Trail of Blood

by Paul Green

  As Rachel busied herself, he watched Bill intently. ‘You don’t believe in making things easy for yourself, do you?’

  ‘You can’t blame a man for running when he’s facing a thirty year sentence.’

  ‘It didn’t have to be that way. The governor gave you a chance but you just blew it.’

  By the time Calvert noticed that Rachel was no longer in view it was too late. Picking up the dead bandit leader’s rifle, she brought it crashing down on the back of Calvert’s head and he slumped to the ground. Bill heaved a sigh of relief and looked around for some means to tie the unconscious man up. He spied a rope slung around the saddle of the marshal’s horse and lifted it down. They quickly bound their adversary’s hands and feet and then prepared to leave.

  ‘It’ll be a few hours before he wakes up and then he’ll have to free himself’ said Bill. ‘We’ll leave his horse tied to that tree over there and give it some water.’

  ‘I just hope no outlaws find him before he wakes up’ said Rachel.

  ‘What do you think we are? He has a better chance than he’d have given us’ said Bill. ‘Lawmen usually shoot prisoners who try to escape.’ Then he removed the marshal’s badge and pocketed it. ‘I’ve got a feeling this might come in handy’ he added in response to her puzzled expression. Then they mounted up and set off once more for Albuquerque.

  They passed an uneventful morning before reaching Los Cerillos, a gold mining town of tents and makeshift wooden buildings which had been established earlier that year. Rachel had money with which they purchased supplies and Bill took the opportunity to wash, shave and change into the suit and spectacles she had brought. With the marshal’s badge pinned to his jacket, he certainly did not look like a fugitive and the spectacles made him appear slightly older. Anxious to maintain their distance from Calvert, they pressed on past the Sandia mountains towards Albuquerque.

  By sunset they were a day’s ride from their destination and passed another night under the stars, this time without a fire, before continuing their journey at dawn. There was still no sign of Calvert behind them but Bill was sure he was on their trail. They passed through a wooded area as they climbed higher and entered the foothills of the Sandia Mountains, the snow capped peaks stretching towards a clear blue sky above them. The rocks glowed watermelon pink as the sun dipped below the horizon when they at last entered Albuquerque. They rode past men finishing work on the railroad tracks and the buildings which would form part of the station once it was completed. Adobe buildings clustered around the central plaza and they looked for somewhere to spend the night before spotting a small hotel.

  ‘This looks as good a place as any’ commented Bill.

  ‘I suggest we pretend to be a married couple but don’t go getting any ideas’ Rachel warned him.

  ‘I guess that would avoid suspicion’ he conceded.

  The proprietor, a dapper elderly man who introduced himself as Alberto Jimenez, was only too happy to accommodate the marshal and his pretty young wife. Within a few minutes they were settled into a comfortable room and had learned that there was a stage leaving for El Paso at noon the next day with tickets still available.

  ‘You are lucky that it is not the busiest time of the year yet’ Jimenez explained.

  They were each glad of the opportunity to use a bath tub and there was a screen provided for privacy. After a dinner of beef tortillas and rice, they settled down to sleep, Bill taking the chair and a blanket while Rachel lay in bed.

  Troy Calvert was madder than hell when he finally awoke, trussed up like a fowl for dinner and with his head pounding. Nevertheless, he could not help admiring their pluck, the girl’s especially and the fact that they had left him alive. They probably thought he had no chance of catching up but that was where they were wrong. Free of his bonds within the hour, he followed their trail to Los Cerillos where he traded in his horse for a swifter mount and some information. Once Calvert learned that a young couple had passed through earlier, he was certain that they must be heading for Albuquerque where a stage would take them to El Paso, the border with Mexico and then freedom.

  ‘I have to stop them before they get on that stage’ he told himself, pressing ahead despite the hammering inside his skull. He did not stop until it was dark and rose before dawn to continue. Pale moonlight guided his weary horse into town and the hotel keeper was just about to shut up for the night when he arrived.

  ‘I have one tiny room left, up in the attic’ Jimenez explained. ‘I am afraid this is only a small hotel, Senor.’

