Slaughter's way (19 page)

With the inborn instinct of men who had lived long with danger as a companion, both of the Texans instinctively knew they were being watched. Cold human eyes studied their every move and gesture. No cougar or bear would have stood its ground in the face of tibeir approach. Even knowing they were under observation, neither Slaughter nor Alvord gave any hint of being aware of the watchers; but acted as if they believed they were the only himian beings within miles of the Came.

Swinging from their saddles, Slaughter and Alvord allowed their horses to approach the river and drink first. Both men stood apparently relaxed, but tense and ready for instant action. There was no sign of the Apaches, if it had been Apaches who scared the quail covey, so the Texans waited for the Indians to make a move and tip their hand.

Yet for all that happened, the Texans might have been completely alone in the world. Not a soimd came from the other side of the river. Even the quail did not call to each other. That was an ominous sign. Usually a separated covey would begin to call, the dominant cock gathering the rest to him. That the birds did not call strengthened the belief in hidden men s presence among the bushes.

Knowing Apaches, Slaughter doubted if they would make a move while he and Alvord stood on tiheir feet and ready to defend themselves. That tiie Apaches had to be brought out into the open was certain. They must be a small bunch. Scouts for a bigger party, or maybe a group of young bucks wanting to make their names as bold raiders. Whichever they were, the Apaches must be removed, killed or driven oflF before any sign of the trail herd could be seen.

Under such conditions it was Slaughter's way to bring the business to a full boiling point as quickly as possible. It was also Slaughter's way that he put himself m aie position which would be first to meet the danger. So he had halted his horse on the side nearest to the bushes which the quail avoided.

The horses had drunk their fill and moved back. Slaughter nodded to Alvord and said, '^Make Hke we're both drinking, Burt/'

Widi a grunt that might have meant anything, or nothing, Alvord followed his boss's example. They went to their knees at the edge of the river and started to scoop up water to their mouths.

It was a diance no properly constituted young Apache could overlook. Nor did the party aoross the river overlook it.

Suddenly the fom: braves apipeaied. Squat built, dark brown-sldnned men with slightly Mongolian-looking savage faces, and lank black hair hanging shoulder-long from under the brims of their white-man style hats. The Apaches did not go in for fancy eagle-feather war bonnets, or getting duded up in buckskin and beaded finery when going to war—^but that did not make them any the less deadly.

They came into view like a flash of light, their wiry war ponies hitting from silence and statueHke standing to full racing gallop in three strides. Each of the braves carried a single-shot .45.70 Springfield carbine—^likely looted oflE the mmxlered bodies of ambushed Cavalry men—and with knives at their belts. With but one cartridge in the chamber, and the need to reload after it had been fired, the Apaches did not come shooting.

All in all it was a creditable display of the Apache art of making war. The silent watching and waiting, then the sudden, devastating rush the moment their victims looked unprepared enough to fall easy victims. It was a pity that such skill and enterprise should f aiL Or perhaps just retribution for the fatal mistake of im-derestimating an enemy.

Slaughter's right hand dipped, bringing out his Colt. In the same move, he kicked back widi his feet and fell beUy forward toward the ground. He landed with his elbows in the water, but ignored it; and his left hand supported the right wrist as he took aim and fired.

Something over forty yards away the first of the 148

Apaches went backwards over the rump of his horse as Slaughters bullet ripped into him. The other three charged on to the kill.

Alvord reacted almost as quickly as did his boss. Rocking himself up to his feet, he turned and sprang to where his spot-nmiped Appaloosa stallion stood like a lump of rock. No, Alvord had not deserted his boss. Nor did he aim to follow the Cavalry tradition of always fighting from the back of a horse. While he could draw his guns fast, and handle them at gunfighting ranges with better than fair accuracy, Alvord preferred a rifle in his hands when engaging an enemy at over twenty feet.

With that in mind, and aware that his rifle hung in the Appaloosa's saddle boot, Alvord sprang away from the river s edge. He disappeared behind the big horse, sliding his Winchester Model 1866 rifle from its boot in passing. When he sprang into sight beyond the horse's rump, Alvord held the *'old yellow boy' in his hands.

Swinging up the rifle in an effortless move, Alvord sighted and fired his first shot. He tumbled a fast-riding Apache from a racing pony just as the brave threw down on Slaughter.

The third brave to die was slanting down his carbine, a finger curling on its trigger, when Slaughter, having fired twice without effect, and Alvord, who had levered home another bullet after dropping his man, sent lead into him. That Apache was a tolerably good Indian when he hit the ground. He had a .45 revolver bullet in his heart and a flat-nosed .44 rifle ball splattered his brains and skull splinters in a flying cloud.

