Shadow River (10 page)

Black stared at Sam and Burke.

“You best watch your step real close if he makes you ride out of here with him,” Black said to Sam.

“I'm not riding anywhere with him unless he takes you both,” Sam said. “We're still partners, remember?”

Black gave him a sheepish look. “To tell the truth, I don't know what I would do if I had a chance to ride away from this furnace and split the gold two ways. Gold has a way of dissolving a partnership damn fast.”

“Not with me, it doesn't,” Sam said firmly.

Burke craned his neck and looked off toward three soldiers who carried food toward them. One carried the same large bean pot they'd seen at breakfast. Another carried a tray full of steaming bear meat.

“Look what's coming here,” Burke said. “It's our handful of beans and bear.”

But when the soldiers drew closer, Sam and the other two saw tin plates stacked on the tray.

“I have gotten plates for you,” Roberto said quietly to the three. The soldiers stopped and one started handing out plates.

“We are much obliged, Private Roberto,” Sam said, “very much obliged.”

When the meal was finished, the shadows of night had fallen long from the hilltops and stretched out across the desert floor. Sam, Clyde Burke and Stanley Black watched the roaring fire still burning high into the looming darkness. Black smoke and sparks flew up away across the purple starlit sky.

“They couldn't have sent a better invitation if they tried,” Burke said under his breath.

Black shook his head, took off his hat and rubbed his eyes before he set his hat back atop his head.

“I'd say we're pretty much dead here,” he commented.

Sam glanced at the Apache, the fire glittering in their dark eyes. He couldn't help noticing, even through their blank stoic expressions, that there appeared to be renewed energy about them. As he looked at them, the young warrior he had given water came very near nodding, as if telling him he was right in what he saw.

“We might be dead,” Sam said, turning away from the warrior back to Black, “but I can't see going down without a fight.”

“Well, me neither,” said Burke in a mock tone of sarcasm. “Especially when we've got so much to fight with.” He spread his tied hands all around, indicating their helpless and unarmed condition. “I say we need to attack—”

“Come on, Clyde,” Sam said, cutting him off. “You know what I mean.”

Burke scratched his head and gave him a curious look.

“I do?” he said.

“Yes, you do,” Sam said. “I'm saying we're going to be ready when the Apache hit. We're not going to sit here and let ourselves get mowed down like wheat.”

“Hell no,” Black said, leaning in closer. “When they hit, these soldiers are going to be too busy to worry about us. We need to have a plan and be ready to skin out of here.”

“That's what I mean,” Sam said. “Luckily we're all three on the same rope.” He shook the rope running through their rawhide-tied wrists. “But if we're ready when it comes, we can all three run together, knock out this nearest guard, take his rifle and knife, cut ourselves loose and run for the horses.”

“What could be easier than that?” said Burke in the same sarcastic tone.

“I'm not saying it's easy,” Sam replied.

“I know,
I know
,” Burke said dismissingly. “I'm with you on all of it. What I can't understand is, as much Indian fighting as these boys have done, how come they don't see what they're doing here?”

“Arrogance and stupidity,” Black put in. “The captain might think he's too damn good to get ambushed. He's got more men here than the 'pache are accustomed to taking on. Maybe the captain figures they'll be afraid to try anything.”

“I don't know,” Sam said. “Whatever he thinks, he can die thinking it. Starting right now we keep watch on the desert.” He nodded down toward the wide, rolling sand below. “First sign of anything, we're gone.” He gestured toward the Apache warriors who sat watching the three of them talk. “Keep an eye on these warriors too,” he said. “I don't know how, but something tells me they know what's getting ready to happen here.”

“Damn 'pache,” Burke growled. He spat on the ground in the Indians' direction. The blank dark eyes only stared right back at him.

“What about the sergeant?” Black said. “He wants that gold something fierce. He'll make you take him to it if we ain't careful.”

“I'm not taking him to it,” Sam said with determination. “You can count on that.”

“No offense, Jones,” Black said. “But you say that now. What about if he gets you off and goes to work on you with a knife? Are you sure you'd die before you'd give it up, if it meant him cutting off all your toes, your thumbs and fingers—”

“Jesus, Stanley,” Burke said in rebuke. “What goes on inside your mind?”

