“We have a couple of hours,” Horn said. “Get some sleep.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t sleep much anyway,” the scout said. “In the mornin’ we can start up, find a good place to watch from. The Apaches will probably get here before the buffalo soldiers do.”
“We need to take one alive.”
“I know,” Horn said. “If there are two, that may be doable.”
“But if there are four . . . ,” Clint said.
Horn nodded.
They left their horses saddled. Clint sat with his back against a rock, tipped his hat down over his eyes, then pushed it back up. There was no light to interfere with sleep, and he needed to wake at first light anyway.
“I just thought of somethin’,” Horn said.
“What?”
“We slipped out of camp,” he said. “That only leaves one white man left there.”
Clint shrugged. “Maybe they still won’t notice.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” Horn said. “Unless they did notice, and they followed us here.”
Clint opened his eyes and unfolded his arms.
“Well,” he said, “I wasn’t that tired anyway.”
NINETEEN
At first light Clint and Horn got to their feet, stood stock still, and listened.
“I’m gonna say they didn’t follow us,” Horn commented.
Clint’s eyes scanned the horizon, then worked their way in.
“Let’s get up this mountain then,” he said.
Pershing was going to take his men through the pass, so Clint and Horn had to figure out where the Apaches would set up to watch them ride through.
“This side or that side?” Clint asked.
“We could split up,” Horn suggested, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.
“I think it’ll be better if we stay together.”
“What if we guess wrong?”
Clint looked at Horn and said, “Don’t.”
Horn looked up the mountain, then turned to Clint and said, “Okay, follow me—and try not to fall off the mountain.”
“I’ll do my best.”
When Pershing and his men reached the pass, Reynaldo rode back to greet them.
“Any sign of Apaches?” Pershing asked.
“No, sir.”
“What about Adams and Horn?”
“I do not see them,” Reynaldo said, “but to me that just means they are there.”
“I understand. Sergeant!”
Washington rode up next to his commander.
“Suh?”
“I want you to make sure the men are on the alert,” Pershing said.
“Yes, suh.”
“Pass the word.”
“Yes, suh.”
“But no one fires a shot unless I do, understood?” Pershing asked.
“Yes, suh.”
“Good.”
Washington rode back and relayed the order to Corporal Jefferson, who passed it along to the men.
“Okay, Reynaldo,” Pershing said. “Take us through.”
As the buffalo soldiers started through the pass, there were two Apaches on each side. And higher above the Apaches were Clint Adams and Tom Horn . . .
“Well,” Clint said, “looks like you guessed right and wrong.”
“Right,” Horn said. “Two on each side.”
“We don’t have to make a choice,” Clint said. “We take the two on our side.”
“While the other two keep following Pershing.”
They were careful of their footing, didn’t even want a loose pebble announcing their position. They backed away, returning to where they had secreted their horses.
“We’ll have to leave our mounts here and take them on foot,” Horn said.
“Agreed.”
“And I’ll have to go first.”
“Now, wait—”
“They’re Apaches, Clint,” Horn said. “They’ll hear you with those boots.
Clint looked at Horn’s homemade soft leather moccasins and knew the man was right.
“Besides,” Horn added, “you’ll be covering me with your gun. I’d rather have it like that than the other way around. Wouldn’t you?”
“You’re a pretty good shot, Tom.”
“I’m no Gunsmith,” Horn said. “You ready to do this? It has to be while Pershing and his buffalo soldiers are holdin’ their attention.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Find yourself a good spot,” Horn said, “and fire only to save my life.”
“Naturally.”
Little Bear and his brother, Running Free, watched as the black men wearing the blue pony soldier clothes rode through the pass.
“We could kill them from here,” Running Free said. “Easily.” He flexed his hands on his rifle.
“We are to watch,” Little Bear reminded him, “not kill.” He hesitated, then added, “Not yet.”
TWENTY
Tom Horn picked his steps very carefully.
From his vantage point Horn could look down at the two Apaches. Both were holding rifles, one of them flexing his hands on his weapon. Horn knew the look. The man was anxious to shoot.
Beyond the two Indians he could see Pershing and his men, led by Reynaldo, riding through the pass. He could also see the other two Apaches across the pass, also watching the soldiers. If they looked over, they’d be able to see him. Would they warn the two braves on this side? Or were they on opposing sides for some reason?
Suddenly, he saw the braves across the way pointing down at Pershing and his men. With all the soldiers in the pass, it was now obvious that two men were missing. The Apaches on this side of the pass might also have noticed it.
Horn couldn’t do anything about the other two, but these two . . . that was a different story.
He took out this knife . . .
Clint had an even better vantage point than Tom Horn. He was farther up the slope, rifle in his hands, sighting down the barrel. He had removed his boots so that the heels would not scrape on the rocks.
Like Horn, he could see all four Apaches. If the other two across the pass spotted the scout, Clint knew he’d have to take a shot. He was pretty sure he could pick them off, but the minute he shot one of them, the other would be on the move.
