Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) (14 page)

"Drop 'em, mister."

He dropped them. Webb was staring at him over a saddle. Grant Kimbrough and Jennifer Fair had turned to face him, and beyond them, standing in the shadow at the far edge of the area, was Logan Cates.

Zimmerman turned around slowly. The shotgun was right on his belt buckle and it gave him a queasy feeling. A pistol he might face, a man had a chance there, but nobody had a chance against the twin barrels of a shotgun.

"Split fifty-fifty and I'll take you with me," Zimmerman said.

"You won't take her anywhere," Logan Cates said, his voice cutting across the night, "because you're not going anywhere."

Webb had heard enough. Zimmerman with his greed and Kimbrough with that girl, and now they'd missed their chance, but he had not! With a leap he was in the saddle, his spurs slapped home, and the zebra dun sailed over the lower rocks with a great bound and was gone in the night.

They were all up and standing around now. For a moment they listened to the rush of pounding hoofs.

"He won't get far," Cates said, "he's on my horse."

"What difference does that make?" Beaupre asked.

"I know that dun. He was startled by the sudden jump into the saddle but right now he knows what has happened."

The dun was running freely and Webb's heart was pounding wildly. He was away! He was free! He was--

The zebra dun felt the strange rider. He slowed, then suddenly braced his legs. Webb came loose in the saddle and caught himself, but not in time to save him as the dun swapped ends twice and sent him sailing. He hit the ground all in a heap and the dun's flying hoofs narrowly missed his skull, and then the dun was off into the night.

Webb lunged to his feet and started to cry out, then the danger of his position came home to him. He was on his feet with only a pistol, and no horse, no canteen. There were Indians all around him.

He stood still for a moment. He could go back. He thought of that, then changed his mind. No, he was free. No matter what they said, it could not be far to water, and he would keep going. If the Apaches could live out in this desert, he could. He faced northwest and started walking.

Suddenly he seemed to hear something out in the desert. He paused, listening. He heard no sound. After a moment he walked on, and heard it again. He started to walk faster, then broke into a run. He ran and ran, then stumbled and fell. He scrambled to his feet, his hands bleeding, and rushed on. He plunged into a bunch of cholla, backed off filled with thorns and ran on ...

At daylight, staggering with weariness, he was out on the desert. Not far away were some rocks. He started toward them. After an hour he was no nearer and the sun had come out. He stopped to try to pull thorns from his hands with his teeth. He pulled one out, then fastened his teeth in another. Something moved near him and he lifted his eyes to look.

For an instant he stared, then slowly his eyes went from right to left around him. He backed off a little, then turned, his teeth still in the thorn. They were all around him. There was no escape.

It was almost noon when they heard the first scream.

Kimbrough came to his feet, his face white with shock. "What was that?"

Nobody said anything for a long minute and then Cates replied, "That was Webb ... he didn't like it here."

The dun came back shortly after noon. He came trotting in, stirrups flopping. Logan Cates walked to him and the dun jerked up his head, eyes rolling. Cates spoke to him softly, got hold of the bridle and led the horse to water. Then he unsaddled him and picketed him with the rest, gathering mesquite beans for him from places the horse could not reach. The screams had been coming for the past hour, but now they were growing fainter.

Nobody had said anything for a long time. Zimmerman walked over to Cates finally. "What are they doing to him?" he whispered hoarsely. His face was gray with horror and sweat beaded his brow. "He--he sounds like an animal."

"He is," Cates said dryly, "he's just a hurt animal, in pain. By now he doesn't even remember he was a man. I don't know what they're doing, maybe skinning him little by little, maybe sticking cholla thorns into him and setting fire to them. An Apache has a sight of imagination when it comes to that sort of thing."

Zimmerman mopped a big hand over his face. "You--you think we've got a chance, Cates?"

"We're alive, aren't we? Sure, we've got a chance."

