CRAZY HORSES: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 2)

by David J. West

  “You wouldn’t know any way for me to get in there without them knowing, would you?”

  The old man shook his head again, “No.”

  “Anybody passing through today, you think?”

  “No.”

  “All right, if you had to get in there what would you do?”

  The old man grinned. For a moment, Porter thought he had an answer, but then he said, “I wouldn’t go.”

  “Thanks, you’ve been a heap of help.”

  The old man gave a chuckle saying, “You have a heap big problem.”

  Porter shook his head.

  The old man seemed to ponder a moment, he scratched his ears and looked away to the northwest. “Maybe if you help the Diné. We give you help.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Make crazy horses and you give me fort.”

  Porter furrowed his brow. “How exactly are you going to do that? Do you mean their horses down there?” Even at this distance he could see at least ten horses penned beside the fort.

  The old Indian shook his head with a grin. “No, those are my horses. But I can help you, if you give me fort.” He beckoned for Porter to follow him.

  “Help me get my friends and, yes, you can have the fort.”

  Thinking this was a fool errand from a crazy old man, Porter grudgingly followed, leading his horse. They walked up and down few gullies and back up a steep rise of jagged rock and scrambled up over the top. When they reached the zenith, Porter stopped in amazement.

  Spread out below them was small village, but with a massive herd of horses. There were hundreds. It was quite a sight in the early mornings light.

  “Crazy horses riding everywhere,” said the old man with pride.

  Porter took off his hat in astonishment. “You old fox. You didn’t need my hardtack, you’re a king out here.”

  The old man shrugged.

  “When can we do your distraction?”

  “Dusk.”

  “I don’t like waiting that long to help my friends, but I suppose it will have to do.”

  ***

  It was midafternoon when a familiar face rode up to Porter and the old man as they sat upon the hill.

  “Redbone. Glad, you came back,” said Porter. “This here is—”

  But Redbone didn’t let him finish before he snapped, “Why didn’t you come with me?”

  Porter stood, agitated, remembering all the anger and frustration he felt the night before at Redbone’s impetuous chase. “You damn fool, you could’a waited for the rest of us. If you hadn’t been so hard-headed you would have noticed sooner that the riders double backed.”

  “Without my daughter!”

  “We don’t know that. Even if they did, we need to find out who they sold her too.”

  Redbone fumed and made as if he would strike out at Porter, but the long-haired gunfighter leaned in toward him as if expecting it. The old man intervened.

  “Good men need to help one another, not fight when the dark ways rise. Much darkness down there. No fight ourselves.”

  “He’s right,” grumbled Porter.

  Redbone relented and stepped back. He grumbled and sat down a few paces away. “I cannot wait forever.”

  “And we aren’t going to. Chief Dan here says there is a lot of bad medicine involved and we need all the help we can get. Him and his boys are going to give us a distraction to get down there and raise some hell. It’s risky but it’s all we’ve got. Ain’t no cavalry coming but us.”

  “Cavalry? No, blue coats, no good.” Redbone said, with his hand making a chopping motion.

  “My mistake. It’s a figure of speech, let it go.”

  Redbone rubbed at his sore jaw and held out his empty canteen. Porter nodded and tossed him his. “We got a deal going. We take care of whoever is inside and let Chief Dan here keep the fort as he sees fit.”

  “But it is on Ute land.”

  “Navajo,” countered Chief Dan.

  “We need his help. I don’t give a damn whose land you think it is, right now for the help it’s going to the Navajo.”

  Redbone clearly didn’t like the deal, but he nodded. “Navajo.”

  ***

  Sunlight peeked through the open chinks in the stone, and wind gave a cool bit of breath into what was otherwise a stifling chamber. Roxy looked around. The others were awake, but sitting quietly propped up against the walls.

  “Thought I’d let you sleep. I figured it was good if at least one of us could,” said Quincy.

  “I don’t think I fell asleep til dawn. Too much worry.”

  “I hear you,” said Quincy. He subtly motioned for Roxy to steal a glance. One of the Mexican bandits watched and listened from just to the side of the threshold. Quincy held up a hand with two fingers, signaling there were two men on each side of the threshold. Roxy nodded and held up her bound hands with a wistful look.

