Shadow River (9 page)

“Shoot it!
Shoot it!
”
the corporal shouted, almost hysterically, his hand fumbling at his empty holster, his pistol having been knocked away by his fall. He stumbled to his feet.

The soldiers swung their rifles up to their shoulders, but before they could fire, the bear knocked the corporal down, grabbed him under his shoulder with its powerful jaws and stood erect, the corporal dangling and screaming in the air.

“No, don't shoot!” Captain Flores shouted, seeing that any shot made would more likely kill the corporal.

“He's got him,” Burke said, the gunmen and the Apache gazing on with interest.

The bear stood shaking the corporal back and forth in its jaws like a bundle of rags. The soldiers hurriedly ran along the path through the rocks to get position. Seeing them coming, the bear clamped a big arm around the helpless soldier and squeezed him tight against its chest. The corporal screamed, the bear's teeth gripping him and stabbing deep into the flesh up under his arm. Valiente's arm swung limply, broken and bleeding.

Before the soldiers got through the rocks, the bear dropped onto three legs and loped away across a large stone, climbing upward onto the hillside. The prisoners stood watching as if spellbound as the bear and the screaming, sobbing corporal disappeared from sight.

“That's one bear ain't foraging for berries tonight,” Burke said quietly to Sam, keeping three guards standing nearby from hearing him.

“Sergeant, keep your men after it!” the captain called out, staring along with everyone else, watching Bolado and a half dozen men scrambling upward over the rocks in pursuit of the bear. A barrage of rifle fire resounded from the first few men who had gotten up the hillside ahead of the others. Sam watched gray gun smoke rise and drift from among the rocks. They heard the corporal's screams grow louder in spite of being farther away.

“Might as well get comfortable,” Burke said. “This could take a while.” He plopped onto the dirt, pulling the rope taut between Sam and Black. They sat down with him, still staring up the hillside. Across from them, the Apache did the same.

“There they go firing guns out here,” Black commented. “Wonder who that'll bring calling on us.”

Burke looked around at him and his drooping hat brim and shook his head.

“It's anybody's guess,” Burke said. He looked at Black sourly. “Please get rid of that hat, Stanley,” he said. “I swear to God it's killing me looking at it.”

“Tough knuckles, Clyde,” said Black. “It keeps my head from burning up.”

Watching the hillside, speculating on the gunfire, Sam said, “If there're Apache out there, they'll be coming for their own.”

“Yep,” said Burke. “I figure in a few minutes when the bear gets shed of these soldiers, we'll be hearing some bones popping and cracking up there.” He shook his head. “It ain't going to be no pretty sight, a bear eating a Mexican.”

“I bet it's not,” Sam said, running his fingers back through his wet dripping hair.

Shortly after the soldiers went in pursuit of the big yellow-brown Mexican grizzly, a series of terrible gut-wrenching screams resounded down from the upper hillside, followed by a deathlike silence.

“
Bon appétit,
as the French say,” Burke chuckled under his breath. “He's got himself a big mouthful of heart and liver right now, sucking and munching.” He let out a deep breath and continued. “They say a Mexican griz will go in through the softest spot, root around and eat the innards first off,” he said quietly, lest the already rattled guards hear him. The young soldiers stared transfixed upward in the direction of the dying corporal's screams.

“Most any grizzly does that,” Black cut in. “Not just these Mexican browns.”

“I'm just saying.” Burke shrugged. He looked away as he spoke, owing to the displeasure he found in Black's sagging hat brim.

Sam sat quietly gazing up the hillside. And for the next hour, the two rows of prisoners sat in the dirt facing each other from ten feet apart. Four riflemen guarded the grim dirty lot of them. Two more riflemen stood in front of a pitched tent where the captain rested behind the tent's flapping thin gauzelike sides, out of the scorching sun.

Three more soldiers guarded the horses and the mule-killer cart while most of their comrades scoured the rocky upper hillsides chasing the big yellowish brown Mexican grizzly.

Suddenly, after an hour of quiet, the stillness of the afternoon was shattered by a large volley of rifle fire far up the hillside.

“If that didn't kill the big brute, they best all run for their lives,” Burke commented.

Both soldiers and prisoners fell silent again, the soldiers appearing gripped by apprehension.

After another ten minutes of silence, the hillside shuddered and rumbled as a powerful quake rippled through the earth deep beneath its rocky surface. As the earth rumbled and churned, the guards staggered in place and managed to keep their footing, their rifles ever ready. The Apache were the first to turn their eyes upward in time to see a heavy rock slide tumble down less than a quarter of a mile away on the trail behind them.

As the three American gunmen stopped swaying in the dirt, Stanley Black turned to Sam and Burke.

“The day's been anything but uneventful, you have to admit,” he said under his breath. He gestured toward the large dust looming above the settling rock slide, and added, “There goes any thought of turning back.”

Surprisingly, one of the young guards standing over the three looked down at Black.