The planned attack on the Indian camp had been given up, yet he knew it was still the thing to do, and might be their only chance to cut the odds between them. They had a man less now.

Taylor was staring at the saddlebags. "What's in them?" he asked.

"None of your business!" Big Maria flared.

Zimmerman squatted on his haunches. "I'll tell you what's in 'em," he said. "It's gold. Maybe sixty, seventy thousand dollars. And it's stolen gold, too."

"Stolen?"

"Yeah. My guess is from the mines at Quitovac. All that stuff about Tucson is a cock-an'-bull story. She was there, sure. But my guess is she an' her man went down to Quitovac after that gold. Prob'ly murdered old Adam down there."

"Ma'am," Taylor spoke sharply, "you'll have to turn that gold over to me. I am an officer of the law."

Big Maria's fat face was sweaty and dust-streaked. One stocking was down and her clothes were all awry, but there was no nonsense about the shotgun. "All right," she said "you want it, you come an' get it."

Taylor wet his lips with his tongue. He stared greedily at the sack, but he made no move to get it at that particular moment.

"You don't have to go after it now," Zimmerman scoffed. "Just wait ... whoever lives through this can ride out of here a rich man."

"That's enough of that talk!" Cates interrupted. "You have enough trouble without stirring it up among you. Zimmerman, you start any more of that talk and I'll send you out there after Webb."

Big Maria held her shotgun and stared defiantly at them, but Logan Cates ignored her. They were in trouble now. Webb would be tortured until he could stand no more, but once he was dead they would be liable to attack.

Sheehan came to him. He looked gray and old. "Sorry, Logan; sorry Webb went haywire on you. That comes from taking men into the Army who don't want to soldier. Zimmerman's the same ... he was in trouble back East, joined up to get away from the law."

Taylor stalked over to them. "Cates, you order that woman to turn that gold over to me. I'm an officer of the law."

Logan Cates turned sharply around. "Taylor, you're a businessman who was deputized to join a posse, that's all. Out here you're not even that, you're a man who's fighting for his life. How she got that gold or what she does with it is none of my affair. My only concern is getting us out of here alive, if I can."

"When we get out of this," Taylor said maliciously, "I'm going to have the law check your background, Cates. You ride with the wrong herd."

"Oh, shut up!" Cates was disgusted. "Go on back and get your rifle. You'll be lucky if you don't wind up head down over a fire, like Webb probably did."

Chapter
Fourteen

A hot wind blew dust across the clearing and sifted a thin film of it over the water in the pools. The water was low now; only a little remained. The sun was high, and from up in the rocks Beaupre watched the desert with eyes weary from staring over the hot sand. He felt worn out and tired, and for the first time he felt old. His had been the tireless strength built of long use, accustomed to hardship, scarce food and little water, and in the past he had never known what weariness could mean. Now he was bone-tired.

Logan Cates checked his Winchester. He looked across at Jennifer. She was strangely silent this morning, had gone about helping with the little food there was left, but said almost nothing. Junie sat close to Lonnie, and they were talking together. Grant Kimbrough sat alone.

Since the events of the previous night had become common knowledge, Cates had said nothing to Kimbrough. He had never liked the man, but he had believed he would stay put and fight; now he knew this was not so. Yet Grant Kimbrough was no coward, he was simply a selfish man--and such a man can be dangerous.

Taylor was greedy. He was more concerned with the gold Big Maria had than with defending the rocks. He could not be depended upon.

Jennifer brought Cates a cup of coffee. "It's almost the last," she said, "and more than half mesquite bean, but it's all we have."

He grinned as he accepted it, and she thought again how tireless he seemed. "You've done nothing but think of us," she said, "you're the only one who has, unless it's the sergeant here."

"I want to get out alive."

"It's more than that."

"You know it is, ma'am." Sheehan glanced at her. "You stick with him, no matter what comes. If anybody can take care of you, he can."

"You probably think I'm a fool," she said, after Sheehan had gone. "I'm beginning to see what you meant about the kind of men it takes for this country."

