Apache Sundown

by Jory Sherman

  Colleen O’Hara pulled a yellow slicker from her saddlebags as her horse sidled up next to Zak’s.

  “I wish we could have rescued Ted when we saw him,” she said. “Do you think we’ll find him again?”

  “Don’t worry. Those men won’t stay long at the line shack after they discover the dead bodies. They’ll ride on, and I know where they’re headed.”

  Colleen smiled. “I won’t be able to see you in that dark slicker when night comes on,” she said. “Do you always wear black?”

  “I’m partial to it.”

  Her raincoat made a sound like a heavy wet shirt on a windblown clothesline as she shook it out and began to pull it on over her clothing.

  “Is that why they call you the Shadow Rider, Zak?”

  “I don’t know why people call me that.”

  “Really?”

  “Indians started it. The Lakota, then the Black-feet, the Cheyenne.”

  “It fits you somehow. You’re quiet. You wear black. You ride a black horse.”

  Scofield and Rivers, the two soldiers on leave from Fort Bowie, put on their dull gray slickers then rode up to Zak, their faces taking on shadows, their eyes bright in the dwindling light. They knew Cody carried the rank of colonel in the U.S. Army, although he was not required to be in uniform. Zak answered only to his immediate superiors, General George Crook and President U.S. Grant.

  “Sir?” Scofield said. “Where are we going, if I might ask?”

  Zak turned in the saddle, pointed to a small hill off to their right.

  “Be full dark soon,” Zak said. “I figure we’ve gained on Trask, stand ahead of him. I want you and Rivers to take that ridge there and just wait. The old stage road is just below it.”

  “What about her?” Scofield asked. “Miss O’Hara, I mean.”

  “She’ll stand out like a lighthouse in that yellow slicker,” Zak said. “Best you keep her back a little and between you.”

  “What do you aim to do, Colonel?” Rivers asked.

  “I’m going to ride into them once the rain starts and bring Lieutenant O’Hara back to that spot. Now, I’m going to backtrack and come up behind Trask.”

  “That sounds mighty dangerous to me,” Scofield said. “You’re one man against what? A dozen or so? They’ll shoot you out of the saddle first time they see you.”

  “We’ll see what that storm does for me,” Zak said. “It’s heading in from the west, and that bunch won’t be looking back much. If there’s wind—and I expect there will be—that rain will sting their eyes like blown cactus spines.”

  He knew he was taking a big risk. But life itself was a big risk, he thought. When a babe was born, that child was at risk until the first breath was taken. After that, it was one risk after another. He had long ago accepted as much; something his pa had told him.

  “Life don’t hand you nothin’, Zak,” Russell Cody had said. “If they shoot at you, pick up a gun. If they chase you, run. If it’s kill or be killed, you be the killer, else you’ll take that last breath and be right back where you started.”

  Good advice, Zak thought. But General Crook was paying him to put his life on the line.

  “You see something wrong, Zak, you fix it before the army’s called in,” the general had told him. “I’m asking a lot, I know, but no more than you’ve already given in the service of your country.”

  Trask had kidnapped a soldier serving in the United States Army. And he was out to stir up trouble among the Chiricahua, who were at peace, at least temporarily. Crook, he thought, would approve of this mission. Especially if he pulled it off and kept the army out of it.

  Now they could all see the lightning and hear the muttering rumble of distant thunder. The air had changed, too, and the wind was picking up, gusting in their faces, rattling the slickers, dislodging small pebbles on the hillside.

  “Zak,” Colleen said as he touched a forefinger to the brim of his hat and turned Nox to the west. “Please be careful. And bring Ted back with you.”

  The way her face glowed in the strange dim light made her look like some statues of the Madonna he had seen. There was a radiance in her that made her skin appear soft and silky. He felt a tug in his chest as if an unseen talon had pulled gently at his heart. For a schoolteacher, he thought, she was mighty pretty, and those eyes of hers seemed to bore right through him, in a gentle, caring way. Such thoughts were uncommon to him, and he knew he could not afford to be distracted by them. He tried to shake them off and not look at her inviting lips.

