by Luke Short
“Lieutenant, sir.”
That was Raines. Burke turned and saw Nick Arno, the young half-breed Apache who was chief of scouts, trotting silently through the resting troop. From the waist up, Nick was dressed like a white man, wearing a dun calico shirt, neckerchief and black campaign hat. From the waist down, he was Apache, with breech clout, high leggings, and moccasins. The cast of his broad features was Apache, but his pale coffee-colored skin bespoke white blood.
He hauled up before Burke. “He’s gettin’ ready to fight, Burke,” he said. “He’s run far enough.”
“The far bank of Quartermaster Creek?” Burke asked. This was his hunch, and he saw it confirmed by Nick’s nod. “How many?”
“Sixty or seventy, not counting women and kids. They’re holed up in rocks on both sides of the trail.”
Burke looked beyond the resting troopers and up the timbered trail to the country ahead. The trail, he remembered, climbed over the near ridge he could see, sloped down and crossed an open park to climb again for a higher ridge before it dived steeply into the wide and sandy waterless wash that was Quartermaster Creek. It was on the far bank of the creek, among the vaulting boulders, that Ponce had forted up.
“Don’t cross the creek, Nick,” he said. “Scatter your boys to the right of the trail along the ridge and open up on them. Hold them there, and when you’re set, start back and I’ll meet you on the trail.”
Nick nodded and swung into an easy trot up the trail. Burke went over to Raines.
“Raines, you ride,” Burke said. “The rest of us will walk. No smoking, no talking. Ponce is about three miles ahead. Let’s get going.”
With Byas silently plodding behind him, Burke led the file through the timber to the ridge and over it. The humus of pine needles silenced the footfalls of the horses, and there was only the hushed sound of creaking leather. On the downslope, as the timber thinned, Burke saw the open grassy park he had promised Ervien would make a suitable assembly point, lying still and deserted in the sun.
Once there, Burke almost absently gave the command to fall out while he studied the park. His glance passed over and then returned to the left of the trail at the far edge of the timber.
Byas, from beside him, was studying the park too. He said, “I feel awful naked here, Burke. I keep thinking I see Indians behind trees.”
Burke only grinned and beckoned Raines over to him. He told him to take Callahan and see if they could make their way, mounted, down the wash. “I want to know if we can get through there, mounted, to Quartermaster Creek without being seen. If there’s been anybody down it ahead of you, pull back and we’ll forget it.”
Raines called to Callahan, and the two set out.
As Burke mounted, Byas said, “Hell, Ponce’s got that wash spotted, Burke.”
Burke shook his head in negation. “If we were ’Paches, he might have, Abe, but we’re only dumb soldiers. A goose-trap ambush on the far bank of the Quartermaster is good enough for us. It’s worked on us before, and he thinks it’ll work again.” He lifted his reins, just as the sound of distant scattered fire came to them. He listened a moment, then turned to Abe and grinned, “See?” he said.
“Quartermaster Creek?”
“Far bank.” He put his horse into motion, calling back over his shoulder, “Post lookouts, Abe, and take over, will you?”
He rode across the park and into the timber, and the trail climbed gently again. He felt a curious impatience to examine Ponce’s position, although he already pictured it. He knew, without any cynicism, that Ervien had elected him to pull his chestnuts out of the fire, and he was willing enough to do it. For this was his chance to settle his score with Ponce, as he had promised the Apache he would.
A ten-minute ride brought him just short of the timbered crest where Nick was waiting, standing beside the trail, facing the sound of firing and listening intently.
Dismounting, Burke picketed his pony off the trail and joined Nick, who wordlessly led him angling to the right of the trail into the thinning timber of the crest. Nick crawled up behind a windfall lying across the hump of the ridge; Burke came up, hatless, and bellied down beside him.
