Hard Country (16 page)

John Kerney figured Cal would get more interested in their partnership once the Indian troubles settled down, but for now ranching just didn’t provide the amusement to be found chasing Victorio.

Although the Apaches had not bothered Kerney and Ignacio, the constant threat made them keep weapons close at hand at all times. Over the course of several months, they saw a number of small groups of Apaches at a distance traveling over the alkali flats toward Hembrillo Canyon. They took up their rifles and prepared for an attack, but none came. Once near dusk, a large band of women, children, and warriors on horseback crossed a mite closer to them, moving quickly. At first it looked like a small pack of dogs was running behind the riders, but it turned out to be six braves on foot keeping pace with the riders. Kerney watched them through his field glasses, amazed by their speed and endurance.

On one of his infrequent visits, Cal brought two sturdy cow ponies recovered from some rustlers that had gone unclaimed. Kerney promptly gave Ignacio the choice of keeping the blue roan as his own or taking one of the ponies. Ignacio, who’d become a good rider, wisely kept the roan. They used the cow ponies to pull a wooden scoop Kerney had fashioned to carve out a dirt water tank in the arroyo where the streambed disappeared. It would trap a good amount of runoff when summer rains came.

On his trips to the village of Tularosa, Kerney stopped first at Coghlan’s store, hoping for a letter from Dr. Lyon or his wife, but none came. Each time, he sent another letter to them in care of the War Department, asking their whereabouts so he could fetch his son, and then returned to the ranch with a heavy heart he hid in hard work.

Occasionally, anger about the whole damn situation made him crabby with Ignacio. He didn’t know much about the law, but he knew that nobody had the right to keep Patrick from him without his consent. Leastways he figured that was the way it should be.

When the weather began to warm, he put pen to paper and did some figuring on what it would cost to build the ranch house. Milled lumber was dear and hard to get and would need to be hauled a long way over a difficult route, so he decided to build with adobe and stone instead, except the roof would be pitched, not flat, and the floors would be wood, not dirt.

In late March they traveled to Tularosa and found it crowded with Buffalo Soldiers camped outside the village. While Ignacio went off to visit Teresa and his parents, Kerney stopped in at Coghlan’s store and asked if there was a letter for him. The clerk searched quickly through the mail and shook his head. Disappointed, Kerney wrote another note to the doctor, paid the postage, and left it to be sent out with the next mail wagon. Outside at the hitching post, Cal Doran waved him down and slipped out of his saddle. He was covered in dust, and Patches, his horse, looked jaded from a long ride.

“When I didn’t find you at the ranch, I was dreadful afraid the Apaches might have put the kibosh on you,” he said.

“Here I am, fit as a fiddle,” Kerney said with a smile. “No reason to worry over me.”

“I swear someday you’ll get yourself scalped out there in the hell-and-gone.”

“I reckon that wouldn’t trouble your mind unless you had a good reason to fret,” Kerney said jokingly. “What’s got you so all-fired interested in my welfare?”

Cal grinned sheepishly. “I’m caught fair and square. You’ve put a lot of horse tracks in the San Andres. I doubt there’s a white man hereabouts who knows those twisted canyons and knuckled ridges better than you. I’d be obliged if you’d guide me and some pony soldiers into those mountains. Victorio and his braves are holed up there, and we’d surely like to find him before he decides to slip back across the border to Mexico again.”

Cal had never asked Kerney a favor before, and he was loath to turn him down. “Killing Victorio won’t be easy.”

“You don’t have to do any of the killing, just the scouting.”

Kerney laughed. “Seems to me it’s one and the same thing. When do we leave?”

“Right now, if you’re able.”

John Kerney looked confused. “Shouldn’t we wait on the army boys?”

“They ain’t moving a lick until we report back on Victorio’s whereabouts,” Cal replied as two soldiers strolled by. “We’ve got four days to get the job done and hightail it back here.”

“That’s a long, rough ride through hard country,” Kerney allowed. “Best we get us a string of fresh ponies and some grub.”

“Consider it done.” Cal eased into the saddle. “Will hardtack, bacon, and black coffee serve you, or do you want something fancier for victuals?”

“I’m hankering for canned oysters,” Kerney replied as he threw a leg over his horse. “And I’m powerful hungry for a mince pie.”

