole business is stupid. Why a man who is so rich and powerful like the jefe should spend time worrying over a lone gringo is beyond consideration.”

  The guard slowly crossed the clearing and made his way closer to Ender. He paused suddenly, a puzzled look crossing his face.

  “Wait, do I not know you? We have met before?”

  “Maybe,” shrugged Ender. “At the ranch perhaps, although there are many of us there.”

  Slowly the man’s gaze travelled down Ender’s body until they came to rest on his moccasin boots. His eyes widened and he swung around, desperately searching the wall of greenery around them.

  “You are him!” he growled. “You are the one called Smith. The one the jefe whipped at the post. Who is with you? Answer me quickly.”

  He jabbed the rifle at Ender threateningly.

  “There are two others,” Ender said with tense calmness, watching the rifle and waiting for the man to come within reach.