Apache Rampage (9 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Major Ellwood was in a vile mood when he returned to the jail with food for his prisoners. It was dark, and he was late in feeding the two men in the cells, but he’d just finished the exhausting task of getting his people to the rifle pits. It was a hard task, and only by being strenuously unpleasant was Ellwood able to get all the first party into position. Man after man had tried to think up an excuse to avoid doing his civic duty, but Ellwood ruled them all out and, by threatening to jail any absentee, drew his men. He knew he would probably have the same trouble with the second watch and did not relish going around in the middle of the night to find them.

One of the chief causes of complaint was that the miners were not forced to take on full responsibility for the defence of the town. It was typical of the mentality of the Baptist’s Hollow citizen that he thought those men from the hills should be forced to defend the town.

In all fairness Ellwood tried to get the miners interested in his idea, for all were good shots, cool and brave men. They would have stiffened his line of defence if they would agree to help out. Individually and collectively the miners refused to have any part in those holes in the ground. Ellwood might have read a sinister warning in the refusal, but he was in no mood to look beyond surface appearance. What he did know was that the miners were ready to leave town, chancing the open country, rather than fight in the rifle pits. That was the last thing he wanted. If Lobo Colorado and his men came, the miners would be a fighting force worth having.

Scully and Willy looked at the tray of food Ellwood brought to them. It was a decent meal and struck them both as an ominous sign. They were capable of putting two and two together and making the answer come out correct. The arrival of the miners, their lack of celebrating, taken with odd scraps of conversation from outside the jail, added up to one thing. Apache trouble in its worst form.

‘I hear you’ve got Apache trouble, Major,’ said Scully, as he took the tray through the slot in the bars. ‘Me’n Willy can both use a rifle. Be pleased to help.’

‘I bet you would,’ Ellwood snapped back. ‘If I let you out, you’d be gone before morning.’

‘With Apaches on the warpath, without horses—afoot?’ asked Scully, looking mildly reproving. ‘Marshal, I don’t like your stuffy, pious little town and wish to be out of it, never to return, but not at the moment. I’d go further. I’d rather be here than out there right now.’

Ellwood snorted. Suddenly he realised he was beginning to think and act like a citizen of Baptist’s Hollow, beginning to suspect every motive as being the worst. He felt suddenly sick of the whole business, of this town where religious feeling was corrupted to mean distrust, bias, suspicion and prejudice. The feeling made him angry at himself and unreasoning in his anger, knowing that he was in the wrong.

The two prisoners could have been released earlier and allowed to work on the rifle pits. The charges against them would be covered by a fine, and Scully held enough cash to pay it, so there was no reason for him to hold them. Now, in his cross-grained, unreasoning anger, he would not allow them to leave the cells, even to help guard the town. Turning on his heel Ellwood went towards the door.

‘Hey, Marshal!’ Willy said, his drawl speeded up until it was almost whizzing along. ‘You ain’t going to leave us locked in here when there’s likely to be Apaches jumping us any time.’

‘I’ll let you out if the attack comes, not before,’ Ellwood snapped, then he went out of the jail, slamming and locking the office door.

Ellwood regretted his actions as soon as he turned the key in the lock but would not give way and admit it. He turned and received something of a shock as two dark, tall shapes loomed up before him. Taken by surprise at the silent approach of the miners, Zeke and Ike, Ellwood dropped his hand towards the butt of his gun and stepped back a pace.

‘Easy there, Major, it’s us,’ Zeke growled. ‘You ain’t changed your mind yet, have you?’

‘About what?’

‘The way you’re handling things here,’ answered Zeke, his waved hand taking in the circle of the town and the rifle pits.

Ellwood read an implication in the words that was not there. He knew the miners did not approve of the way he was defending the town and took the wrong attitude. Shaking his head he snapped, ‘I’m handling things the way I want them. The rifle pits are manned ready for a dawn attack and Apaches don’t attack in the dark.’

‘They move in it,’ Ike answered. ‘Why don’t you hustle all the women and kids along to the church there and get all the powder and shot from the store ready for when Lobo Colorado comes?’

‘There’ll be time for that when the attack comes.’