Cal shook his head in mock disbelief as he led the way to the army encampment.

* * *

W
ithin the hour, they were ready to make tracks on fresh horses. Kerney found Ignacio and told him to stay in Tularosa until he returned.

“Where are you going,
jefe
?” Ignacio asked.

“Looking for Victorio.”

“I go too,
jefe,
” Ignacio said stubbornly, “to defend my village.”

“Victorio ain’t anywhere near your village,” Kerney said, worried about the boy’s safety.

“I will go,” Ignacio repeated, stiffening his back.

Kerney shrugged. “Then you’ll have to stop wasting time.” He spurred his army pony and rode away with Cal, leading a string of cavalry horses.

Quickly, Ignacio returned to his parents’ house, got his six-shooter and rifle, saddled his horse, and caught up with Kerney and Cal before the village was out of sight.

The three men rode with the sun in their eyes until the night turned the sky black. They camped at Malpais Spring on the edge of the fify-mile black lava flow, got up before dawn, and skirted far north of Hembrillo Basin through a pinched canyon pass thick with brush. The sun was still at their backs when they broke through the hogback ridges of the San Andres Mountains, dropped into a boulder-filled arroyo, and began a trek down the Jornada del Muerto, the Journey of the Dead Man, a wide stretch of parched land where many Spanish settlers had died of thirst, starvation, and Apache raids during the long-ago days of the conquistadors.

At a small rainwater pond that in summer was no more than a faint, dry dimple on the flats, they watered their horses before pushing on to the mouth of the deep pass that led to Hembrillo Basin, where Kerney called a halt. Behind a rocky hillock covered in sage, greasewood, and a stand of sotol plants, they saddled fresh horses.

“Here’s where you wait for us,” Kerney told Ignacio.

“But,
jefe,
” Ignacio protested.

“No buts,” Kerney said. “I need you to stay here and look after the animals. Stay put and stay quiet. A lot of Apaches have come this way recently, and I don’t need you to get yourself scalped.”

“If you hear gunfire,” Cal said, “you skedaddle back to Tularosa and tell the army to come pounding leather.” He took some gunnysacks from a saddlebag and covered his horse’s hoofs.

Kerney did likewise and threw a leg over the saddle. “Cold camp tonight, Ignacio, savvy?”

“Savvy,” Ignacio said glumly as he unsaddled his horse. “When are you coming back?”

Kerney checked the angle of the sun, now sliding westward over the hazy Caballo Mountains, casting light on the gap that led to the shallow Rio Grande valley and the tiny Mexican farming settlement of Las Palomas. “Before midnight.”

He led the way into the mouth of the canyon and veered quickly up a ridgeline that paralleled the trail.

“You sure Victorio is camped in here?” Cal asked.

“Almost dead certain,” Kerney replied. “I judge the Apaches have been using this place as a hunting ground for a mighty long time. There’s good water, good grass, good game, fuel for campfires, and it can be easily defended from high up. I spotted breastworks when I passed though with Ignacio.”

“The army thinks Victorio has a hundred braves, women, and children with him.”

“More than that, I reckon,” Kerney replied. “I’ve seen a number of bands crossing the Tularosa from the east. Probably Mescaleros leaving the reservation to join him.”

“We need to get a gander before nightfall; otherwise, we’re gonna be spending the night huddled behind some boulder.”

Kerney nodded. “There’s a game trail that drops down to a pool that feeds a spring. We can scramble above it on foot and get a good look-see.”

The trail wound behind a solitary peak and up the backbone of an adjacent east-west canyon that dropped off into the Tularosa. They followed the narrow, rocky canyon through a stand of thick pine trees, picked up the trail again, and stopped when they heard the distant whinnying of horses.

“We walk from here,” Kerney said, dismounting.

“Those Indian ponies are a far piece away,” Cal complained as he swung out of the saddle, “but I guess sore feet are better than an Apache haircut.”

They tied off their mounts at a pine tree, followed the game trail into a valley that ran against the base of a lone mountain, and paused when they heard the sound of voices.

Kerney nodded at a sharp point well below the mountaintop and gestured at the faint trail that climbed toward it. “That’s where we need to be,” he whispered.