Before them, the timber ceased almost abruptly; a field of jagged and tumbled boulders sloped easily down to the steep bank of Quartermaster Creek forty yards away. To his left, and across the wide, sandy, and waterless wash, Burke saw the trail rising steeply to vanish into the boulder field piled high and vaulting on the far bank. Behind the rocks a bare and level sage flat stretched for several hundred yards until the thick timber began again. It was among those boulders on the far bank that Ponce had placed his men on both sides of the trail, waiting contemptuously. Now Burke could pick out the sharp flat crack of Ponce’s Winchesters, which were answered by the muffled, heavier bark of the scouts’ cavalry carbines to his right on this bank.
Nick touched his arm and pointed across the wash to the right and rear of Ponce’s position. Burke saw a column of dust lifting in a slow spiral above the pines, and he knew it was Ponce’s pony herd. He’s keeping them moving in a circle, Burke thought. Bait for us.
Nick said then, “Ponce thinks you’re in jail, Burke. That trap is meant for the others.”
Burke grunted assent. He’d forgotten that, and it would help. He told Nick to keep the scouts in position and firing, so as to make Ponce waste ammunition, adding, “If they move to our left across the trail, send back word.”
Returning to his horse, Burke mounted. The rightness of the plan he had half-formed in his mind was confirmed by what he had seen. If only Raines’s report was favorable. Impatient now, he lifted his horse into a canter down the trail to the assembly point.
* * * *
As he rode into the park, he saw that I, L, and M Troops had arrived and dismounted, and were scattered across the park in the hot sunshine, roughly holding formation. The officers, dismounted beyond his own K Troop in the middle of the park, were gathered in a loose circle around Ervien, who was still on his horse.
Burke rode straight for his troop. Reining in, he asked, “What luck, Raines?”
Raines shifted his tobacco before he spoke. “We got down the wash without any trouble. There’s been nobody over it, Lieutenant.”
“Can a troop get through unobserved?”
“In a column of troopers, yes, sir.”
“Did you scout the other side?”
Raines nodded. “Yes, sir. We found a wash and went up it into the boulders.”
Burke felt a quiet elation. “What’s it like on top?”
“Past the boulders, it’s mostly level, with sage and rabbit-brush flats clean to the timber.”
“Fine work, Raines. Thank you.”
“Sir,” Raines said ominously, “O’Mara’s along!”
“Keep away from him. We’ve got other business, Raines.” Then he understood that this might be Raines’s way of warning him. He looked levelly at the sergeant, and said, “I see. Thank you, Raines.”
He rode over to join the officers. As he approached he heard Ervien say fretfully, “I still think it’s unwise to move until Doll’s pack train is here.” He caught sight of Burke and swung out of his saddle. Without his blouse and in his shirtsleeves, Ervien seemed somehow frail, soft, and ill at ease. A day-old beard blurred the edges of his sharp face; his uniform was dusty and his shirt was staining with sweat at his belly and back. He contrived to hide his harried expression from only the closest observer as he said stiffly, “Well, Mister Hanna. You’re advance party. What have you found?”
Burke swung down and looked at the ground about him. He found a bare patch of clay a yard or so to the right of him. Stepping over to it, he started to kneel, then looked up at Ervien. “You want your first sergeants to hear this, sir?” be asked.
“Very good idea,” Ervien murmured.
Byas turned and shouted, “Pass the word. All sergeants assemble here!” Burke knelt and smoothed out the clay, then began to draw his map with his finger. The officers collected
about him in a loose circle, and the sergeants, as they came up, fell in behind them.
Burke, waiting for the laggards, looked up to see Sergeant O’Mara, his nose swollen but his face otherwise unmarked, watching him with bland and arrogant eyes.
They were all watching now, and Burke explained his simple map, giving Ponce’s position, the locations of the pony herd, and the disposition of the scouts.
When he had finished, he looked up at Ervien. He had, he saw immediately, done the wrong thing, for Ervien was looking at him with an air of expectancy mingled with relief, as if the burden of decision had been lifted from him. Now the harried expression returned to his face as he looked awkwardly about him, and saw that the other officers were watching him. He cleared his throat and said formally, “Any suggestions, Mister Hanna?”