In his heart Ellwood knew every word the miner said was true. The women and children should be at the church, behind the safety of those big walls, so should Millet’s stock of firearms and ammunition. He’d tried to get the storekeeper to move that vital stock to safety, but Millet was shifty and evasive. There was a limit to what a town marshal could do. The limit was reached when it came to making a man do something like move his personal property. Without something more definite than they knew at the moment, Ellwood was helpless to make Millet do anything. The marshal would not allow these miners to see how helpless he was.

Zeke and Ike exchanged knowing looks as Ellwood turned to walk away. Ike let out an angry growl, and started forward but his friend caught his arm.

‘Ain’t no use nor need for it. He wouldn’t listen to no low men like you. See he’s read him a couple of them books about military tactics, like that officer boy we scouted for in the desert country. Allows it makes him an all-fired expert. He wouldn’t listen to no common men like us, Ike. Got him a real bad shock coming.’

‘You fixing in to light for some place safe?’

‘If I thought we could make it through Lobo Colorado’s boys I’d say yes to that. But there ain’t no such chance. I got me a feeling, Ike. They’s all round us right now, and just waiting for dawn. Happen we left town we’d right soon be wishing we was back again.’

They turned and lounged back towards the church. Crossing the plaza a low whistle came to their ears and brought them to an instant halt. Zeke whistled in reply before they moved on. Even so, a rifle was lined on them from the gate as they moved towards it and did not lower until the sentry knew for certain who they were.

‘You see him?’ asked the sentry.

‘We saw him,’ agreed Zeke. ‘All the boys inside?’

‘All but Walapai. Ole Winnie-Mae started to give out her Apache call, and he slipped out to make a scout.’

Zeke nodded his approval of Walapai’s actions. Every miner who kept the same burro for any length of time got to know the various ways it brayed and Winnie-Mae was Walapai’s companion for many long years. The oldster was full capable of taking care of himself out there in the darkness. Walapai was a lone-wolf prospector when Lobo Colorado was a boy just starting on horse herding, and a man did not work alone for all those years in Apache country without learning to look after himself.

A small fire was burning by the protecting wall. Its flickering flames showing the faces of the miners as they gathered round it. All looked at Ike and Zeke with interest, for they knew what the two men attempted to do. They also knew, without being told, what the result was and none were surprised.

Before Zeke could say a word they heard a low whistle, replied to by the sentry and a few seconds after the short, whiskery shape of old Walapai slouched into the light of the fire. He was trailing his old Sharps rifle in one hand, the other held something which looked like a long black wig. Or would have to a man who’d never seen a fresh took, blood dripping Apache scalp.

Dropping to his haunches with the ease of a man who sat in a chair maybe once every three or four years, Walapai leaned his rifle against the wall. Dipping his now free hand into his pocket he took out a piece of coal black tobacco. He bit off a chew, munched for a moment, then sent a spurt of juice flying into the fire.

‘Ole Winnie-Mae was right.’

‘They’re out there, are they?’ asked the youngest of the miners. ‘It couldn’t just have been a stray scout for the main bunch?’

‘Maybe he was, sonny,’ Walapai grunted. ‘Only he warn’t alone. They’re out there, all round the town or I miss my guess. Comes dawn the main bunch’ll hit right down the trail, but there’ll be a few left over to come for the sides and the back of the church.’

The other men listened, knowing old Walapai was not making wild guesses. He’d been out to make a scout and would have done just that. The scalp in his hand told a story. There’d been no shooting, so Walapai’s old bowie knife must have been in use.

The young miner looked up. He was a brash, cocky youngster in his first year as a miner and held his own ability in high esteem. ‘Did that brave tell you anything, Walapai?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ replied Walapai, contempt so thick it could almost be cut with a knife. ‘We sat us down and b’iled a cup of tea, then talked. Right out there with maybe a dozen of his friends round us. Then after we talked, I ses real perlite like: “Can I scalp ye?” and he ses, “Sure, but do it easy like and stick me fust, so I don’t feel it”.’

‘Allow ye speak a mite of Apache, Walapai,’ Zeke put in gently as the laugh at Dick’s expense died down.

‘L’arned it when I was living with Mangus Colorado, back afore the war. But them boys out there ain’t talking, not even to each other.’

‘You talked to that bownecked Yankee major, didn’t you?’ asked another man.

‘Sure, but he wouldn’t listen to us.’