  Quincy chuckled, and whispered, “You’re right. I almost forgot they got us trussed up like turkeys. Still, I want to be ready. We know the long-hair is gonna come with guns blazing.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  They heard Matamoros coming closer, speaking to one of his men. “Look, now that we have her back, he can have both the blondie and this redhead too. I think Senor Mala Cosa will like them very much. We can probably ask for double. Yes?”

  The fat bandit with Matamoros had cartridge belts slung crisscross over his body. A scar over his left eye gave him a lazy, yet sly, demeanor. He grinned lasciviously at Emily. “Maybe, she should stay with me here. I would pay you.”

  Matamoros, who had seemed almost amiable just a moment before, flew into a rage. “Are you mad? I already delayed in giving Mala Cosa what he wanted once, I can’t do that again. He wants the blondie, he gets the blondie.”

  The fat man backed away, but then puffed out his chest. “You are so afraid of this Mala Cosa. I am not!”

  “Because you know nothing!” countered Matamoros. “He has dark powers. You are better off not knowing, you great fool!”

  The fat man scowled and struck one his underlings standing guard at the door. “I am not afraid, no matter what you say,” he bellowed, but then stormed off so he couldn’t be stuck in the tirade.

  Matamoros stuck his head inside the chamber and leered a long moment. “We have great plans for you, my friends. Great plans. I will redeem myself with you.” Then he was gone.

  “What did he mean redeem himself with us? Is he going to let us go?” asked Emily wiping a tear from her eye.

  Roxy shook her head, and blew a piece of straw that dangled from her hair away. “No. He means to sell us to someone he owes a favor too, to get back in their good graces.”

  “Oh.” The single word tumbled from the girl’s mouth, pushed out by a head full of despair.

  Quincy craned his neck to look through a gun port behind him. He saw the bright sunlight and rolling hills of the high desert. “A storm is coming. Porter will bring the blood and thunder just you wait. We’ll get out of this.”

  24. Crazy Horses Riding Everywhere

  The waiting dragged on forever as the sun ticked across the sky. Finally, Chief Dan said it was time. His sons were guiding the herd around the bend far to the south of the fort. Once they crossed over the hills, they would get the horses running alongside the river in a mad thunder. It was dangerous, but the chaos, dust and confusion would grant a semblance of concealment, if not cover, for Porter and Redbone to get close to the fort. Then the hard part would begin.

  Porter hoped his friends were still alive and in decent health. Hard to say what Matamoros might have done to them at this point. Considering he hadn’t killed them outright back at the camp, well, Porter was going to take that as a good sign, at least as good a sign as could be expected out in this cursed, strange land.

  Porter and Redbone mounted their own horses, but let themselves be overtaken by Chief Dan’s herd. Hundreds of horses moved across the valley, bringing the drumming of hooves with
clouds of dust in their wake.

  Chief Dan chanted a song in his own tongue and beat a drum, while also waving a smoking branch of sage. That he could stay in the saddle while doing it all was testament to what a fine horseman he was.

  Porter rode up beside him and asked, “What are you singing?”

  “I am sending a message to the good spirits, to guide and protect us and the Crazy Horses.”

  Porter just looked at him.

  “They like the song too,” said Chief Dan.

  The herd moved in unison now at a fast trot. Even the clouds overhead seemed to be moving faster than usual and a cool breeze waved in their favor. Despite the crazed chaotic plan, Porter had a good feeling about it. Chief Dan’s song seemed to rally a whole lot of good will into everything.

  “When we get closer, we will go faster,” said Chief Dan, with a wild grin. “More thunder, more dust, more crazy!”

  Porter could barely see the fort rising in the distance ahead of the herd. The Chief’s sons urged the animals on and the body moved faster and faster. The ground reverberated with the constant pounding of hooves.

  ***

  Inside the fort, everyone heard the dull thud like a giant’s steps approaching. The bandits watched out the windows and gun ports and shouted in amazement and fear.