  ‘That’s alright. I’ll take it. Tell me, has anyone else arrived today?’

  ‘Oh yes, a delightful young couple got here a few hours ago. It was a marshal and his wife. I noticed something odd about them though.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘The young lady wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.’

  Calvert smiled. ‘Perhaps she lost it. Some ladies have a habit of doing that, you know.’ He decided it was best not to take the man into his confidence. After all, he might inadvertently give something away by his manner towards them if he knew the truth. No, he would handle this his way, the marshal decided.

  Bill passed an uncomfortable night in his chair, sleeping fitfully. He awoke with a start shortly after dawn when he sensed someone behind him. The muzzle of a pistol was pressed against the back of his head before he had time to reach for a weapon.

  ‘You should lock your door at night’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘Don’t you ever quit, Calvert?’

  ‘Not until the job’s done.’

  Rachel stirred in the bed and then sat up with a start when she saw the marshal.

  ‘You’d better go behind that screen over there and get dressed, Miss Adams. We’ll be leaving shortly.’

  ‘If we all go back to Santa Fe you’ll never catch the man you’re really after or see any of the money he stole’ she told him.

  ‘I’m not falling for any of your tricks. I know you’ve decided to run for the border’ replied Calvert, shaking his head.

  ‘Tell him, Bill. We can make a deal’ she pleaded.

  ‘There are no deals to be made’ said Bill. ‘The governor offered me a pardon and I turned it down.’

  ‘Come on, we’re wasting time here.’ The marshal was becoming irritable.

  ‘Do you really think you can get us all the way back to Santa Fe without any trouble? Wouldn’t you rather catch the man who’s behind it and get the money back?’ asked Rachel.

  Calvert hesitated, suddenly intrigued. ‘Go on’ he urged her.

  ‘We’re not heading for Mexico, at least not right away. Bill knows where the man who stole the money is and that’s where we’re headed. Now, what would you offer us in return for helping you to catch that man and find the money?’

  Calvert considered this for a moment. ‘Do that and I’ll let both of you go. Now who is this man and where is he?’

  It was Bill who answered. ‘He goes by the name of Brad Gunter. He told me he had business in Johnston, a little town about twenty miles from El Paso.’

  Calvert nodded and sheathed his weapon but quickly removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and fastened Bills wrist to the bedstead next to him.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ demanded the younger man, angrily.

  ‘Okay, here’s the deal’ said the marshal. ‘You remain my prisoner until we get to Johnston. If you try to run I’ll shoot you and if you don’t deliver you’ll both go straight back to Santa Fe. Is that clear?’

  They exchanged looks and then nodded their agreement.

  ‘That’s settled. Now, hurry up and get dressed, Miss Adams.’

  Chapter Four

  Alberto Jimenez was shocked to see the apparently respectable young couple leaving the hotel at gunpoint.

  ‘Impersonating a US marshal is a criminal offence’ said Calvert by way of explanation as they all left, leaving the hotelkeeper staring open mouthed after them.

  ‘I’ll go and get the tickets f
or the stage’ said Rachel.

  ‘Not so fast’ replied Calvert. ‘I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.’

  ‘Oh come now, Marshal. I’m hardly likely to run off without Bill am I?’ she said, pleadingly. ‘There’s a coffee shop across the street and none of us have had breakfast. Why don’t you take your prisoner over there and wait for me?’

  ‘Okay but don’t take too long’ he told her.

  A breakfast of ham, eggs and coffee followed Rachel’s return ten minutes later although Bill found it difficult to cut up his food while wearing handcuffs. Finally they boarded the stage, Bill attracting some unwelcome stares from their fellow passengers and set off on the first leg of their journey.

  The next few days proved to be an uncomfortable time in the cramped confines of the concord coach, the wheels tumbling over a series of narrow, dusty roads. They passed through the towns of Belen and Socorro, heading towards Las Cruces, their last stop before reaching El Paso. It was as they emerged from a craggy landscape scattered with extinct volcanoes and entered the more fertile Mesilla valley, that the Apaches struck. The first warning came when the man riding shotgun let out a cry of alarm and began firing. Calvert was sitting next to the window and peered out before alerting his fellow passengers. He quickly removed a key from his pocket, unlocked Bill’s handcuffs and gave him back his gun.