  “If you’re shot at,” Zak said to all three of them, “shoot back.”

  His voice was sterner than it had to be, he knew, but it was the only way he could override his growing feelings for Colleen O’Hara. She seemed to gather that faint light to her, gray light that she turned into a translucent shade of pearl.

  And then he was gone. As the dusky twilight melted into night, the clouds blackened to coal and lowered, as lightning flashed silver warnings in the west. Colleen watched Zak disappear into the darkness and sighed deeply as Scofield and Rivers turned their horses toward the dim hill that rose above a road only Zak had known was there.

  Zak knew he had to be some distance ahead of Trask. He figured they would stop at the first line shack, grub up, and then put their horses into a mile-eating canter. He would not have long to wait, he knew.

  Nox was tired, and for a while he let the horse walk in his quiet, careful way. He turned toward the road, saw its faint outline, and rode toward a spot where broken hills came together in a jumble. He crossed the road and found the perfect place, a place where he could not be seen when the outlaws rode by.

  He hoped the storm would hit before he spotted Trask, but knew it might be tight. Still, the thunder was growing louder and more frequent, and the bursts of lightning gave him glimpses of the road for a good quarter mile or so. The wind stiffened and Nox bobbed his head at every rattle of rock, every rustle of desert flora. The road was empty.

  Fifteen minutes later, Zak felt a dash and a sprinkle of rain. The clouds descended still lower and the wind picked up, steady, with brisk gusts that peppered his eyes with grit, stung the skin on his face. He pulled his hat down tighter on his head, slid his bandanna up from around his neck to cover his face.

  Nox lifted his head and turned toward the westering stretch of road, his ears hardening to stiff cones, twitching ever so slightly. Beneath the rumble of thunder, Zak thought he heard hoof-beats. Then a streak of lightning coursed the clouds and exploded into silvery ladders. A second later the crack of thunder told him the storm was less than a mile away.

  Rain splashed his face, soaking through the bandanna, and then he was caught in a steady downpour. Lightning threaded the clouds and the thunder boomed. He could hear water starting to run down the little hills, but the ground was dry where he sat his horse. He rummaged in his saddlebag and pulled out the pistol he had taken from one of the men he had killed. He slid it behind his belt so that he could get to it easily when the time came.

  The rain streamed down in thick heavy sheets, and visibility dropped to a few measly yards. The sound of hoofbeats faded as if they had never existed, but he knew Trask was coming, riding his way, perhaps more slowly now that the storm had struck.

  Zak patted Nox on the neck to calm him and strained his eyes, squinting to keep the rain from stinging them as he gazed hard down the road. He slid the bandanna back down around his collar and felt the icy drip of water stream down his back. He wiped his eyebrows and eyelids with a swipe of his sleeve and dipped his head, water cascading off the brim of his hat like a small watery veil.

  The road turned slick, glistened under the lightning flashes, and then began to boil mud as the water soaked into the ground.

  The first rider emerged out of the rain, but Zak could not identify him. Then the others plodded into sight. The riders were strung out in a long ragged line. He was looking for one man, and when he saw him, knew what he must do.

  Ted O’Hara rode with his he
ad down, another man close behind him but losing ground. Trask had already gone by, holding one hand above his eyebrows to shield his face from the rain. The wind lashed and spattered rain in all directions as it swirled in the teeth of the storm.

  Zak eased Nox out of the little box they were in, drifting onto the road so slowly that he hoped the dark shape of horse and man would not be noticed. He mentally pictured himself and Nox as a large shadow.

  And that’s what he and Nox were, a shadow among shadows.

  Chapter 4

  The rain pelted down hard, as if poured from a giant bucket in the sky. The wind, funneled through rocky hills on both sides of the road, blasted horses and men with a savage ferocity.

  As Zak got into line with the outlaw riders, he saw that their heads were bent down. They were looking straight down, their backs hunched like mendicants, not looking around them. He rode at their pace, but tapped Nox’s flanks with his spurs, easing gradually up among them until he was riding alongside O’Hara.