  “There are a bunch of crazy horses running toward us!”

  “Eh?” gasped Matamoros, going to look for himself. “Ay yiyi. Dios mio. What is happening?”

  In their makeshift cell, Roy, Quincy and Emily felt the tremor of the horses’ approach and heard the wild neigh of the herd coming closer.

  “Didn’t I say he would bring the thunder?” said Quincy.

  ***

  The dust choked them, but Porter and Redbone both gritted their teeth, spat and kept their heads down. The herd raced past the fortress and gunfire sounded from the bandits, attempting to scare the horses away.

  There were far too many of Chief Dan’s crazy horses for them all to be persuaded to move away or killed, the stampede of so many behind kept a steady flow rumbling past.

  Porter and Redbone became separated in the confusion. Redbone found himself beside the fort and he leapt from his saddle to the sod roof. He drew his tomahawk and pistol, and ran over the top until he was looking down into the courtyard.

  There were at least a half-dozen of the Mexican bandits and Apache within the courtyard, but they were all looking out the windows at the horses. How they missed spotting him, he never knew. He took careful aim at three of the bandits crowded together, guessing that while his marksmanship was not the best, he would still hit them.

  Opening fire failed to cause as much chaos as he expected. Between their own firing at the horses and the incredible dull roar, three men fell dead or wounded before any of the others noticed they were being attacked.

  When a bandit did notice, he shouted to his compadres that an Indian was on the roof. Without time to reload, Redbone did the insane thing and threw his empty pistol at the bandit to throw off his aim. As the man ducked, Redbone leapt to the courtyard with his bowie knife and tomahawk. He caved in the bandit’s skull then ran at the next man, tearing him asunder. He dodged the last bandit’s wicked aim with a rifle and sunk his tomahawk into the bandit’s neck. With all his foes dead, he rushed inside urgently searching for Kimama.

  Reaching a small chamber, Redbone saw Roxy, Quincy and Emily inside. He cautiously entered, then cut Roxy’s bonds, and started on Quincy’s. Before he could finish, or get to Emily, a bandit shot into the chamber and they all threw themselves against the walls to avoid being hit.

  “Where is Porter? Can you get me a gun?” shouted Quincy, over the din, still waving his bound hands.

  Redbone shook his head, holding up his only two weapons.

  Quincy cursed, still feeling useless in the fray.

  ***

  Porter made it to the fort, but despite the chaos he was spotted. Bandits fired at him and his horse spooked and bucked him off. He tumbled into the dirt amidst the stamping hooves of scores of horses. Clouds of dust granted some concealment, but no cover from the flying lead. A horse screamed and tumbled over beside him in its death throes.

  He rolled, got up and threw himself against the fort’s stone wall. A bandit stuck his pistol out a small gun port to reach around the side and shoot Porter, but the wily gunslinger grabbed the man’s arm, pulled and broke it, while disarming his foe. Pointing it back into the gun port, where he still held the trapped arm, he shot the bandit with his own gun.

  Waiting for a brief respite from the swarm of lead, Porter ran around the side of the fort, hunting for another way in. He knew that this place wouldn’t be quite as hard to get through as the traditional forts of the Americans. These were of stacked stone with multiple windows and great beams to support the roof and at times, keep the walls from settling and falling. It was a precarious balance where settling of the foundation occurred.

  After shooting another bandit that leaned too far out one of the windows, Porter went and crawled through the same.

  Inside the courtyard, a quick, furious gunfight made the bandits retreat. They closed big double doors and sealed off the rest of the fort from Porter’s position.

  He brainstormed what he could do. A beam was planted against the wall over the doorway and stretched out almost twelve feet to the outside wall. Porter looped a rope about the beam and tossed it to Chief Dan who had just ridden up outside.

  The old man nodded, looped the rope about his saddle and had his mount pull away, forcing a big section of the stacked wall to come down. The tumbled walls also freed one of the doors which lurched onto its side.

  Amid the ruckus, two bandits rushed in with guns blazing, but were met by Porter’s lead. They fell down wounded, only to get their skulls crushed by the last couple falling stones. Porter slipped inside the fort, pushing through the gap where the two had come from.