“I'm just saying, is all,” Black said. He turned back to Sam and asked, “If he done all that stuff to you, would you give up and take him there?”

“That's a hard thing to answer, Stanley,” Sam said. “After all that, I probably would take him there.”

Burke and Sam both stared at Black, waiting to see what he made of Sam's answer.

Finally Black nodded.

“I don't blame you,” he said. “I would too. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Sam and Burke looked at each other.

“All right,” Sam said. “Let's start watching, two hours apiece until morning.”

•   •   •

In the middle of the night, Sam awoke as Burke shook his shoulder. Sitting up, Sam looked all around, seeing the guards at either end of the ropes sitting still in the darkness, making it impossible to tell if they were asleep or awake.

“How's it been, Clyde?” Sam whispered.

“Quiet as a whisper,” said Burke. “Nothing's moved on the desert that didn't have red eyes and bushy tails.”

“I'm hoping it stays that way,” Black whispered, surprising Sam and Burke.

“Damn it, Stanley, you're supposed to be asleep,” Burke whispered harshly.

“I couldn't get back to sleep after my watch,” Black said. “Anyway, I'm not a big sleeper.” He gathered up one of three ragged striped blankets given to them by Roberto Deluna before dark. “I'm hoping this is all for nothing,” he added.

“So am I,” Sam whispered, gathering his blanket tighter around him as well. “Nothing would please me more than being wrong about this.” He paused, then added, “But I don't think I am.”

“Neither do I,” said Black. “That's the real reason I'm still awake.”

“You two palaver about it until daylight,” said Burke, turning away with his blanket drawn to him. “I'm gone for shut-eye.” He grunted and settled onto the cold ground. “Wake me when the 'pache get here.”

“I will,” Sam said.

But throughout his watch, Sam saw nothing move on the desert floor, as Burke had said, that didn't have red eyes and bushy tails. After a while, Black had leaned over back onto the ground and gone to sleep, in spite of his fear of the predicted Apache attack. As Sam watched the desert floor and gazed out as far as he could see for any signs of human life, he also kept an eye on the Apache prisoners.

The warriors sat in a row, as silent and motionless as death. Their dark silhouettes had not moved or seemed to have varied since darkness had set in. Every ten minutes two walking guards moved along between them and the American gunmen like clockwork.
That's the way, keep a good eye on them,
Sam caught himself thinking as the guards passed in the moonlit darkness. He watched the distant rolling sand, the rock land and the stony ledges behind them on the hillside above the water hole. Nothing, he reported to himself after each wide close sweep.

Good. . . .

As he watched, he listened. The night around him carried the sound of quiet snoring, of crackling fire, but of little else. When the next round of the walking guards moved toward him, he glanced at the Apache.
Still there,
he told himself, seeing their black silhouettes against the purple, same as he'd seen them all night. Then he looked up at the guards as they filed past him and he watched them as they walked on.

All right. . . .

He relaxed for only a second before looking again toward the Apache. Yet this time as his gaze swept past them against the darkness, he stopped suddenly and batted his stunned eyes. They were gone!
What the . . . ?
They were gone! He jumped to his feet, dragging the rope with him. Burke and Black, feeling the hard tug on the rope, scrambled up beside him.

“What's wrong?” Burke mumbled, half-asleep. Black staggered in place and rubbed his eyes.

“They're gone,” Sam said, not keeping his voice as lowered as he'd intended to.

“You down there, gringo!” a walking guard called out in stiff English, “get on the ground, or I will shoot!”

“All right, all right,” Sam called back, the three of them raising their hands high, hearing the sound of a rifle hammer cock in the darkness.

But before Sam and the others could drop to the ground, another guard rose to his feet at the end of the rope line.

“The devils are gone!” he shouted loudly. “Look, they are all gone!”

“Drop down,” Sam said quietly to Burke and Black. As he spoke, he stooped down and pulled on the rope connecting them. “This could get
real
dangerous
real
fast.”