“Yes, sir,” Burke said bluntly. “It’s the usual sucker’s trap he’s set. I propose we don’t oblige him.”
Lieutenant Umberhine laughed. Ervien looked reprovingly at the stocky officer and then at Hanna. “None of us want to, I assure you. Go ahead.”
Burke looked over at Umberhine, now. “You laughed, Brad, and you’re right. Ponce expects us to fight across the wash and make for the pony herd he’s labeled for us, so he can butcher us in that wash where the trail crosses.”
“What’s your scheme?” Byas said.
Burke told them of Raines’s reconnaissance, which offered a covered route around across the creek and behind Ponce’s flank. One troop, Burke said, should reinforce the present line of scouts at the wash; a second troop should take Raines’s route, while the other two troops should swing around to the right to make a demonstration against Ponce’s other flank as if to cut between him and his pony herd.
“Is this a fake demonstration, Mister Hanna?” Ervien asked sharply. “You just told us Ponce expects us to do that.”
“No, sir,” Burke said. “That’s where we ram home the first hard attack—a quarter mile to the right of the trail where the banks are lower.”
“Approximately where Ponce expects us to,” Ervien said dryly. “Be consistent, Mister Hanna.”
“I am,” Burke said flatly. “We don’t ram it home until the troop that’s crossed the wash and hidden on his other flank is all set and firing. When Ponce sees his pony herd threatened and moves to protect it, the hidden troop will take him from the rear and cut off his escape into the timber.” He looked at the circle of attentive faces now. “With eighty men, he can’t fight two ways. The two troops on the right will cross between him and his pony herd, then wheel and cut into him.”
Burke rose, and Ervien knelt and studied the map. Sergeant O’Mara, behind him, leaned hands on knees and looked over his shoulder. The other officers crowded up.
After a long moment, Ervien rose. “We’ll accept that, Mister Hanna. It’s very good,” he acknowledged. Now, regarding each officer in turn, he was once more the sharp garrison soldier. His work was done for him. To Lieutenant Umberhine he gave command of Troops L and M; they were to force the crossing on the right. Byas was to command Troop I, which was reserve, and the scouts at the trail crossing.
To Burke Hanna and K Troop fell the mission of crossing the Quartermaster unobserved and coming in behind Ponce. Burke felt a grim satisfaction at this. Ervien himself, as commanding officer, elected to take his position behind Lieutenant Umberhine’s main attack.
As the group broke up to scatter for their horses, Ervien called, “Good luck, gentlemen. I will post a lookout to our right and rear.”
Burke fell in beside the lumbering Byas as they sought their horses. Abe glanced fondly at him and said, “You earn your pay, don’t you?”
Burke didn’t answer; he said quietly, “Abe, your troop won’t need pistols. I want to borrow them.”
Byas said slowly, “All right, Burke. But why?”
“This is one time,” Burke said grimly, “we’ll get more than ponies and squaws. I’m after the bucks.”
“At short range,” Byas said.
“As short as I can make it,” Burke murmured.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BETRAYED
As K Troop was ready to move, Burke looked across the park and saw that Ervien, with O’Mara at his side, was still studying the map, pointing to it and gesturing vehemently. Ervien, he supposed, would keep O’Mara, which was satisfactory to K Troop, he knew.
Burke let Raines and Callahan precede him into the wash, then giving K Troop the order to mount, he led on. The issue of extra pistols was causing comment, he knew, and he would give his troop the reason in good time. Soon the high clay walls closed about them, and the heat was stifling, so that when they came into the blazing brightness of Quartermaster Creek’s sandy bed, it was almost a relief.
Here Raines’s trail, hidden from Ponce’s view by a sharp bend in the stream bed, crossed and dropped downstream a hundred yards, then headed up a wide sandy draw through the boulders that climbed steeply as it narrowed to little more than the width of a horse.
As Burke pulled out of the arroyo in one last steep climb, he saw, immediately to his right, Callahan holding his own and Raines’s horses. Beyond Callahan, a long low clay dune that cut back toward the creek screened his view of Ponce’s position.