  ‘Are you really going to release that criminal?’ demanded the timid looking clerk seated across from them.

  ‘He’s not a murderer’ protested Calvert ‘but he’s a damn good shot. You can either take your chances with him or with those Indians out there.’

  ‘I thought these attacks had all finished’ said the young mining engineer who sat next to the clerk.

  ‘Fort Craig is nearby but it’s closed at the moment and there are no soldiers stationed there’ explained the storekeeper who was returning to his home in El Paso after a trip away.

  Calvert was now firing out of the window at the Apaches, their bloodcurdling cries growing louder as they drew near. Bill squeezed in opposite him, shoving the terrified clerk out of the way and began shooting. Rachel and the mining engineer positioned themselves at the other window and soon the sound of gunfire echoed around the coach as the driver frantically tried to increase his speed, whipping the horses into a fury.

  They were being pursued by a band of about twenty warriors but Bill was able to pick off three of them and Calvert two. Nevertheless, the enemy continued to gain on them until their war painted faces could clearly be seen while bullets and arrows began hitting the coach. Some ricocheted inside and the timid looking clerk stiffened in his seat as one ripped into his stomach, blood pooling on the seat around him as he died. Suddenly, the canvas roof was ripped aside by a warrior armed with a knife who had leaped nimbly on to it from his horse. Rachel screamed, firing her weapon upwards as she did so and the Apache tumbled off with a cry of pain.

  One member of the band rode past the coach and then drew in near the horses, aiming to mount the one in front and cut the reins. Bill leaned further out of the window to take aim and the man threw up his arms as the bullet hit him between the shoulders. He saw with dismay, however, that the driver had been hit and had slumped over the reins. His companion was now driving the coach and there was no-one shooting at the Apaches from outside the vehicle. Bill’s mind was made up in an instant and, shoving the pistol into its holster, he squeezed through the gaping hole in the roof to climb up beside the man now driving. Then he picked up the shotgun and started firing.

  Three more Apaches tumbled from their mounts as his shots hit home but the distance between the coach’s inhabitants and their pursuers had narrowed dangerously. The mining engineer was hit in the throat by an arrow as he leaned further out of the window to get a better aim. His body slumped against the door, causing it to open and then fell out under the thundering hooves of the Apaches’ horses. Only half of them were left but they showed no signs of giving up the chase. The limited food supplies available to them on whatever protected lands or reservation they came from probably ensured that they were desperate and inclined to be more reckless than usual.

  Another warrior leaped on to the swaying vehicle and Bill smashed the shotgun into his face so that he fell back and tumbled under the wheels to his death. Then the driver beside him let out a choked cry as a knife was embedded in his back. Bill shot the culprit in the chest as he turned but did not have time to dodge the blow from a club hurled at him by another warrior. Momentarily stunned, he fell from the coach as the rifle dropped from his grasp and there was a brief moment in space before he rolled as the ground rose up to meet him.

  When he came to, Bill found that he had rolled down a slope away from the road. There was a dull ache in his head and his limbs felt stiff after the fall but he seemed to be unhurt otherwise. The sound of screaming brought him back to his senses and he scrambled hurriedly up the slope, reloading his pistol as he did so. Bill was horrified to see that the coach had now been brought to a halt with dead passengers hanging out of the open doors. Just ahead of it, Rachel stood in the centre of a group of laughing Apaches who tossed her between them, ripping her clothes as they did so. Fighting down the tide of nausea that rose up in his throat, he steadied himself and fired six shots in quick succession, knowing he must make each one count.