“The Mexican army does not go back, only forward,” he said in broken English.

“Ha. Now you're habloing Eng-lace, all of a sudden,” said Burke, recognizing the soldier who had served them beans at breakfast.

Sam leaned and whispered in Burke's ear, “Stop it, Clyde. Keep him talking.” Burke sat back and let Black and Sam handle the conversation. Black picked right up on the change in the guard's attitude.

“How long before you figure we move out of here?” he asked, keeping his English slow and clearly spoken.

“I don't know,” the young soldier said, shaking his head as he searched back and forth, making sure he wasn't heard by the other guards. “The captain only gives his orders to the sergeant at the last minute. The sergeant tells us when he thinks we need to know.”

“What's your name?” Black asked in a whisper.

“I am Private Roberto Deluna,” the soldier whispered, standing straight and rigid above them for the sake of appearance. “But do not think that because I am talking I will reveal anything I should not, because I will not.”

“I'm hurt that you'd think it,” Burke put in.

“I know how men like you are. I have a brother who was a pistolero
and a bandito.”

Burke shook his head.

“Jeez,” he said. “Pistolero, yeah maybe . . . but a bandito? That's getting a little rough, don't you think?”

“Yes, it is a harsh thing that I say about you,” he said with a slight shrug, not seeing that Burke was playing him along. “But it is true,” he added. “True about you and also about my poor brother, Roberto, may God show him mercy.” He crossed himself quickly.

Burke looked confused.

“I thought your name was Roberto?” he said.

“It is,” said the private.

Burke looked even more confused.

Sam leaned in.

“Don't try to figure it out. Keep him talking,” he said. “We need someone who'll tell us what's going on.”

“When my brother, Roberto, was hanged for rustling goats and shooting a wealthy patron,” Roberto said, “I took his name as a form of pittance to redeem my family name for the bad he did. I must go for years in shame with his name on my shoulders.”

Burke sat staring curiously.

Sam leaned in again.

“See what I mean?” he whispered to Burke.

“This sure as hell ain't Missouri,” Burke said.

“I should not even be telling anyone, especially prisoners,” said Private Roberto. “Only, in your case, I know it is all right that I do so.”

“Oh? And why's it all right telling us?” Burke asked.

“Because when I tell you, I know that I am talking to dead men, and it will never be revealed what I say,” he replied casually.

“Why, you little—” Burke started to stand, but Sam jerked on the rope between the two of them and pulled him back down.

“Any idea what we'll have for supper?” Sam asked in an effort to keep a conversation going.

“No idea,” said the young soldier. He stood silently for a moment, then said, “Beans, I think. Beans and salt pork.”

“Frijoles y puerco salado?”
Burke said in poor Spanish, keeping the sour look from taking over his face.

“Yes,
Frijoles y puerco salado,
” the young soldier repeated. “Beans and pork.”

“Good,” Sam said as if delighted. “That's what we were all three hoping for.”

“Yum-yum,” Burke said. “I say a man can't live on a handful of cold beans and salt pork, he don't much deserve to live at all.”

The conversation stopped as a volley of rifle fire resounded from up the hillside, followed by a long pain-filled bawl of the bear that ended abruptly.

“Maybe beans and bear,” the young soldier said, with the trace of a grin.

“Eating a bear that just et a Mexican does not pilot my appetite in the proper direction—” Burke said, interrupted once again, this time by Sam's elbow in his side.

“We can hardly wait,” Sam said, taking over from Burke. “Any chance of us getting some tin plates under it?” he asked.

The soldier stood in silence for a moment, then said quietly to Sam, “I will see what I can do.”

“
Gracias
, Private Roberto,” Sam said, sitting back in the dirt, feeling they had made some headway with the young private.

•   •   •

It was later in the afternoon when the signs of trail dust came down the hillside. Foot soldiers and soldiers on horseback followed. The soldiers on foot who had scrambled and bounded up over rock and boulder going after the bear now trudged down into the camp, worn out and filthy. Behind them on the trail, Sergeant Bolado supervised from his saddle, leading two other horsemen into camp dragging the dead bear. Across Bolado's horse behind his saddle lay a short rolled-up bloody canvas. At the water hole, Bolado stopped. Two soldiers trotted over and hefted the canvas down and lowered it respectfully to the ground.

“There's the good corporal now,” Burke said quietly, the three of them staring at the half-eaten body wrapped in bloody canvas.

“Uh-huh,” Black agreed, his mouth slightly agape, his neck craned for a better look out over the sagging edge of his sliced hat brim. Across from them, the Apache also stood up and stared. Both groups watched as soldiers back from the hunt fell facedown into the water and swished their heads to and fro as they drank. While they slaked their thirst, they slung their wet hair and milled about. A soldier walked up to them with a three-foot-long wooden crate that he set on the ground and opened.

