Scalpers (8 page)

The two chuckled, turning to the board with Diamond Jim's face stretched on it. Flies walked on the nose cartilage that lay atop a flattened cheek. Fox fanned the flies away. From a few yards away a couple of townsmen watched warily. The streets of Iron Point lay empty, save for occasional townsfolk who ventured forth one and two at a time to see the face of Jim Ruby tacked on rough pine.

Looking at the face, Ozzie chuffed and shook his head.

“I can't make no sense of it,” he said, cocking his head this way and that, studying Ruby. “He was an ugly sumbitch anyways.”

Skinned from the back of the head forward, Ruby's face looked small inside the large circle of skin scalp and beard. His eyelids were gone, as were his lips. His ears had been kept intact on the grisly souvenir.

“After my pa and the others hit the army patrol,” Fox said, dismissing Ruby's face, “Pa figures any soldiers that manages to get away alive might come running back here.”

Ozzie shook his head and turned away from Ruby.

“Stupid soldiers,” he said.

“Yeah . . . ,” Fox said. He gazed in contemplation at the iron gates, and beyond them, out across the distant flatlands below. At the gates Darton Alpine looked back at the two and motioned them toward the rear trail out of town.

“Right away, Dart,” Fox called out to him. To Ozzie he said, “He wants us to cover the other end of town. Let's go.”

“What about something to eat?” Ozzie said.

“We'll get something on our way,” said Fox.

“Hell,” said Ozzie, “no soldier's going to go all the way around town and come the back way—not while they think Apache is on their trail.”

“I know it,” said Fox, “but let's do like we're told. Maybe he'll forget about us getting drunk on him.” They started walking, rifles in hand. “Anyways, I've been thinking,” Fox added. “I figure when Pa gets back, he's going to have us pillage this town and burn it on our way out.”

“So?” Ozzie grinned, looking all around. “That's sounds like fun to me.”

Fun?

Fox just looked at him as they walked.

“It might be
fun
for the two of us if we got the jump on everybody and took whatever money we can find ahead of time. Don't you think?”

“Oh yes, indeed I do,” Ozzie said, grinning. He looked all around. “How we going to do it without being seen by Alpine?”

Fox looked him up and down.

“We just go to all the back doors,” he said, “shake
a gun in the owner's face. Tell him if he don't keep his mouth shut, he'll be leaning on the well beside Diamond Jim.”

Ozzie laughed and clapped his hands together in excitement.

“Damn! I like it!” he said. “You must think just like your pa when it comes to business.”

“I ought to,” Fox said solemnly. “That's who I learnt it from. Now that I'm no longer saddled with my brother, I want to put my learning to work. Maybe strike out on my own before long.”

“I hear you,
El Zorro
,” said Ozzie. “You need a pal covering your back, I'm your huckleberry.”

“‘El Zorro'?” said Fox.

Ozzie grinned.

“Yeah, you know, ‘The Fox'?”
He made a strong fist. “The way the Mexes say it,
Astuto como el zorro . . . 
?”

“Crafty as
the fox
,” the serious young man translated. He spat and said, “I don't know about that, Oz. I just know the only way out for me is to shoot my way out, fight my way out and never look back.”

Ozzie looked all around, puzzled. He shrugged and spread his hands.

“Your way out of
what
?” he asked as they walked.

“Any damn thing . . . every damn thing,” Fox said grimly without looking around. They walked on in a tight silence until finally Fox's dark brooding seemed to lift a little. He let out a breath and glanced sidelong at Ozzie.

“El Zorro, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ozzie grinned. “What do you think of it?”

“It'll do,” Fox said. He managed a slight smile, realizing there were a lot of things about Ozzie that reminded him of his dead brother, Lucas. Ozzie still had a lot of kid in him, Fox realized. But he was smart enough to know how to stay alive. That was worth a lot.

“El Zorro,”
Fox murmured to himself, getting a feel for it. He was not a young man given to frivolity, but he liked it.

And they walked on.

The Ranger and the women had heard the gunfire from a long ways off. With little other choice they had continued moving steadily in that direction throughout the day. In the late afternoon, they stopped at a turn on the hill trail when three soldiers stood up on the hillside and waved down at them. One soldier wore a bloodstained handkerchief wrapped around his upper arm; another soldier rode slumped in his saddle with a hand pressed to his side.

“Ranger, up here,” one soldier called out in English, recognizing Sam from when they'd met earlier on the trail. As he spoke the soldier bounded through the rocks down toward the trail. The two wounded soldiers stood watching, their French rifles in hand.

Sam stopped his dun and the mule cart and sat watching. The woman, Ria, stopped the barb beside him. The young girl sat at the front of the cart.

“We heard shooting earlier. What happened?” he asked.

“Apache! Quetos and his Wolf Hearts ambushed us,” the soldier said, reaching the trail and stopping. On the hillside the other two walked down slowly, cradling their rifles. “Thank God we saw you before you go any farther. They will kill you.” He waved a hand at the trail leading to Iron Point. “They are everywhere.”

Apache . . . ?

