EDGE: Red Fury (Edge series Book 33)

by George G. Gilman

  ‘Why do you need a prisoner?’ the half-breed countered.

  4I do not need prisoner to ask me questions, white eyes. You need answers, you go ask your maker. You know of what I talk?’

  To emphasize his meaning, he ran a hand along the barrel of the Spencer rifle. The metal was still sticky with factory-applied oil.

  Edge nodded.

  Thundercloud matched the gesture. ‘Now you saddle your horse and ride with us to war council, white eyes. You Calvin, I charge you with prisoner. Like just now, he cause trouble, you pay same as him.’

  This said, he spun on his heels and returned to the group of braves on the trail.

  Calvin Butler sighed again and licked beads of sweat off his top lip. ‘You’re bein’ smart, Mr. Edge,’ he said a little breathlessly. ‘Keep it up and maybe we’ll both be able to tell our grandchildren about this.’

  ‘I never plan that far ahead, feller,’ the half-breed said as he turned his back on the sprawled corpses and started down the slope towards his hobbled horse.

  ‘I got good reason to,’ Butler replied, his tone suddenly lighter - almost excited. ‘On account I’ve got a wife three months gone with a child.’

  Edge stooped to take the hobble off the mare’s forelegs. ‘So how come you’re mixed up in an Indian uprising, feller? On the wrong side?’

  He led the horse across to his unfurled bedroll, as Butler backed away from it, the Remington in the waistband of his pants and the Winchester clutched in his right hand.

  ‘Little Fawn’s half-Apache, mister,’ the sandy-haired youngster replied, his tone defensive. ‘So what’s the right and wrong side in this for me is a matter of opinion.’

  ‘Calvin!’ Thundercloud yelled. ‘You get up here quick with prisoner or we leave you with horsesoldiers! Like horsesoldiers!’

  Edge fitted the saddle to the back of the mare and adjusted the cinch. As Butler scowled his resentment of the harsh-spoken order and threat.

  ‘My opinion, feller,’ the half-breed murmured, and spat, ‘is that we don’t need any vote to figure out you’re low man on the totem pole.’

  Chapter Six

  The bullet-shattered, blood-run corpses of the four men from Fort Catlow were left where they had fallen. To begin the putrefying process, the stench of which would attract the coyotes who would gorge their fill. Then, at sun-up, the buzzards would descend, to squabble viciously for whatever meat was left on the bones. After the birds lumbered into the air and became graceful in flight, the flies would swarm in to attack any morsel which the earlier scavengers had overlooked. Finally, the glaring sun would suck the moisture from the bones. And maybe the bleached, dry bones would remain as they were - abandoned for long enough to turn to dust.

  It was nature’s way and it worked well enough in such remote areas as the Hatchet Mountains. Better, perhaps, than the conventional burial process of the Apaches or the whites as practiced in the past and more recently on the hill where San Lucas had been established. At least decay never became far advanced, the flesh of the dead was fought over only by creatures which required it simply for survival, and the deceased were spared the indignity of being attacked by worms.

  Edge was allowed to ride without bonds, down from the foothills of the Hatchet Mountains, through the Apache Hills and into the Cedars. Thundercloud was at the head of the column, followed by the three freed prisoners. Then the half-breed with Calvin Butler beside him. Behind the two white men, five braves, a pair of them in charge of the four army horses on lead ropes. The other four Apaches were posted ahead, behind and to either side of the main group, riding as sentries against the possibility of cavalry patrols.

  Thus the half-breed - his revolver and rifle lashed to the saddle-horn on an army horse - had no opportunity to extend the token freedom the leader of the Apache band had allowed him.

  The group had set off from the scene of the ambush as soon as the designated braves brought the ponies and Butler’s black-and-white gelding from the place where they were hidden. Thundercloud setting an unhurried pace to back track over their own sign, on a course that swung at least ten miles south of San Lucas.

  It’ll be more than thirty miles and he won’t call a halt unless there’s trouble,’ Butler announced flatly at the outset of the ride.

  ‘And when we get to where we’re goin’?’ Edge asked.

  ‘Black Bear Bluff, about ten miles south-east of San Lucas. We’ll be okay so long as we keep-our noses out of their business.’