  Zak stretched a hand to touch Ted on the arm, and the lieutenant turned toward him, head still bowed. Zak squeezed his arm twice then withdrew his hand and gestured for him to follow. To his relief, Ted complied and began to drift toward him.

  When Ted was close enough, Zak pulled the Colt from his waist and handed it across to him, and he grabbed it as a drowning man would grasp a hank of driftwood. Ted held the pistol tight against his middle, his thumb on the hammer of the single-action. He looked over at Zak quickly but could not see his face. All he saw was a man dressed in black riding a black horse.

  Zak saw an opening in front of Ted, crossed over and began drifting left toward the other side of the slick, muddy road. He looked back and saw that Ted was following him, as he’d hoped the lieutenant would.

  Jesse Bob Cavins, who had been riding with head down behind Zak, looked up just then, pointed at Ted and yelled, “The soldier’s gettin’ away!”

  Zak drew his pistol, cocked and aimed it in one smooth motion, then squeezed the trigger. As the gun roared, Cavins reared back in the saddle, clutching his stomach. He gurgled and then his saddle emptied as he fell to the ground.

  “Come on, Ted,” Zak yelled, already riding toward a gap in the low hills off to his left. He glanced up and saw the yellow raincoat atop the next rise.

  The outlaws began yelling and drawing their pistols.

  Ted turned and fired at the nearest one, Al Deets. The orange flame from the muzzle of his pistol lit the night and painted his face with a sudden bright flash of orange. Rain fell thick and strong as pistols cracked and bullets whistled over Ted’s head. He followed Zak through the narrow gap between hills.

  From atop the next hill, Zak heard the sharp reports of the Spencer carbines, and then a short bark that sounded like a pistol; O’Hara’s, he guessed. Men screamed and the line of riders broke up and scattered. He picked out a man turning his horse and fired at him, squeezing the trigger of the Walker Colt. The man jerked, then fell from his saddle. His foot caught in one stirrup and the horse dragged his flopping body away.

  More shots sounded and bullets whined off sodden rocks next to where Zak and Ted sat their horses. Ted fired at one of the Mexicans and saw him throw up his hands, then slump dead in the saddle.

  “Where in hell is Trask?” Zak yelled, his eyes straining to see through the rain and the dark.

  “He rode off, I think,” Ted yelled across to Zak. “Who’s that shooting from up on that ridge?”

  “Two soldiers and your sister, Colleen.”

  “Colleen? She’s here?”

  Zak didn’t answer. Another man made a dash toward them, his six-gun barking, orange flame spewing from the barrel.

  “Too bad you didn’t follow your boss,” Zak said, then dropped him with a single shot. The man tumbled out of the saddle and landed with a splash in a puddle of water.

  Zak took off again, pushing Nox up the steep hill and toward the ridge on top. He heard the faint pounding of hoofbeats as the riders fled, leaving their dead behind. He listened to the rain and the wind, then wiped his eyes. He surprised Ted when he turned around and abruptly stopped. He reached into his saddlebag, pulled out a bundle and handed it to Ted.

  “Put this on when you have a chance.”

  Ted looked down at the bundle in his hands. It was his own shirt. The bars on the shoulders lit up with a flash of lightning. He stuffed the shirt inside his raincoat.

  Zak eyed the road below, making sure that Trask’s men were indeed riding away.

  When he turned around, Ted had his slicker off and was removing the shirt his captors had given him. He tossed the shirt to the ground, put on his regulation shirt, then slipped back into his soogan.

  “Let’s go find your sister,” Zak said, the wind whipping the words from his mouth.

  Moments later, Ted and Zak were on top of the hill. Colleen ran up to them, slipping a pistol back into her waistband. She held out her arms and collapsed in her brother’s arms when he dismounted, and he hugged her tightly as Scofield and Rivers watched.

  “They run like rabbits,” Rivers said, looking down at the road.

  “Plumb gone, lickety-split,” Scofield said, grinning.

  “I wonder if either of you got a shot at Ben Trask,” Zak said.

  “He the one who lit out first?” Rivers said.

  “I think so. He might have been.”

  “Lit a shuck before we could level on him,” Scofield said. “But I think we might have dropped one or two apiece. It was like a turkey shoot there for a minute or two.”