Seeing the fate of his lodge brothers, the last warrior brought his horse aroimd in a rump-scraping, dirt-churning turn and sent it racing for the safety and cover of the thick bushes once more. Alvord's rifle sung after the brave, but he could not get a shot. Realizing his danger, the Apache swung down to hang on the side of his horse, hidden from that deadly rifle. Before Alvord could lever home a bullet and cut down the horse, the Apache disappeared from sight and once more silence fell.

Slaughter came to his feet, holstering his Colt and running toward his big black stallion. On reaching the horse, he pulled his Winchester Model 1873 rifle from the saddle boot. With the powerful .44.40 rifle in his hands, Slaughter reckoned he could do his fair share if there were more Apaches in hiding.

"Hey, ride-plenties I"

The voice drifted from among the bushes some distance to the right of where the Apache disappeared. Slaughter and Alvord watched the other shore of the Came River, alert for any sign of a trick.

'Tou hear me, ride-plenties?" went on the voice, using the Indian name for a cowhand.

"We hear you,'' Slaughter replied.

"One you killed is brother of Tanaka. Think long on it before you die at Tanaka's hands."

Once again silence dropped along the banks of the Came. Not a branch stirred or rustled among the bushes, not a sound of a horse moving. Slaughter and Alvord stood with their rifles gripped ready for use, eyes and ears working overtime to pick up warning of where the Apache might be. Suddenly a wild war yell sounded and the last Apache appeared on the far side of the bushes, racing his pony across the range. He was well beyond the reach of either man s rifle.

"Best go over and take a look," Alvord remarked.

"Be best," Slaughter replied.

Mounting their horses, they crossed the river. At that point the Came was no more than knee deep and gave them no trouble in crossing. On the other side the two men made siu*e the three braves were dead. Then Alvord let out a deep breath, tossed his horse's reins to Slaughter, threw his leg over the saddle, dropped to the ground and disappeared into the bushes.

Fifteen minutes ticked away. Slaughter stayed in his saddle, the rifle on the crook of his left arm. Then Alvord appeared, walking forward with an expression of relief on his face. Hunting bronco Apaches in thick bush was a sport roughly as dangerous as playing Russian roulette with a single-shot pistol, or tag with hve rattlesnakes.

^'Just the four,^ Alvord said.

Proof of his relief showed in that he spoke when there was no need for the words. If there had been more Apaches in the bushes, Slaughter would have heard the shooting—or Alvord would not have come back.

*Xet's go over that ways and see what they hit at,'' Slaughter said. "According to the Army maps, there's a stage route runs parallel to the Came along here."

Half a mile beyond the river, Slaughter and Alvord foimd why the turkey vultures gathered. They topped a rise and looked down on the scene of a tragedy.

A Wells Fargo coach stood in the center of the rough trail down below, one of the team horses dead and still tangled in the harness. The driver hung forward on the boot, his guard sprawled face down on the trail. A passenger lay by the side of the coach and a second was draped half in, half out of the door. Only one thing could be said about the scene, all the victims were men.

Neither Slaughter nor Alvord needed to think hard to guess what had happened. The Apaches came swooping down on the imsuspecting coach and before the driver could xurge on his team, one of the warriors came alongside. A shot timibled the horse over dead, tangling up the others and bringing the coach to a halt. After that it had been short if not sweet. A bitter, hopeless fight and certain death for the four white men.

The first thing Slaughter and Alvord noticed as they rode towards the coach was that none of the victims had been mutilated or more than lost their hats—one did not count that all the weapons and ammunition were taken. Yet the lack of mutilation was not in the Apache tradition. While he did not bother with taking scalps as a general rule, the Apache almost invariably removed his victim's clothes and usually hacked the body about some.

It was Alvord, keen-eyed as always, who came up with the next mystery. He pointed to the body which lay on the groxmd by the side of the coach—and to the open, empty wallet lying by it. A few papers and letters such as a man might carry in his wallet had scattered in the breeze, yet Qiere was no sign of money. The man

looked well dressed, the kind who would not have an empty wallet.

"I've never knowed Apaches take money afore,"' Al-vord stated.

"Or me/' Slaughter replied, swnging from his saddle and walking to the side of the coach. "Burt, I know these two fellers. They work as special agents for Wells Fargo."

Alvord grunted. He knew that special agents for Wells Fargo acted as troubleshooters himting down stage robbers, or as extra guards when a coach carried a valuable shipment. Without discussing why the men might be on the coach, Alvord made a circle around it. He returned with the comforting news that none of the passengers had been taken alive by the Apaches.