  ‘Minding my own business is what I usually do, feller.’

  Butler nodded. ‘Figured that when I saw you camped back by the trail. The beef between the Apaches and the San Lucas folks ain’t none of your concern. Just your bad luck you bedded down right where Thundercloud planned to spring the ambush. We couldn’t take a chance on your standin’ by and watchin’ that happen. Then ridin’ on out like it was only a mountain lion jumpin’ a pronghorn.’

  ‘We, feller? You being married to a half-Apache girl make you one of them?’

  Butler had been riding easy in the saddle, expression neutral and tone of voice level. Now he snapped his head around to scowl at Edge and the words rasped between his clenched teeth.

  ‘Do what you usually do, mister! Mind your own business!’

  Thundercloud looked back over his shoulder and the trio of men behind him did likewise, if not understanding the words Butler hurled at the half-breed, at least recognizing the tone.

  ‘He rides with us only because it is your wish, Calvin,’ the leader of the band said pointedly.

  The nineteen-year-old, sandy-haired young man was quick to regain his composure. He even managed to raise a smile. ‘A slight misunderstandin’. Personal.’

  Thundercloud executed a careless shrug of his broad shoulders and he and the other braves faced forward again.

  There followed a long period of vocal silence as the column continued its snaking progress through the mountain desert country under the cloudless, star-pricked sky. During which Edge maintained his watch on the broken terrain, despite the fact that he knew the outriding Apache sentries were better placed and more skilful than he was in seeking the first sign of danger. Also, as shod and unshod hooves thudded against the ground and harness creaked, he sensed that Cal Butler was eager to continue the conversation, guessed the sandy-haired youngster was trying to frame a new opening to approach the subject from a different direction.

  Eventually, after perhaps a full five minutes had elapsed, he said: ‘My Pa used to get along fine with the Mescaleros hereabouts. When he and Ma were the only whites in the area.’

  ‘Way back.’

  ‘Yeah. Before the War Between the States. San Lucas wasn’t here then. Only trail was the California and the nearest fort was Fillmore. There were skirmishes between the Mescaleros and the army from time to time. Every now and then a white traveler got killed because he was a damn fool. But Pa went about his business without any trouble.’

  ‘What business was that, feller?’

  ‘Prospectin’. But never on El Cerro de Muerto. That’s the Mexican name the Indians use for the place where San Lucas is. Where all the silver was, too, which is why Pa never struck it rich.’

  ‘Your Ma doesn’t live in a mine.’

  ‘I came along and the way Ma tells it, she made Pa settle down to somethin’ with a better future than scratchin’ around in rocks for the chance of a big strike.’

  ‘Raising horses one time, it looked like.’ He spat to the side. ‘In the wrong kind of country.’

  Butler nodded glumly. ‘But the kind of country Pa couldn’t bring himself to leave for a long time. He had enough of a stake to build the place and buy some prime stock. But he only done it to keep Ma sweet. Give her a place where she could raise me. While he went on spendin’ most of his time lookin’ for a rich lode. Used to go away into the hills for weeks on end, leavin’ Ma to do the best she could to breed horseflesh on scrubgrass.’

  Edge yawned.

  ‘I borin’ y
ou, mister?’ Butler asked sharply.

  ‘I’m tired of being awake this time of night, feller. But I ain’t going to get any sleep for awhile. So you talk, if you’ve a need.’

  The youngster was silent for a few seconds. Then, very distinctly, said: ‘I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done.’

  Edge nodded. ‘That’s fine. Because I don’t have either the vocation or the inclination to be anybody’s Father Confessor.’

  ‘Guess you heard how the army got to take the three Apache prisoners?’

  ‘Matter of stolen guns. Rumored in San Lucas you had something to do with getting them to the Apaches.’

  Butler drew in a deep breath and allowed it to whistle softly out through pursed lips. ‘And I ain’t ashamed of it, like I said. Not just on account of me and Little Fawn being hitched, either.’

  ‘You ride with the bunch that stole the wagons up near Santa Fe?’

  An emphatic shake of his head. ‘No. The Indians heard that the guns and ammo were for sale and asked me to do the dealin’ for them. And I jumped at the chance, mister. Because of the way San Lucas folks murdered my Pa which led my Ma to becomin’ what she is.’