As for the Apaches below him—and below Horn—he had to hope the scout could take them quietly. A shot would echo in this pass and might start the other Apaches shooting. Pershing and his men were very vulnerable, and some of them would undoubtedly end up dead.
First he kept his eyes on Horn, and on the two Apaches he was stalking. After that he watched the two Apaches across the pass, and finally Pershing and his men in the pass.
“Someone is missing,” Little Bear said.
“What?”
“Look, brother,” Little Bear said, pointing. “The scout, Horn, and one of the other white men. They are not with the others.”
Running Free moved next to his brother and looked into the pass.
They both turned and looked behind them . . .
Across the pass the other two Apache were also discussing the missing men. Then they looked at the rock wall across from them . . .
Clint knew it had gone wrong. Horn still had a ways to go to reach the two braves below him, but they were turning now to look behind them. To make matters worse, the two braves across the pass were pointing his way. They’d spotted either him or Tom Horn.
Clint knew he had to fire a shot, but it had to accomplish more than one thing. He had to choose very carefully.
Tom Horn saw the two braves turn and look behind them. They didn’t spot him immediately, but when they elevated their eyes, they saw him above them. He was too far away to do any damage with his knife. He could draw his pistol and fire, but that would start a firefight down below. Besides, he thought the first shot had to come from Clint.
He had only one option open to him.
Knife in hand, he jumped . . .
Little Bear pointed up at
Tom Horn just as the scout left his feet and dropped down onto them. Both men began to lift their rifles . . .
Clint sighted down the barrel. He had two shots picked out and decided to make them both as quickly and as accurately as possible.
He pulled the trigger, lifted the rifle, and pulled the trigger again.
TWENTY-ONE
The first bullet nearly struck Little Bear in the forehead. It would have if Horn’s boot hadn’t caught him and knocked him over the side, into the pass.
Tom Horn came down right on top of Running Free, and then both men tumbled over . . .
Pershing heard the first shot echo off the rock walls and shouted, “Take cover!”
The buffalo soldiers hit the ground . . .
Clint’s second shot struck one of the Apaches across the pass in the chest just as the man stood up to fire down on the buffalo soldiers. He dropped his rifle, staggered back, and fell out of sight.
The second brave got off a shot, and then another, as the buffalo soldiers were leaping off their mounts and scattering . . .
Clint saw Horn and the Apaches tumble over the side. He had to get down there, and now he knew he’d made a mistake by taking his boots off. He had to pull them back on or cut his feet to ribbons on the rocks.
If Horn fell to his death while he was doing that . . .
Horn felt himself starting to go over, envisioned himself falling to the floor of the pass. At the last minute, however, he reached out, found a handhold, and latched on.
With his other hand he grabbed the Apache, because they needed him alive. But the man was heavy, and Horn knew he couldn’t hold him for long.
“Do not drop me!” Running Free called out.
“I’m trying not to,” Horn said through gritted teeth.
He hoped Clint would see what was happening and reach them in time . . .
Pershing could see where the shots were coming from. From the rapidity, he also judged it to be one man. His men were scrambling, but there was no cover on the floor of the pass.
“Against that wall!” Pershing shouted, pointing. “Everybody against that wall!”
When they were all pressed against the rock wall of the pass, the Indian above them could no longer fire at them.
From their vantage point they could see an Apache dangling from the wall on the other side, and Tom Horn holding on for dear life.
Clint got his boots on, dropped his rifle, and hurried as quickly as he could down to where Tom Horn was holding on. Once or twice his foot slipped and he thought he was going to go over himself. Finally, he got even with Horn, reached out, and grabbed his arm. That was when he saw that Horn was hanging on to the other Apache, who was dangling from his other arm.
“Grab him, Clint!” he yelled. “I can’t hold on to him.”
“I can’t let you go!” Clint shouted.
“We need him alive!”
That was when a bullet ricocheted off a rock near Clint. He knew the remaining Apache on the other side was firing at them.
Pershing saw Clint reach Horn, then heard the shots. The Apache with the rifle couldn’t fire at him and his men anymore, but Clint and Horn were fair game.
“Sergeant!”
“Yes, suh!”
“Who’s our best marksman with a rifle?”
“Dat would be Moses, suh.”
“We need to lay down some covering fire so Adams can pull Horn up,” Pershing said, pointing. “And if he can hit the bastard, that would help, too.”
“Yes, suh!”
Washington went and got young Moses. With their rifles the two men hurried to the other side of the pass. From there they were able to see the Apache firing his rifle at Clint and Horn.
They raised their guns.
TWENTY-TWO
Clint had to ignore the shots being fired at them, leave it to Pershing to take care of. His concern was first for Horn, and second for the Apache.
“I’m going to reach down for the Indian,” he said to Horn. “Grab hold of my belt.”