  “We need to know who we got,” Zak said. “Ted, I might need you to identify some of them.”

  “I know you hit Cavins with your first shot,” Ted said. “I saw him go down, but I don’t know if he’s dead. He was still squirming around on the ground, last I saw him. You Cody?”

  “Yes. Zak Cody.”

  The two men shook hands, their faces glistening with rain.

  Colleen smiled. “I’m so grateful to you, Zak—”

  “Don’t mention it,” Zak said before she could finish.

  All he could think about just then was that Trask was getting away. As long as he was alive, Zak would not rest. He would pursue him to the ends of the earth if need be. It was army business now, of course, but it was still personal, too.

  “We going down to look at the dead, Colonel?” Scofield asked.

  A bolt of lightning struck nearby. The smell of it filled the air with crackling ozone.

  “We’ll stay up here on high ground until this storm passes,” Zak said. “We go down there, we could drown.”

  “Maybe that Trask feller will get caught in a flash flood and drown hisself,” Rivers said.

  Zak didn’t say anything. He looked at Colleen, who was hanging onto her brother’s arm. He took in a deep breath, let the air out slow.

  He might have been a bit jealous if Ted hadn’t been her brother.

  Maybe he was anyway.

  A woman like that could get to a man.

  He was sure she already had.

  He turned away, put his back to the rain and listened to its dancing song, the drumming thunder in the background. There was so much he wanted to say to Colleen. But now was not the time and this was definitely not the place.

  But there would be another day, and until then, time to think.

  Time to think about so many things.

  Chapter 5

  Lightning stitched latticework across the sky, scratched out trees of silver in the black clouds. The rain drove at them in slanted lances, blown by the hard wind, as they huddled on the ridge. The night was as dark as the depths of a coal mine, and the desert had turned cold.

  Zak Cody shaded his eyes, peered down into the gully below and the road beyond it. With the next flash of lightning, he saw that the gully was empty, except for the bodies of two dead men awash in a muddy torrent.

  The wind swept across the top of the ridge as Cody bent over, his back to the pelting rain, and reloaded his
Colt pistol. The two soldiers, Delbert Scofield and Hugo Rivers, tried to shield Colleen O’Hara and her brother Ted.

  “We’ve got to get off this ridge,” Cody yelled into the teeth of the wind. “Follow me. Lieutenant, lead your horse down behind me.”

  “Call me Ted, will you?”

  Cody didn’t answer.

  “What about Trask and Ferguson, that band of cutthroats?” Ted said, his mouth close to Cody’s ear.

  “Long gone. By now they’re probably in a line shack, out of the weather. I’m more concerned about somebody else right now.”

  “Who?” O’Hara asked.

  “Three Mexicans. Part of Trask’s bunch. They stayed behind to bury a woman. They ought to be up this way about now.”

  “You mean…?”

  “I mean we’ve got to keep an eye on our back trail.”

  “Hard to do. In this storm, I’m lucky if I can see ten feet ahead.”

  “There are other ways to see,” Zak said cryptically.

  Ted looked over his shoulder. Needles of rain stung his eyes and he had to close them and turn his head out of the wind. With a sinking feeling, as if his whole body were subsiding into quicksand, he realized they were all pretty much defenseless against anyone riding up behind them.

  “Let’s go,” Zak said, loud enough for all of them to hear.

  Nox, his black horse, stood hipshot, his hindquarters blasted by wind and rain. He raised his head as Cody took the reins and started down the backside of the ridge.

  “I don’t think I can find my horse,” Scofield said. He and Rivers had left the horses below before climbing the ridge with Colleen earlier, to give Cody cover when he’d gone after Ted O’Hara. “I hope they ain’t run off.”

  Cody said nothing. He held onto Colleen’s hand, and she held onto her brother’s, as the small group inched their way down a rock-strewn slope running with rivulets of water. The footing was slippery, treacherous.

  The wind wasn’t as strong at the foot of the ridge, but Zak knew they’d find no relief until they got to the other side of the hump. First, though, they had to find the horses Colleen and the soldiers had left on the flat.