They moved slowly, careful not to dislodge rocks that might signal their presence. At the top of the rock-strewn trail they took a cautious look beyond the pool that fed the spring on the basin below. Dozens of wickiups and a whole caboodle of Apaches were in plain view. Evening campfires were lit, venison roasted over the flames, children played nearby, and horses were idly grazing under the watchful eyes of some young bucks.

“Maybe two hundred fifty,” Cal whispered, a bit astonished by the sight. He’d never seen so many Indians off the reservation at one time.

“More likely three hundred,” Kerney replied.

Cal’s eye followed the sweep of land to the next lone mountain. “That’s a hell of a big stretch of land down there.”

“Do you see the breastworks?” Kerney asked.

“I got them fixed in my mind.”

“Good, ’cause I’d surely like to know how the army plans to fight here without getting themselves ambushed,” Kerney said as he slid behind the brow of the outcropping.

Cal joined him and shook his head. “You got me there, partner. I guess we’ll have to leave that to the officers. How do you plan to get them soldier boys here?”

“From the north through Sulphur Canyon.” Kerney looked skyward. Early dusk had arrived, and there would be no moon to guide them along the trail to their horses. “Best we get moving; otherwise, that damn Ignacio will come looking for us if we’re not back on time.”

“He sure is mutinous for a Mexican,” Cal said, “but I can’t help liking him anyway.”

* * *

I
n Tularosa, Ignacio went to see Teresa again while Kerney and Cal rode on to the military encampment.

“Two bits that boy is gonna brag on his adventure to his young señorita,” Cal said as he dropped the reins, groaned, and dismounted. His bones ached and his muscles were sore from the long, grueling days of hard riding.

“I hope he does,” Kerney said as he climbed wearily off the army horse that had carried him back from the San Andres Mountains. “He deserves to win Teresa’s hand. We’re gonna lose him when he marries and moves back to town. That’ll be a damn shame. He makes a hand.”

“He’ll do to ride with,” Cal agreed. “Is Teresa old Perfecto Armijo’s daughter?”

“That’s the one,” Kerney replied.

“She’s gonna be one fine-looking filly,” Cal predicted.

“She already is,” Kerney said, remembering the last time he saw Teresa and how she reminded him of Mary Alice.

They turned the horses over to a private at the corral and went to meet the commanding officer, Captain Henry Carroll, who waited for them at a map table in front of a tent in the center of the encampment. A stern-looking man with a square jaw and a drooping mustache, Carroll gave his full attention to their report, including Kerney’s estimate that no less than three hundred Apaches were camped with Victorio.

Carroll raised an eyebrow. “That many?”

“Afraid so, Captain,” Cal answered. “More than half I’d figure to be braves.”

Carroll stroked his mustache. “Show me on the map.”

Kerney stepped to the map table and pointed out the route they’d taken to Hembrillo and what they’d spotted during their reconnaissance.

“There is high ground with breastworks that make strong defensive positions,” he added. “I can get you there from the north, but Victorio will have the advantage once you enter the basin. In fact, he’ll likely see us coming.”

“That won’t necessarily work against us, Mr. Kerney,” Carroll said. He turned to a Negro sergeant who’d been standing quietly off to one side. “Sergeant Fletcher, have two couriers ready to leave with dispatches within the hour.”

The sergeant saluted, turned, and hurried away.

“There are Sixth Cavalry troops and Apache scouts from Arizona encamped at Las Palomas on the Rio Grande,” Carroll explained. “And the Tenth Cavalry out of Texas is currently moving toward the San Andres to cut off any Apache retreat once we engage Victorio. We will attack them from the west and the north and force the survivors into the guns of the Tenth waiting to the south. All told, we have over five hundred and fifty troopers in the field against him.”

He pushed the map aside, sat at the desk, and picked up a pen. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your valuable assistance. Mr. Kerney, when Sergeant Fletcher returns, he will take you to the paymaster to enroll you as a scout for the duration of the engagement. We’ll leave at first light for Hembrillo and camp overnight at Malpais Spring. With an early start, in three days we should be in position to attack. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have dispatches to write.”

After Kerney finished enrolling and swearing to obey all lawful orders, the two friends headed down the road to Coghlan’s saloon for a drink or maybe two. Along the way, Cal explained in his soft Texas drawl that generally he didn’t care much for darkies, but he sure thought better of those who served as Buffalo Soldiers. “Most are fine fighting men,” he allowed.