“Tome su escoge,”
the soldier call out, telling the soldiers to take their choice from inside the crate. Stepping back, he watched the soldiers gather over the crates and pick out butchering tools. They fell upon the bear carcass with knives, both long and short, and saws and bone-chopping cleavers. As the prisoners and the captain and sergeant looked on, the soldiers dismantled the big bear onto a canvas laid out for storage wrapping. With the bear's head still attached to its thick, furry hide, four soldiers carried the bodiless bear to a side and draped the hide over a large rock.

Standing nearby, the two mules and the spare horses nickered nervously and shied away on the rope line they stood reined to.

Young soldiers showed up and relieved the guards while Sam and the others were engrossed watching the bear butchering. Close to where the bear was being quartered, boned, separated and wrapped in canvas, a large fire began to flicker skyward in a pile of brush and deadfall timber.

“Think they've got a big enough fire?” Burke said with sarcasm as the flames licked high upward against the evening sky.

“Yep, plenty,” Sam replied. “If they leave it burning after dark, we'll have lots of company coming.”

“No talk,” said one of the relief guards.

“Well, well, look who's here.
No Talk
is back,” Burke said, his voice lowered but still defiantly loud enough to be heard. “Bet he missed us.” He grinned at the soldier.

“Let it go, Clyde,” Sam whispered. “We need to let them forget we're even here.”

Burke nodded. He corrected himself and took a deep breath.

“Somehow I don't look for that to happen,” he whispered sidelong to Sam.

“No
talk
,” the soldier insisted adamantly.

Burke chuckled but only shook his head.

While they stood watching, Roberto and the relieved guards had walked off behind some rocks. When they returned to the water, they stooped and watered themselves with cupped hands, their rifles leaning across their knees. When they stood up slinging their hands dry, they walked with three other soldiers for a moment, then walked back to the relief guards and sent them away.

After a moment, the relief guards had walked away, back to where chunks of the bear were being spiked and laid on the licking flames. Looking all around, first Sam ventured talking to the young private some more.

“You were right about it being beans and bear meat for tonight's grub, Roberto,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Roberto said with a half smile. “I am known as one who listens closely but says little.” He beamed proudly.

“I bet you are,” Sam said. He paused for a moment, then said in the same quiet voice, “After a big meal like this, we'll be lucky to get ten more miles in.”

“I'm told we will be spending the night here,” Roberto said. “I do not mind saying I was glad to hear it.”

Here, after all the gunfire, and now a big fire . . . ?

Sam looked out across the desert floor below, then over at the stone-faced Apache warriors. The Indians looked back at him with an almost bemused look in their dark eyes, as if having figured out what he was thinking—agreeing with him, despite their own sinister intent.

Turning away from the Indians, Sam saw Sergeant Bolado walking toward him. As the sergeant drew closer, he took Sam's bone-handled Colt from his waist and twirled it on his finger. When he stopped in front of Sam, he brought the spinning Colt to a halt with the tip of the gun barrel only an inch from Sam's belly.

“Do not think I have forgotten about you, gringo,” he said, standing menacingly close, his words lowered privately between him and Sam. “Corporal Valiente is dead, but earlier today he told me of how you and the gringo Raymond Segert argued over you hiding his gold from him.”

Sam just stared.

“Any gold Segert had coming was from selling rifles to your enemies, Sergeant,” Sam said.

“Don't take me for a fool,” the sergeant said. “I don't care where his gold came from. You have it, and I want it.” He poked Sam's own Colt into his ribs. “Corporal Valiente said you hid Segert's gold up on the hillside where the Apache attacked Capitán Silvero and his men. When the time comes, you will lead me to that gold. Make no mistake about it,” he said in conclusion.

“You're out of your mind, Sergeant,” Sam said.

“We will see who is out of his mind,” said Bolado. He turned away quickly when he heard his name called, and looked around, seeing the captain wave him over to where the bear lay broiling in chunks on long iron spits. “I will talk more with you later, gringo,” he said to Sam.

“Seems like a real likable fellow, that one,” Burke said, watching Bolado walk away. “I think we're going to have to find a way to drive a stake through his heart, else he's going to be after that gold at every turn.”

“You listened to everything?” Sam asked.

“It'd be hard not to,” Burke said. “Our living conditions being such as they are.” He looked all around, then said, “Do you figure he could get us out of here if we took him on for a share? We're down two men. We can afford it.”

“Maybe,” Sam said, considering it. “He's got to have me figured for taking him to the gold. He's not going to take my word for where it is.”

“No, he won't,” Burke agreed. “But it's going to be hard getting him to take Black and me along too. Most likely once you take him to the gold, he's going to drop you dead as soon as he gets his hands on it.”

“Sounds like you have the man figured out real good, Clyde,” Sam said, staring over to where Bolado stood talking to the captain beside the large raging fire.

“He ain't the first son of a bitch I ever saw suffering with gold fever,” Burke said.