"Come round the other side, boss," he said.

At the other side of the coach. Slaughter found a further mystery. A square, strong wooden box stood by the side of the coach, its lid thrown open and the lock which had once secured it had been shot oflF. Slaughter had seen the type of box before, both as a Ranger and more recently. It was the official WeUs Fargo bullion box, used for transporting large smns of money. By the box lay a stiff-covered, oblong book with the words "DRIVER'S DELIVERY RECEIPT BOOK" printed in black letters on the cover.

"That's why those two agents rode the stage," he said after picking up the book and finding its most recent entry. "There was a ten thousand dollar shipment for the Army Paymaster at Fort McClellan aboard."

"Huh huh!" Alvord replied.

"You sure this's Apache work, Burt?"

"If it ain't, I've never seen any."

For all his reply, Alvord felt puzzled. Certainly an Apache brave would loot, take what he wanted from the bodies of his victims; that was the Apache way of life. Always he took guns and ammunition and would never pass up a knife; if he wanted them, he would take clothes, jewelry for his own use or as a present to a squaw. One thing no Apache normally touched was money. He would never weigh down his horse with some-

thing as useless to him as the bits of paper or gold the white-eyed brother used instead of bartering goods.

Neither man spoke for a few minutes, then Alvord looked at his boss.

"Why in hell would Tanaka want that money, boss?^

'That's what's worrying me,'* Slaughter replied. ''Head back to the herd, Biut. Tell them to cross the river tonight if they can."

"And you?"

"I'm fixing to try and trail that buck to the others.'*

"Nope," Alvord grunted. *Tou pay me as scout. Damn it, boss, your place is with the herd, not trailing bronco Apaches."

It was not Slaughter s way to send a man into danger unless willing to go himself. Yet he saw the wisdom of Alvord's words. Slaughter could read sign and follow a trail fairly well. However the rancher was honest enough to admit that Burt Alvord could handle the business far better. It would be foolish to try to claim more skill in the scouting line than that Indian-dsirk youngster. Alvord had a much better chance of finding the Apache camp and, more important, getting away from it unseen, than Slaughter would have.

And like Alvord said: when it came down to the point Slaughter's place was with his herd, not sky-hooting oflf trying to do work his scout could handle far more eflSciently.

"Reckon diey know about us?" he asked.

"Nope. Not the herd. I've seen no Apache sign on the basin, and I've looked. Likely they were scouting, saw us two coming and figured to take tiiem some white-eye coups and trophies."

"Go ahead and scout then," Slaughter drawled and a rare smile flickered on his lips. "Keep both eyes open, mind." ,

"Had I four eyes, I'd keep 'em all ^^f^^f Alvord replied. "See you, boss." ^.

"When?" fkr

The grin which came to Alvord's lips was mirthless and cold. "Happen I'm not back in two days," he said, "I won't be back at all."

With that the two men separated: Slaughter to return to his herd; and Alvord hunted for Sie Apache camp, his life depending on his keen senses, guns and the speed of the Appaloosa stallion.

At the herd Slaughter's segundo, Tex Burton, hs-tened to his boss's news without any great show of emotion, although his right hand dropped to the butt of his gim and he imconsdously glanced at his rifle.

^Tleckon Tanaka'U be waiting at the river?" Biuton asked.

"Could be," Slaughter replied.

"Reckon we ought to send the wagons ahead?"

*Tfeah. Take them along, take six of the men too. Make sure you can hold the crossing if you have to."

"One of 'em'd best be Talking Bill, he can handle Hernandez's lil' toy."

With that. Burton swung from his place alongside Big Bill, the lead bull, and nodded to his fellow point rider, the gangling Talking Bill. Having heard the pre^ ceding conversation. Talking Bill needed to ask no questions, but headed for the two wagons which flanked the herd.

On a big drive such as Slaughters present herd, the cowhands' bedrolls were not carried in the chuck wagon but brought along in a separate vehicle. It was to the bed wagon that Burton led his party, after giving his orders to Coonsldn, Slaughter's Negro cook.

Inside the bed wagon, along witib the bedrolls, and various spare gear used on the drive, was a special surprise, something which would make Tanaka's men think his medicine had gone bad on him, happen they came within close range of the Texans.

Insomny Sam, the herd's nighthawk, popped his head from under the blankets of his hammock as the covers of the bed wagon lifted and Burton swung in from the back of his horse.

"What's up?" Insomny demanded, looking like a be-whiskered squirrel peekbag out of a knothole. "Shut that danged cover. Too much daylight's bad for a man's eyeballs."