“I’ll pull you over,” Horn said. “We’ll all die.”
“Just do it!”
Clint kept a tight hold on Tom Horn’s right arm. Horn let go of the rock he was holding and latched on to Clint’s belt. Clint then got himself a good, firm handhold with one hand and reached for the Indian with the other.
The Apache brave’s face was pleading with both men not to drop him.
“Come on,” Clint said, closing his hand around the Apache’s wrist. “I got you.”
The Apache’s other hand was dangling behind him.
“You’ve got to use both hands to climb up,” Clint said.
The Apache nodded jerkily, and reached up with his other hand to grab Clint’s arm. The three of them were hanging there by Clint’s hold. The Indian started to climb. He would be the first one to safety, and briefly Clint wondered what he would do then. Help them or push them over?
Moses fired once. His bullet struck the rock face very near the Apache with the rifle. Sergeant Washington fired a shot, and then another, just laying down cover. He knew he’d never be able to hit the man on the rock face.
But Moses corrected his aim, sighted along the barrel, and fired again. This time his bullet hit home.
The Apache climbed up over Horn and Clint, got to safety, and rolled over onto his back, trying to catch his breath. Clint knew he and Horn had to get up there before the brave decided to do something.
“Come on, Tom,” Clint said.
The two men scrambled to safety and also rolled over onto their backs.
Suddenly, it was quiet.
On the floor of the pass the men started moving toward the center. Pershing met Moses and Sergeant Washington there.
“Nice shooting, son,” Pershing said to Moses.
“It took me two shots,” the young man said.
Pershing put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Nice shooting,” he said again. “Sergeant, have some of the men check those Indians to make sure they’re dead. Have the others collect the horses.”
“Yes, suh.”
Pershing looked up at the rock face where, moments before, he’d seen three men dangling. Now they were gone, but they weren’t lying on the floor of the pass.
He couldn’t see any way to get up there, so he figured they just had to wait.
As Running Free’s hand went to his knife, Clint pulled his gun from his holster and said, “Don’t.”
The Apache pulled away his hand and lay back down.
“Tom, you okay?”
“Can’t move one of my arms, but I’m fine,” Tom Horn said. “You?”
“I’m okay,” Clint said. “Your arm was probably pulled from your shoulder.”
“Can it be put back?”
“I’ve seen it done,” Clint said. “Let me tie this Apache up first.”
“My brother,” Running Free said. “You killed him.”
“He fell,” Tom Horn said. “I’m sorry.”
While Clint sat Running Free up and tied his hands behind his back, the brave asked Horn, “You saved my life. Why?”
“We need you alive,” Horn said. “So don’t take it personal.”
Clint knelt by Horn and touched his shoulder.
“Yep, you pulled it out.”
“Ow,” Horn said. “You know what you’re doin’?”
“Well,” Clint said, “I’ve seen it done . . . once.”
“Jesus . . .”
“Just grit your teeth,” Clint said. He put one hand behind the shoulder and one in front.
“Okay,” Horn said, “just give me a warning when you’re gonna . . . Owwww!”
TWENTY-THREE
By the time Clint and Horn got the Indian down off the rock face, Pershing and his men had made their way back to the mouth of the pass.
Clint and Horn walked their horses down. They also led the two Apaches’ ponies. The Apache brave walked. He had scratches and scrapes, but was relatively uninjured. Horn had taken the wors
t of it.
Pershing watched as Clint and Tom Horn walked the Apache toward them. He noticed Horn’s left arm hanging uselessly from his side.
“Are you all right?” Pershing asked them. “Either of you hit?”
“Horn’s shoulder got dislocated,” Clint said. “I had to push it back in. He won’t be able to use that arm for a while. And he’ll need a sling.”
“Medic!” Pershing yelled.
One of the black soldiers came forward.
“Is he a doctor?” Clint asked.
“Closest thing we’ve got.” Pershing turned to the man. “Simon, please see to Mr. Horn’s injury.”
“Yes, suh.”
Horn accompanied the soldier to the side.
“And this man?” Pershing asked. “Is he injured?”
“Not badly,” Clint said.
“What do we know about him?”
“Nothing yet,” Clint said. “We didn’t have time to question him up there. What about you? Any casualties down here?”
“A few flesh wounds, but that’s all,” Pershing said. “Your shots warned us in time, and Moses quickly took care of the rest with a well-placed shot.”
“Good to hear,” Clint said.
“I think we need to make camp,” Pershing said. “We can question the Apache, lick whatever wounds we have, and move through the pass in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me,” Clint said. “I could use some coffee.”
Pershing turned and shouted. “Sergeant!”
“Yessuh?” The sergeant appeared at his elbow.
“Have the men make camp,” Pershing said. “Two fires, as usual.”
“Yessuh.”
“Also, have them collect the bodies from the pass and bring them here,” Pershing said. “We’ll bury them.”
The Golden Princess Page 6