“You bet, I'm down,” said Burke as he and Black dropped quickly on either side of Sam. Soldiers came running from every direction in the campsite. Lanterns flared and turned on, glaring and flickering in the night.

Torch after torch reached into the large campfire and came out lighting the campsite.

“Jesus! Why don't they tie bull's-eyes to their backs?” Burke asked, the three of them huddled down, trying to stay out of sight, hopefully out of mind.

A guard ran down from the end of the rope line and stopped in front of them. Stooping, he jiggled their rope and looked at the tightly knotted rawhide on their wrists.

“The pistoleros
are still here,
Capitán
,” he called out in the direction of Captain Flores' open-sided tent. “Only the devil Apache are gone.”

“If the pistoleros move, shoot them!” the captain called out in reply, through the chaos that had gripped the camp.

“Sí, Capitán,”
said the guard. He aimed his rifle down at Stanley Black and cocked the hammer. “You heard the
capitán
,” he said with a shrug.

“Hold it! We didn't
move!
” Sam shouted at him, seeing he was going to fire. Black threw his hands in front of his face as if the flesh and bone the bullet was made to destroy would somehow save him.

“You haven't moved yet, but you will,” the soldier said. “So . . .” He pulled the trigger. The bullet missed Black's head, but a streak of fire skimmed along the crown of his hat, leaving a blue flame dancing and flickering behind it. Black sat stunned, his eyes wide, staring through his gaping hat brim.

Seeing his shot fail, the soldier levered a fresh round into his rifle chamber. Sam and Burke half rose, ready to grab the rifle from him. But before either of them could, Private Roberto Deluna shouted at the guard as he came running up. “No, stop! Sergeant Bolado does not want them shot!”

“But the
capitán
does,” the soldier said stubbornly. “He said if they move—”

“I know what he said,” Roberto shouted, snatching the rifle from his hands. “Sergeant Bolado will have you whipped and gutted if you shoot them. How does that suit you?”

“I'm only following orders,” said the young soldier.

“Get out of here,” said Roberto. “I will guard these men, as I have been most of the night.”

“But what about my rifle?” the soldier said.

“Use my rifle. It is hooked to my saddle beside the horses. The sergeant is there assembling riders. Go now, quickly,” he said. “Ride with the sergeant. Bring back the prisoners.”

The young soldier turned and raced away toward the line of horses where saddles were being thrown and cinched, bridles hitched and gear readied. As the young guard disappeared into the chaos of soldiers scrambling back and forth, Sam and Burke looked up at Roberto.

“Gracias, Private Roberto,” Sam said.

Roberto gave him a nod. Then his eyes cut quickly to Black, who still sat stunned by his close call with death.

“Your hat is on fire,” Roberto said to him.

“Jesus!”
shouted Burke, snatching Black's flaming hat from his head with his bound hands and pounding it against the ground. “You didn't have enough damn sense to know your head was on fire?”

“Go to hell, Clyde!” Black shouted in loud reply. “I thought I was dead!”

Sam ignored the two, looking up at Roberto as he saw Sergeant Bolado and a column of men mounting their horses and falling into line.

“Is that a good idea, Roberto?” he asked. “Them going off after the Apache in the middle of the night?”

“I don't know,” said Roberto. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying what if there's other Apache just waiting out there? These prisoners get half the camp chasing them, and then the others ride in and kill everybody still here. Who's going to keep that from happening?”

The soldier's expression stiffened with pride.

“I and my fellow soldiers will defend the camp,” he said. “Do you not think us capable?”

“I think you're capable,” Sam said, realizing there was no point in discussing the matter. “I was just curious.” He and the other two would just have to be ready to make their move when the Apache hit. And he was certain they would hit most any time once the sergeant and his patrol were far enough out of camp. “Let me ask you something, Roberto,” he said. “Is the sergeant carrying my Colt?”

“
Sí
, he is carrying the gun that he took from you,” Roberto said. “But I think it is not your gun anymore.” He gave Sam a sympathetic look. “I believe it is
his
gun now.”

“I suppose you're right, Roberto,” Sam said. “To the victor goes the spoils, I reckon.”

“
Sí
, to the victor goes the spoils,” Roberto repeated with a friendly smile.