Sometime in the past Insomny had heard about insomnia, decided he suflEered from it and could not sleep at night. So he changed from being a cowhand to riding nighdiawk, spending the dark hours in the saddle and sleeping in the daytime.

*Xikely to have Apache trouble, Insomny,'' Bxuton replied, holding the cover back to allow Talking Bill entrance. "Were just setting up a welcome for 'em.''

**Ain't but one thing wuss'n daylight on the eyeballs,'* Insomny stated, coming out of his hammock faster than a cat off a hot stove. "And that's Apaches on the chest."

One thing was for sure, thought Burt Alvord as he swung from his saddle and bent down to examine the ground more carefully, that Apache who lit a shuck from Qie river sure did not aim to be followed. When an Apache took such an idea to mind, a man needed to be real lucky as well as a top-grade tracker if he hoped to get anywhere in following the sign. While Alvord mi^t be as good a tracker as could be found in a hundred square miles, it seemed that his luck had gone back on him. He could not see any hint of which way the Apache went.

Going afork his Appaloosa with a lithe bound, Alvord sat for a moment taking stock of the situation. There was no chance of trailing the Apache to Tanaka's camp, but a man who knew his business might find a hint of the Indians' presence.

Maybe three miles off to the northwest was what looked to be a tolerable-size mesa; a rock outcrop rising some himdred feet and more over the surroimding area. Happen a man could get up top of there, he would be able to see for miles and might possibly catch some idea of where the Apaches had tiieir camp.

Alvord did not ride straight to the mesa. Such an ideal lookout spot might easily be in use by Tanaka's band, or at least by a few of his scouts. So Alvord made a start at circling the mesa from a distance of half a mile. Before he had made half of the circle, Alvord learned two things. First diat what he first imagined to be a single large mesa was really two separate out-

crops separated from each other by a flat-bottomed valley some hmidred yards wide. And secondly, there were no Apaches around it.

If there had been any Apaches around, those two fellers would not have been in the vaUey with their wagon—at least not alive.

The wagon stood just inside the entrance to the valley and out of sight of most of the surrounding range. It was the kind of position sensible men would select when traveling through Indian-infested range country. They had unhitched their team and left it to graze, four good, powerful-looking horses that could haul a load and make reasonable speed. From the depth of the wagon wheels' tracks, the team was hauling a fair load.

Silently Alvord and his Appaloosa drifted nearer to the men. For a couple of travelers in Apache coimtry, they sure were not taking too much notice of their surroundings. Yet they did not look like dudes who had no idea of the dangers of the land. One was big and heavily built, the other shorter and thin. They wore Stetson hats, buckskin jackets, open-necked shirts, and pants tucked into boots. Each man had a gim at his side and looked hke he knew which end the buUet came from.

Neither man looked up from their firelighting. Alvord frowned as he watched the thin man bend down to blow on the tiny flame among a pile of sim-baked buffalo chips. Some wood lay to one side, ready to be fed onto the blaze when the chips took hold. At the other side of the fire lay a pile of green leaves and twigs.

^Wouldn't light that, was I you, mister,'' Alvord said.

Whirling around, the heavily built man grabbed at his gun. He stopped his move as he looked into the barrel of Alvord's right-hand Army Colt. The young scout had not hesitated when he saw the man move, but got a gun in his hand. Now he sat ready to copper any bets either of the campers played.

*'You move quiet, friend," the thin man remarked, grinning in an ingratiatiug manner. "Took me n Doug by surprise.''

*'Sure,'' the big man agreed, moving his hand clear of his gun. '"Kelly and me was just making camp and didn't expect nobody/'

"Light that fire, mister," Alvord drawled, bolstering his Colt, ""and youTl get company, want it or not."

"Huhr Kelly grunted,

''Stage got robbed down there a piece, four men killed."

"Tanaka's bunch, huh?" Doug asked and his partner scowled at him.

While speaking, Alvord kept both eyes open and did not like what he saw. While the wagon looked ordinary enough, it showed signs of being well maintained. If their team were anyOiing to go by, the men were far from beginners at the freighting business. The men looked like they knew the ranger country and were at home on the trail.

'Then," Alvord thought, "why are they acting like this?"

The lack of caution, the whirling and grabbing for a gun on hearing a white man s voice, that green stuflE by the fire; it all added up happen a half-smart HI' Texas boy could make two and two come out four.

A man who spent more than a week in Indian country knew better than to put green twigs and leaves on a fire. To do so would kick up so much smoke that every brave in a hundred miles danmed near would be on his way in looking for its cause.