Sam was skeptical. Looking out across the sand flats below and back along the hill trail in the direction of Iron Point, he saw no trail dust, no signs of life on the rugged Mexican badlands. He'd yet to see anyone ride away from fighting Apache without warriors in hot pursuit. From the condition of these three, the Wolf Hearts would have ridden them down long before now and killed them on the spot.

“Where's your captain?” Sam asked.

“Dead, I think,” the soldier said. Then he stopped and said, “Or maybe he got away, I don't know. We saw a chance to retreat and we did so. Were we wrong?”

Sam just looked at him, getting an idea these men were in the midst of deserting when he and his little party happened along.

“I don't know,” Sam replied. “Sometimes a retreat is the only move to make. Where are you headed now? Where're your horses?”

The other two soldiers had stopped a few feet away and stood watching.

“Where are we headed? Where are our horses?” the soldier repeated, as if needing time to come up
with some answers. “Our horses are over there.” He gestured a hand toward the hillside. “We are headed back to Iron Point, of course—to defend the fort against the heathen Apache.”

“I see,” Sam said. He picked up his canteen by the strap around his saddle horn and swung down from his saddle. The women watched him step around and hold the canteen out to the soldier.

“Ah,
gracias
, Ranger,” the man said. He took the canteen, started to uncap it.

“You're headed the wrong way,” Sam said, leaning in close to the soldier as if sharing a secret. He eyed him closely.

The soldier looked surprised, nervous, feeling pressed by the Ranger.

“We are?” he said. He glanced over at the two men as he raised the canteen to his lips. But he stopped suddenly when he felt the tip of the Ranger's gun barrel stuck up under his chin.

“You try signaling them to fire, I'll lift the top off your head,” Sam said quietly.

“No, no,
señor
! You have us wrong!” the man said, hearing the Colt cock in the Ranger's hand. “
Por favor
. Let me explain to you—”

But Sam was having none of it.

“Tell your pards to drop the rifles,” he demanded, cutting the man off.

The soldier's eyes flashed toward the men. Sweat beaded thick on his forehead.

“Okay, lay down your rifles, both of you!” he shouted. “I told you this would not work. That this man is too smart to fall for any trick—”

“Shut up,” Sam said, gripping the man by his shirt with his free hand, the barrel of the Colt still in place under his chin. “Tell them to drop every weapon they've got. If they hold out, I'll kill you first. Don't forget,
yo hablo español
.”

“This one speaks Spanish,” the soldier said to the men in their own language. Then he quickly ordered them to disarm, and looked back at the Ranger. “There, you see, no tricks.” He gave a shrug, his head cocked high on the tip of the gun barrel.

“Ria, you and Ana search those two,” Sam called out to the women. “See to it they're unarmed.”

“I will search them,” Ria replied. She motioned for Ana to remain in the cart.

Sam watched her climb down from her saddle and hurry over to the wounded soldiers. He looked at Ana, who had sat back down and folded her hands on her lap.

“Ana, find some bandages for these men,” he called out to the young woman.

“Please do not blame us for what we do, Ranger,” the soldier said. “We are in desperation here. We know the Apache will kill us if they catch us.”

“You've got no horses, do you?” Sam said. “You were going to take ours, right?”

“It is true, God forgive us,” the soldier said. “We
have no horses . . . no food, no water.” He lowered his eyes to the canteen in his hand. “Yes, we are going as far from this place as we can get. The patrol is dead. What else can we do?”

Sam lowered the Colt from under the man's chin when he looked around and saw Ria give him a nod. The soldier drank from the canteen and gestured toward the other two men.

“Ana, come take the water to the men,” he said, seeing the young woman step down from the cart with bandaging in her hands.

“No, Ana, stay where you are!” Ria called out, hurrying toward the canteen in the soldier's outstretched hand. “I will do it.”

Sam stepped back from the soldier; he lowered the Colt to his side but kept it cocked. He watched Ria take the canteen from the soldier and hurried to Ana to get the bandaging.

“We're going to give you a canteen,” he said to the sweating soldier. “You know there's a water hole back there.”

“
Sí
, yes, we know,” the soldier said.

“We'll give you the bandaging and part of what food we have.”

“Gracias,”
the soldier said humbly, his head lowered in shame for what he and his companions had planned to do.

“Here're your choices,” Sam said. “We're going to Iron Point—”

“But, Ranger, the Apache!” the soldier blurted out.

Sam silenced him with a firm stare.

“You three can follow along with us on foot.” He motioned the other two soldiers over closer as he spoke. “Or you can take your chances and head for your next nearest outpost.”

“The next nearest outpost is the old mission fortress near Rio Santo,” the soldier said. “It is a two-day ride—walking, I don't know.” He shook his head a little at the prospect and looked at the other two as they walked closer, stopped and listened.

Sam noted the bloodstained bandages on the two men.

“We had a wounded man back there and the wolves got awfully bold on us,” he warned.

“Better we face the wolves than the Wolf Hearts,” the sweaty soldier said. He paused, then said, “Perhaps you should go with us, Ranger. When we reach the outpost we will have over a hundred armed soldiers around us.”