Raines, his dusty blue uniform almost the color of the clay, was lying on his stomach down below the crest of the ridge, which was covered with rabbit brush and sage.
Forming his troop in line below the crest, Burke gave the command to dismount and joined Raines.
The wide sage flats lay in front of him now, separating the timber to his left from the boulder-studded canyon rim to his right. He could tell that L and M Troops had joined the engagement by the increase in the volume of fire and, watching carefully, he caught an occasional glimpse of a trooper, small in the distance across the creek, edging his way forward.
Leaving Raines in observation, Burke pulled back behind the dunes and called the troop together. His old troopers were watching him expectantly; only the volunteer replacements showed any uneasiness.
Burke began easily. “This is one time a soldier gets in the first shot with an Apache. They haven’t seen us. We’re going to scatter down this ridge at ten-yard intervals and fire two volleys from carbines. That lets L and M know we’re in position, and it tells Ponce he’s outflanked. Then you’ll fall back to your mounts.”
There was a puzzled silence at this last piece of information. Finally, Callahan said, “Beg pardon, sir, but these extra pistols. What are they for?”
“A mounted charge,” Burke said quietly.
An even longer silence followed, and Burke saw the old troopers were mulling this over. He glanced up the ridge and saw Raines looking at him. He thought Raines was grinning, but he couldn’t be sure. A mounted charge against Indians, of course, had been given up by the cavalry long ago as impossible, and Burke knew the older troopers were remembering this.
He said, “When we volley at Ponce’s rear, he’ll have to pull out of those rocks or die there. Once he’s in the open and afoot, you’ll have a horse under you, twelve shots in your pistols and five in your carbines. If you’re tired of fighting Indians the way an infantryman does, here’s your chance. We’re going to wind this one up without a foot race.”
The men laughed at that, and Burke said, “All right, move forward. Open fire when I do.”
The troop scattered down the ridge, and Burke pulled his carbine from his saddle scabbard, and climbed the ridge to he down beside Raines. He surveyed the boulder field, and catching a movement there, he shot carelessly at it. A ragged volley followed; men were reluctant to shoot without targets, and the Apaches were well hidden.
The second volley, sweeping nearly the whole of Ponce’s line beyond the trail, stilled Ponce’s Winchesters. Then, as Burke had hoped, there was a stir of activity in the rocks. Several bucks changed positions; a handful stood up briefly, staring at the dunes. He heard angry and excited shouting, and one buck broke for the long run to the timber, then, thinking be
tter of it, dropped behind a clump of sage.
The overtone of L and M’s fire dropped off. Burke thought, They’re crossing, and lifted his glance to the bare bank of the creek. What he saw puzzled him. Blue-clad troopers were pulling out of their positions along the rocks of the creek bed, and were hastily retiring up the slope and over the crest.
* * * *
Raines, seeing it, spat, then looked quizzically at Burke and asked, “What’s that for?”
Burke shook his head in wonderment. If they were reforming for a dismounted charge, they’d better hurry.
Then his attention was yanked to Ponce’s band. They were drifting out of the rocks now to face this new threat to their rear. There was no concerted movement; here a naked buck, mud-smeared, bent over and running, would show himself a second and drop, and another would rise after him. The direction of their movement was obliquely across K Troop’s field of fire, and Burke thought, He’s trying to get between us and his camp in the timber. If he reaches timber, he’s gone.
He said, “Come on, Raines,” and turned and ran downhill for his horse, raising his arm in the signal to the waiting troopers to mount. Riding immediately to his position in front of center, he ordered, “By the right flank,” and rapidly moved the troop, still hidden by the dune, toward the creek. When the lead trooper had almost reached the rocks, Burke pulled his pistol and signaled, “By the left flank.”
The troop turned into line, labored up the short climb, reached the crest, and, as if heeding a signal unspoken, boiled down the far side and out onto the flats at full gallop, yelling wildly.