‘So this’s how she lies to me,’ Ike took up from where Zeke ended. ‘We got two slim choices left. One, we heads for Fort Owen, and the pertection of the United States cavalry, what we pays taxes for. I reckon that might be just a leetle touch unhealthy as of what Senator Walapai just told us. Two, we stays on here, forts up the old church and does what we can to pertect ourselves.’

‘Then this here council decides we stays on here?’

‘Took and carried unanimous,’ agreed Ike.

‘Put it that Zeke’s in command,’ drawled Walapai. ‘All in favour?’

There was complete agreement with his words. The miners were as one in their vote on staying on, defending the church. Even one as hot-headed and inexperienced as young Dick knew the futility of trying to make a run for Fort Owen. They would be trapped by the encircling Apaches, or caught in the open and butchered. Here in the church, standing on the stone platform along the base of the wall, a man could fire over with little danger to himself. They would be able to make a fight of it in the church and possibly hold out until help came from Fort Owen.

The second business, electing Zeke as their leader, was a matter of form. He would be their leader only in as much as he would co-ordinate their efforts. The miners were like the Apaches in that they accepted a leader, yet would fight their own way. The leader could merely direct their efforts to the best and most useful end.

‘We could use some more food,’ Zeke said thoughtfully.

‘Shucks, we all got a week’s supply, damn near,’ Dick objected. ‘That ought to last us.’

‘Sure, it’ll last us,’ agreed Zeke. ‘But when the attack comes, there’s going to be a lot of folks in here besides us. They won’t be bringing any food with them.’

‘Where’d you reckon we could get food this time of the night?’ asked Walapai. ‘I saw Haslett taking his missus to stay with the Millets for the night. Anyways, I can’t see me paying out for food to give that bunch, and Haslett surely won’t give his stock to us, not even to help out his friends.’

‘I reckon he might let us have it,’ Zeke replied, looking piously at the dark skies above. ‘Was we to go to his place and ask real perlite like. ‘Special as he ain’t there right now.’

Walapai gave the harsh, coughing bark which served as a laugh in his book. ‘Ye wouldn’t be suggesting that all us honest gents steals food from the store, now would you, Zeke? And me allus thinking you was such a clean living, sober and upright pillar of the church.’

‘Wouldn’t call it stealing,’ said Zeke with a wide grin. ‘Not when he’s been overcharging and underweighing us for years. And it’ll be his friends who’s eating the food.’

The other men chuckled at the thought of Haslett’s face when he found his food stocks were being eaten by his friends. The good citizens of Baptist’s Hollow would be living on stolen food and would also be a good laugh.

‘I reckon a couple of us should stay here,’ Walapai remarked. ‘Lobo Colorado ain’t going to miss a chance to get a few of his boys inside the walls during the dark hours.’

‘Who’d you want with you?’ Zeke asked, knowing Walapai was calling the play right. ‘Don’t take too many, it’ll need most of us to get the food here.’

‘Take young Dick if you like. Both me’n him having a good name to lose and not wanting to be mixed up with the robbery and sich.’

Zeke gave his consent and the men prepared to take action. The fire was doused for a start. Then Zeke led all but Walapai and Dick out into the night, making for the Haslett store.

Walapai rose, making no attempt to pick up his rifle, and Dick followed him, leaving the Winchester which was his pride and joy behind. They went to the rear wall and Walapai grunted in satisfaction.

‘Ain’t none over yet. So we’ll just settle down and listen a piece,’ he said.

‘Sure,’ agreed Dick and dropped his hand to his side, loosening the Colt in his holster.

‘Naw, Dick boy!’ Walapai hissed. His hand caught Dick’s wrist. ‘No guns. You got a knife with you?’

“Course I have!’ Dick grunted and drew the eight-inch-bladed knife from the sheath at his right side.

‘That thing? It’ll have to do I reckon.’

Dick looked down and could just make out the shape in Walapai’s hand. It was the eleven-and-a-half-inch-long blade of the old timer’s bowie knife. Walapai always carried his weapon with him, and Dick was inclined to scoff at it as being a piece of useless decoration. Now the scoffing was not in evidence, for Dick’s own knife, sharp though it was, did not appear to be anything like the weapon a man would care to trust his life to.