“We're headed on to Iron Point,” Sam said in a voice that invited no more discussion on the matter. “Unless the womenfolk want to go to Rio Santo with you.” He looked at Ria and Ana as the two walked in closer. But Sam already knew that Ria wasn't about to allow these soldiers around Ana, not for a minute, certainly not for a long trek across the Mexican badlands.

“No,” Ria said flatly, “we are going to Iron Point with the Ranger.” She stared at the soldiers and looked them up and down with wary distrust in her dark eyes.

“There you have it,” Sam said to the soldiers. “We'll get you outfitted best we can. I'll unload
your guns and pitch your bullets up on the hillside. We'll be cleared out of here by the time you find them.”

“But, señor—” one of the wounded soldiers started to protest.

“Keep quiet,” the sweaty soldier snapped at him. “It is only fair that he does so.”

Sam continued. “It's up to you whether you go to Rio Santo and report what happened out here, or skin out somewhere else and be deserters.” He stared at the soldiers.

“
Sí
, Ranger, it is up to us,” the sweating soldier said, calmer now, seeing they might stand a chance. “We will go to Rio Santo and report to the commander. You have our word.”

*   *   *

When the Ranger and the women had ridden on a full two miles, too far for the three soldiers to catch up with them after having to scour the hillside for their bullets, Sam slowed his dun and looked back along the trail.

“Do you think they will go to the fortress at Rio Santo, Ranger?” Ria asked. “Can you count on them, after what they were going to do to us?”

“I don't know,” Sam replied. “They were in desperate straits. Fear and desperation make a man do a lot of things—things he wouldn't do otherwise.” He turned back to the trail and put the dun forward. “Soldiers are trained to obey orders,” he said, riding on, leading the cart, the women right beside him. “Take away the orders they're used to getting, some of them don't know what to do.”

“That does not excuse them for what they had planned for us,” the woman said. “Had you not put your gun under his chin, they would have killed us without batting an eye. They would have ridden away on these horses and left our bones to the desert floor.”

“Maybe,” Sam said. “Luckily we'll never know.”

They rode on in the darkening hills until the sun was gone and stars began dotting the purple sky. They did not stop again until they found themselves on a narrow trail skirting around a moonlit valley where bodies of man and horse alike lay strewn about, being pulled and picked upon by a pack of frenzied wolves.

“Stay back here,” the Ranger said. “Hold the cart.”

“Santa madre de Dios!”
the woman whispered. She crossed herself and sidled her horse closer to the cart where Ana sat on the board, a blanket wrapped around her. The mule had grown fearful and balked at the cart reins as Sam held them over to Ria. Both horses shied back from the sound and the scent of the wolves. Even at thirty yards the sound of snarling and eating filled the night.

“They're too busy to care about us right now,” Sam said. He swung down from his saddle in the purple moonlight and handed Ria his dun's reins. “Ana, throw out something I can use for a torch.”

“I will get it,” Ria said quickly.

“No,” Sam said firmly, “you hold the animals.”

Ria stayed in her saddle; Ana hurriedly gathered
an old shirt and a slim pick handle and pitched them over the side of the cart.

No sooner had Sam fashioned the wadded shirt and the pick handle into a torch and lit it than he heard a faint voice coming from a stand of rocks to his left. Instead of venturing closer to the wolves to count the dead, he walked sidelong to the rocks, his rifle in his right hand, his left hand holding the torch burning above his head. As he neared the rocks he heard the voice again. This time he saw a soldier's chewed-up boot reach from among the rocks and scrape at the ground. He hurried over to it.

“
Por favor
, help me,
señor
 . . . ,” a weak voice moaned as the torchlight spread down over the rocks brokenly.

Hearing the man speak English, Sam said, “Keep quiet. Wolves are everywhere.” As he whispered, he stooped and dragged the man from under the rocks where he'd burrowed himself a den from which to fight off the scavengers. As Sam dragged him into sight, he saw the bloodstained bandages around his waist; he saw the chewed-upon fore-stock of the French rifle that the man had used to jab at the wolves' muzzles when they tried to dig him from his lair.

“Thank God, thank God, thank God . . . ,” the soldier chanted in a rasping whisper until his voice trailed away.

Sam laid the torch down long enough to lift the man over his shoulder. At the cart, Ria and Ana watched him rise and carry the wounded man,
torch, rifle and all, beneath the flickering dome of firelight.

“Ranger, they see us!” Ria said, struggling with the nervous horses and the balking mule.

“They're not bothering with us just now,” Sam said. “They've taken an easier meal.”

Ana had hurried to the tailgate of the cart and pushed it open. Sam laid the wounded man into the cart, lifted the gate and held it while Ana slipped the iron gate pin back into place.

Sam stepped back and held the torch close to the ground, examining the many hoofprints scattered in the dirt. He saw no unshod prints, only the iron shoes of the soldiers' horses.

“Ranger, we must leave!” Ria said.

Sam turned and took his dun's reins from her and swung up in the saddle, the torch above his head. The dun was steady enough, but tense, agitated by the wolves, the fire flickering so close above its back.