  Three warriors had their backs to him and were each hit with a bullet between the shoulders while a fourth fell back with a hole between the eyes as he threw a knife. The fifth reached for his weapon and went down with a shot through the heart while a sixth man was ready to fire when Bill emptied the chamber into his lungs. Blood gushed from the warrior’s mouth as he fell to the dust in a crumpled heap. One Apache was left standing and there was no time to reload as the man rushed at him. Bill hurled his empty gun at the screaming face but his adversary dodged the blow. They fell to the ground as the Indian cannoned into him and then a tomahawk was raised to strike his head. He lashed out wildly with his boot and the Apache fell back with a grunt. Bill hauled himself to his feet and quickly moved aside as the tomahawk came towards him once more. Then he grabbed the warrior’s arm and swung it back hard against the coach, cracking the man’s elbow so that he howled in pain. Pressing home his advantage, he then brought his knee up into his enemy’s crotch with all the force he could muster before picking up the discarded tomahawk and shattering the Apache’s skull with it.

  Bill stumbled forward and a weeping, dishevelled Rachel collapsed into his arms. They stood, holding each other tightly until her sobs gradually subsided. Then he gently wiped her tear stained face as she looked up at him.

  ‘I saw you fall and I was so afraid that you were dead’ she told him.

  ‘It’ll take more than a bunch of Apaches to kill me.’

  Rachel nodded towards the coach. ‘They weren’t so lucky.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess we’d better bury them’ said Bill.

  As they dragged the bodies out of the coach, there was a noise. Bill stopped suddenly and bent down, then heard it again. It sounded like a groan and it was coming from the body of Troy Calvert.

  ‘Come on, he’s still alive!’ he told Rachel excitedly and they pulled him clear of the tangled mass of bodies. There was a purple bruise appearing on the side of the marshal’s head where he had received a glancing blow from a tomahawk or rifle butt. Otherwise, he appeared unhurt.

  ‘Get him some water’ urged Bill as Calvert slowly opened his eyes and Rachel put a canteen up to the man’s lips. He swallowed some before spluttering and trying to sit up.

  ‘Take it easy’ Bill told him. ‘The fighting’s over.’

  To his surprise, the lawman smiled at him. ‘It looks like Governor Wallace was right after all’ he said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I was listening at the door that time I took you to see him. The governor figured you’d go for redemption, not revenge and here you are. You could have run off after Gunter and the money but you didn’t. A man likes to be
proved wrong every now and again.’ Then he struggled into a sitting position.

  ‘We haven’t caught up with Gunter yet’ replied Bill.

  ‘You’ll do the right thing when that happens. I reckon you’re better than either of us thought.’

  ‘Not better than I thought’ said Rachel. ‘I’ve always had faith in you, Bill.’

  ‘Well, that faith will be put to the test soon enough but right now we have to bury these bodies and get out of here.’

  When they had finished their grim task, Bill drove the battered and dusty coach on to Las Cruces where they reported what had happened. They then completed the last leg of their journey on horseback, stopping overnight in El Paso before they finally arrived in Johnston.

  ‘This place doesn’t look much’ remarked Calvert. ‘Are you sure you’re not mistaken?’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Gunter was definitely coming here. Why lie to a man you intend to kill?’

  Rachel pointed to the hotel, constructed in a southern colonial style which looked oddly out of place in its drab surroundings. ‘At least there’s somewhere decent to stay.’

  ‘I hope we won’t be here that long’ said Bill. Then all three came to a halt as they were confronted by a horrific sight in the centre of town. A black man stood stripped to the waist, his wrists bound to a wooden post, while a crowd of onlookers watched him being whipped. The lash sang through the air before landing with a sickening crack that tore flesh from the victim’s bones with every stroke. The wiry individual wielding it showed every sign of enjoying his work, his vulpine features twisted into a grimace of delight. However, this quickly turned to surprise and then rage when a single shot from Bill left him holding only the whip handle.

  ‘You just made a big mistake.’

  ‘You’ll make a bigger one if you go for that gun’ Bill told him.

  The man hesitated but then let his right hand drop to his side. Rachel pointed at the tin star pinned to his chest.

  ‘Aren’t you a lawman of some sort? How can you justify such terrible conduct, whipping a man like that?’