  ‘All of them killed him?’

  Butler grimaced, unhooked a canteen from his saddlebag and took a long drink. ‘I was just a little kid when it happened. But Ma told me about it. Before she took to drinkin’ for most of the time.’ The lines of the expression deepened into his flesh as he added; ‘And much longer before she started goin’ with men to pay for the liquor.’ He turned to look at Edge again and a frown of intense sadness showed in the silvered moonlight. ‘I didn’t know nothin’ about that until this afternoon. When you’d left the place and Ma just couldn’t stop talkin.’

  ‘Nobody knows everything about anyone, feller,’ the half-breed allowed. ‘Especially when they don’t spend much time together.’

  ‘Yeah, I…’

  ‘You already admitted to the mistake. And I guess I like it better here than being back there on the trail with Costello and his men. We’re even. You don’t have to feel bad about what happened.’

  ‘But you shot me,’ Butler countered without rancor. And hurried to explain why he made the point. ‘Reckon that puts me ahead of you in somethin’. Really even things up if you listen to me. Don’t ask nothin’ else.’

  ‘I haven’t stopped listening, feller.’

  He sighed. ‘No, you haven’t, have you? Maybe what I mean is you should do more than just listen.’

  ‘You got a wife. Cry on her shoulder.’

  Calvin Butler looked ready to vent anger again. But bit back on and then swallowed the emotion and the words he was about to use to express it. And now Edge took a drink of water, to give the youngster time to organize his thoughts.

  ‘It was just as the war started. I was about five or six. A bunch of men came and started to look for silver on El Cerro de Muerto. Supporters of the south, aimin’ to mine paydirt to buy guns and supplies. Pa warned them off. But they laughed in his face. So he went and fetched some local Indians. There was a fight and Pa took a bullet. A couple of the prospectors died as well. And some braves.

  ‘Little later the Union took control of this whole area and built Fort Catlow. And everythin’ went quiet again until the war was over. When the six men who didn’t die on El Cerro de Muerto came back and started to dig into the hill again. Seems they’d found out enough before Pa fetched the Indians to know there was rich rock in the hill. The word spread and that’s how San Lucas came to be what it is.’

  ‘The same six still working claims there?’ Edge asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I guess so. Even if they are, there’s no way of knowin’ if any of them or either of the two that the Indians killed fired the bullet that got Pa.’ He peered hard at the half-breed. ‘But it’s the principle, way Ma and me see it. Way Ma tells it, Pa always knew there was a rich lode under the hill. But he took account of how the Apaches felt about that place. Damnit, he died tryin’ to keep the whites off it. And Ma and me were left to scratch for a livin’ out at the lousy ranch while the men that killed him - or the same kind, anyway - got rich.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, maybe not rich. There’s always been too many of them with a piece of the lode. But they all made a good living for a good lot of years.’

  ‘How long ago did you give up on scratching that living with your mother, feller?’ Edge asked.

  He looked briefly ashamed. Then; ‘A couple of years ago. Ma don’t get on with the Apaches. She ain’t never said so, but I reckon it’s because she blames them for makin’ a bargain with Pa about him never goin’ on the hill’ and strikin’ it rich. But me, I’m like my Pa and the Apaches know it. I was always welcome at their camps. Spent a lot of time there when I was growin’ up. Then, two years ago like I say, I more or less threw in with them. Way over east on the Hermanas Rancheria. I ain’t no proper teacher, but I been able to give a lot of the kids the English language and some easy arithmetic’

  ‘Your Ma said you were on your way back from town this afternoon.’

  Sadness showed on his rough-hewn face for a moment. He tried to mask it with an anger he did not feel strongly enough. ‘She was drunk or hungover or whatever. But even if she was stone cold sober, I reckon she’d pretend she doesn’t know I live with the Indians. Maybe she’s even convinced herself that I don’t. I only ever call there every three months or so. To see if she’s okay and to give her some money. We never talk about what I’m doin’. We never talk much about anythin’. Now that Little Fawn’s gonna have a kid, I planned to tell Ma about me bein’ married when I went there yesterday. That and to warn her to leave the ranch. At least until the uprisin’s over. But in the end, I didn’t tell her nothin’. Except called her a stinkin’ whore and left to go back to Black Bear Bluff. Afraid I might have killed her if I stayed any longer.’