"That boy your father killed," Cates said. "I know all about that. They called him Rio, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"He was a gunman ... a killer for pay. They sent him to kill your father."

Her eyes searched his. "You're not just saying that to make it easier for me?"

"A man's worse than a fool who'll lie at a time like this," he said, "but you can ask Beaupre or even Taylor. Everybody on the border knows that story. Rio was from El Paso, and a bad man to tangle with. Friends tried to get your father to hire a gunfighter, but he told them he had always scotched his own snakes, and he was too old to change."

"I've been an awful fool."

"Who hasn't? A lot of people have to learn that a laughing boy isn't always a nice boy. I've seen Rio, he looked very gay and debonair in the saddle or afoot, and he had no more heart than a rattler."

She was silent. "Logan, I want to go back. I want to go back to my father."

"He'd like that."

"Will you take me back?"

His eyes searched hers. "If we get out of here," he promised, "I'll take you back."

A boot grated on gravel. "Running out on me, Jen?" Grant Kimbrough stood facing them. She thought again, in that moment, how the desert had a way of stripping the tinsel off things, it took rawhide and iron to stand up in the desert. "You won't get away with it, Jen. And Logan isn't taking you anywhere."

"We can talk about it later," Cates said mildly. "We've trouble enough."

Kimbrough laughed sarcastically. "Is that always the way you dodge trouble, Cates? I've heard you say that to Taylor, Zimmerman and Maria. Always the same thing. You knew that I planned to leave last night; why didn't you come to me and speak your piece? Were you afraid, Cates?"

"Afraid?"

"I've shot a crow on the whig, Cates." Kimbrough was smiling. "With one shot."

"Did the crow have a gun?" Cates asked gently. Kimbrough's smile vanished and Cates added, "I'll not be on the wing, Kimbrough, but I'll have a gun."

Sheehan had walked up silently, and now he glanced at Cates. "You're in the middle, boy, right in the middle of a target."

It was very hot. Dust blew across the clearing and stirred the sand on the desert. Logan Cates climbed back into the rocks and sat very still, trying to steady himself. It was getting him, too. The heat, the eternal watchfulness, the trouble within and without. Grant Kimbrough was very sure of himself with a gun ... surer than any man would be who had not been successful. Kimbrough was positive he could beat Cates, and probably equally positive about anyone else.

He was a dangerous man, and especially dangerous now that he was close to the end of the tether. Out here, away from the eyes of the public, a lot could happen. Logan Cates had not missed the comment that the gold belonged to anyone who survived, nor had Kimbrough missed it. He would be thinking of that now, and he could no longer count on Jennifer Fair. Taylor, Zimmerman and Kimbrough all felt themselves his enemies. Nobody knew where Beaupre or Lugo stood.

They moved out to the edge of the rocks and settled in place. It was going to be a long day, and the last of the food was gone. Only a little water was left. And out there in the desert, Webb had died screaming, his screams still ringing in the ears of those who defended the little circle of rocks.

Logan Cates searched the horizon, but a veil of dust and heat was drawn across the distance. Nothing was visible, but the sand, the sky, and the hard-boned ridges that thrust their serrated combs against the heat-misted horizon. The horses stood with heads down. Jim Beaupre got down from his place in the rocks and paced restlessly, his eyes searched the rocks as if looking for some escape.

Big Maria hunched over her saddlebags, half crazed by heat, greed, and the fear that somebody would deprive her of her wealth. Zimmerman scarcely looked at her. He had lost weight, looked thinner and somehow meaner and more vicious.

Only Lugo remained unchanged. He squatted among the rocks and wet the edge of the cigarette with his tongue. He glanced from time to time at Beaupre.

Sheehan was high in the rocks, searching for something at which to shoot. Suddenly, Cates saw him lift his rifle, a repressed eagerness in his manner. The muzzle eased forward between two rocks, the stock nestled against his cheek.