  ***

  Hearing a terrible commotion on the opposite end of the fort, the shooting let up just enough for Redbone to rush out and chop into another of the bandits. He glanced about for a gun to arm Quincy, but saw nothing but the pistol the dead bandit had. Reaching for it he heard a semi-familiar cackle behind him. Matamoros and the fat captain stood a dozen paces away. Each had their guns leveled at him and could have shot and killed him in an instant.

  “You had to come back for more, eh Indio? I will teach you to stay down,” sneered Matamoros. A pair of bandits rushed in, jabbering about Porter being outside. “Then go deal with him! Don’t let him in, you idiots. Kill him!”

  Returning his attention back to Redbone, Matamoros grinned and holstered his pistol, then drew his saber. “Now Indio, just you and me with our blades, eh?”

  Redbone was encouraged. He didn’t like that there were four bandits watching him with their guns drawn, but he felt confident he could kill this slaver snake with his tomahawk and knife, even if the saber had a greater reach.

  They circled each other once in the courtyard. Redbone he had fought many men in just such a situation and only one to what he considered a draw. The others were dead. He leapt in quick, swinging the tomahawk wide and thrusting with the knife, but Matamoros was quicker. He slashed Redbone across the wrist and danced back just out of reach of the two strikes.

  Redbone was astonished at the Mexican’s speed. He suddenly felt like he was the one being toyed with.

  Matamoros taunted, “Again, Indio. Try again.”

  Redbone wiped his bleeding wrist beneath his arm, but it did not staunch the flow. His hand was becoming too slick to hold the knife with a sure grip. Gambling on another attack, Redbone threw the tomahawk. It spun, like wheeling death.

  But Matamoros dodged aside.

  The tomahawk buried itself in a man behind Matamoros and the bandit chieftain laughed as the man died. “You see that?”

  The fat captain looked at him in disgust, but Matamoros shrugged, saying, “He shouldn’t have been standing there.”

  Switc
hing the knife to his unwounded hand, Redbone came in again. Intent on killing this most hated of enemies, he silently charged. But Matamoros again danced away, teasing the Ute, and slapping him on the back with the flat of his blade.

  “Are we almost done?”

  Redbone said nothing, returning to his usual stony expression, hiding pain and worry.

  Matamoros stepped in and slashed a retreating Redbone across the stomach. Redbone crashed to his knees, as the howling pain and blood spilled from him. Then just to be cruel, Matamoros gave him another gash across his other arm and then a wicked cut across his cheek.

  “You see? I can count coup too.”

  The sound of the horses was dying away, since the herd had nearly all passed on down the valley and the desert returned to its natural state. Even the dust clouds had drifted on, but an eruption of sudden gunfire, took out the fat captain and an Apache scout.

  Matamoros wheeled to see Porter inside the fortress. Porter’s gun was aimed at his chest. Porter grinned and pulled the trigger. It went click. His face dropped.

  “Aw, horse chips.” He ducked back through the doorway to reload.

  “Hey, Gringo. You better stop being so unfriendly if you want your friends to live. I have more guns than you, with bullets, and they are all pointed here at your friends. Come on out and we can talk about settling this to the death, just me and you.”

  Porter stepped through the threshold. “Guess it’s my lucky day then.”

  25. Blades

  Redbone lay on the ground, bleeding out from his wounds. The slash across his wrist was spurting blood while his stomach wounds puddled at his feet. He was growing faint.

  “Someone put some pressure on those wounds or he won’t make it,” growled Porter.

  “So you are next gringo,” taunted Matamoros. “You saw what I just did to your amigo, what do you think I will do to you? The pendejo Indio I could respect, but you?” He spat. “I don’t even like you.”

  Porter patted the butt of his six-shooter. “You want to duel? Let’s duel.”

  Matamoros laughed, but shouted to his men to be sure that they had their rifles trained both on Porter and the others. “I won’t play your games. I have heard how deadly you are with a gun. If we are going to play games, we will play mine. My rules, my weapons. Drop that gun belt or my men will shoot all of your friends.”