  He sucked at his canteen again. But did not swallow the water. Instead, swilled it around in his mouth and spat it out with the bad taste that had coated his palate.

  ‘Guess her kind of drinking costs more than you can earn teaching at a rancheria school, feller.’

  ‘I know it. Now I know it. You seen the place. First, after I left, she kept runnin’ the ranch, Then she started to sell off pieces of the home. Last time I was there, she said she was usin’ money Pa left her. But this afternoon she told me there never was any money. So she took up offers that some of the San Lucas miners made her awhile back.’ He turned his head sharply away as Edge looked at him, but not before the half-breed saw the glitter of held-back tears at the corners of the green eyes. ‘One bottle a tumble, damnit! If there’s something blue hangin’ on the clothesline, hold back out in the country until you neighbor’s through!’

  Edge said nothing while Cal Butler used a pretence at blowing his nose to cover the wiping of the teardrops from his eyes.

  ‘Okay,’ the youngster went on, as if hurrying to answer a question before Edge had time to ask it. ‘I left Ma in the lurch and she had to do somethin’ to stay alive and make life worth livin’. So maybe I shouldn’t take it so hard. And I wouldn’t, if it wasn’t San Lucas men she was sellin’ herself to. They hate her. Hate her because of how Pa and me get on so well - got on so well - with the Apaches. More than ever after the raid on San Lucas a few months ago. But they use her to make up for whatever they don’t get from their wives. And you know what galls me the most, mister?’

  ‘I guess that the feller who killed your Pa could be one of those who visit her,’ the half-breed answered.

  ‘Right. That’s a pretty poisonous thought to have runnin’ around inside your head. When she’s your mother.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Edge agreed. ‘But you didn’t know anything about that when you did the gun dealing.’

  Thundercloud looked back over his shoulder for the first time in more than half an hour, his face grim set.

  ‘Enough talk, Calvin,’ he instructed. ‘This white eyes you consider friend claims no interest in the affairs of others. But I think behind
mask he too eager to know much.’

  ‘I’m through,’ the sandy-haired youngster answered with a sigh. ‘But I needed to talk to somebody. I feel better now.’

  ‘Then purpose has been served,’ the Apache leader said, and fixed his dark eyes in a long and hard stare at that section of Edge’s face not shadowed by the hat brim. ‘But you, I suspect, have profited little from the talk.’

  ‘Figure I have to be making a loss as far as the Butler family is concerned,’ the half-breed replied and the comment triggered a frown of perplexity across the Apache’s face. Edge responded with a wry grin and drawled, ‘Just loaned Calvin here my ear. And not so long ago I turned down advances from his Ma.’

  Chapter Seven

  The morning sun was high and hot when Thundercloud led the band of Apaches and the two white men into the camp under Black Bear Bluff, deep in the Cedar Mountains, at the southern end, close to the territorial border between the United States and Mexico.

  An hour earlier and perhaps three miles in a direct line from the camp, the riders had seen a forward sentry rise from cover on the rim of a low-sided canyon and wave in greeting. And two more watching braves showed themselves in a similar manner before the camp was reached. Each of them in a position to have a wide angle view over the mountainscape of jagged rock ridges, dry lakes, pebble-strewn arroyos and infrequent clumps of pinon, juniper, squawbush and other dust-cloaked vegetation. Each, also, in a position to see one another: so that the Apaches massed at the camp could get early warning of the approach of newcomers - whether friend or enemy.

  The bluff towered to a height close to a hundred feet and ran for perhaps two miles north to south on the east side of the camp. At its base was an extensive shallow-sided depression enclosed on the other three sides by an arc of wave-shaped hills featured with scrubgrass, brush, clumps of low-growing timber and heaps of boulders.

  The wickiups of Apaches meeting in war council were erected in concentric circles on the flat bottom of the depression, with a wide open area at the centre. Between the face of the bluff and the eastern side of the camp was a rope corral holding perhaps a hundred ponies. There were between fifty and sixty wickiups, with a corridor cutting through the rings from the west which led into the area in the middle opposite the largest and most colorfully decorated lodge of the chief.