One thing was for sure. A pair of trail-wise freighting men like those would not make smoke—^unless they wanted to attract attention. The only people around apart from Slaughter's transient trail herd, were Tanaka and his braves. Only one kind of white man dare signal up Tanaka and bring him to them.

Take Doug too. When Alvord mentioned the stage had been robbed^ Doug came right out and asked if Tanaka did it. Yet the Apache chief had never before robbki a stage. Looted and destroyed, perhaps, but one did not use Qie term "robbed" for that. Alvord was still not sure why he said robbed instead of attacked, massacred, wiped out, or some more appropriate phrase.

Maybe it had been a hidden instinct leading him to bait a trap. If so, Doug had snapped up the lure like a large-mouth bass snatching in a floating lug.

"Just allowed to warn you,'' Alvord said. *T11 be riding now I have/'

Tiuning the Appaloosa, he started it walking away from the men at an angle which kept his right hand in plain view to them. Every nerve and instinct he possessed screamed TDANGERl" and his keen ears had never worked so hard to pick up the slightest warning soimd.

A low hissed word came from behind Alvord, and a faint scuffle of soimd he might have been excused for missing, although he caught the warning given and acted on it. Instantly the young scout pitched out of his saddle, going to the right. Even as he feU, his left hand turned palm out to fetch the near-side Colt from leather in a smoothly done cavalry twist-hand draw. Behind him soimded the click of a cocking Colt, a couple of startled exclamations. Then a shot rang out, but the bullet passed over his falling body, missing Alvord by a good foot.

Alvord twisted around as he feU, landing on his right side facing toward the two men while his yell sent the Appaloosa loping away from danger. Both the men held guns and Doug had just fired. Before either Doug could recock his gun or Kelly change his aim, Alvord cut loose with his long-barreled Army Colt.

First he sank a bullet into the flesh part of Kelly's skinny left shoulder as the man fired. A red-hot sensation across his leg told Alvord that the thin man had made a glancing hit. However, the scout gritted his teeth, swung his gun toward Doug. Aiming and firing in a fast move, Alvord drove a .44 bullet into Doug's head, tumbling him over backwards. As he fell, Doug fired a last shot with a dead head. The bullet smashed up dust and dirt a few inches from Alvord's face, half-blinding him. Desperately Alvord thumbed off three fast shots, fanning the lead in the direction he had last seen Kelly. The scream of a horse in agony foUowed the soggy thud of a

bullet striking flesh. Alvord hoped the scream did not come from his Appaloosa.

"I'm done! Don't shoot, I'm finished!"

Now it was Kelly screaming. Slowly Alvord raised his right hand to wipe clear his eyes and looked aromid at the results of his gun play. Doug lay on his back, dead. One of the harness horses belonging to the men was also down. The Appaloosa stood safe, some thirty yards along the vaDey. Lastly there was Kelly. The man had gone to his knees, one hand holding his shoulder, the other extended in a pleading manner. Rising to his feet, Alvord walked toward the scared-looking man.

"Don't shoot!" Kelly screeched. "It was Doug who told Tanaka about the money on the stage and when to hit it. And it was Doug who bought the guns."

After picking up the two men s guns, Alvord went toward the rear of die wagon. He glanced down at his injury, seeing blood running from a gash in his pants' leg. The wound could not be too serious or he would not be able to stand.

Lifting the canopy at the rear of the wagon, Alvord looked inside. Then he turned and tossed one of the freighter's revolvers down before Kelly.

"Pick it up," he said quietly. "I'm going to kill you, do it or not."

Kelly read death in the dark young man s face and knew the reason for Alvord's words and action. Like a cornered rat, Kelly tried to fight. He grabbed for the gun and caught it up. Before he couJd line the gun, Alvord shot hhn dead.

For a moment Alvord stood looking at the man s body. Then his eyes went to the wagon and from it to the dead harness horse.

*This's one hell of a fix," Alvord said aloud and looked around for something with which to stop the flow of blood from his leg.

Although there was still a good hour's dri\dng time before the sun went down, John Slaughter halted his herd as soon as they crossed the Came River. The cattle, with the finest grazing they had found in days, showed

no desire to go farther, but were soon settled down for the night imder the watchful eyes of the cowhands.

Slaughter made a scout out over the range and Burton took a party of men to bury the Apaches' victims. By nightfall every man was aware that they were in the middle of a hotbed of trouble once again. Rifles were conspicuous in almost every hand, and none of the men showed any eagerness to roll in their blankets.

^'Rider coming up fast,"* one of the men on guard called.

All the others fell silent and listened to the rapid beating of approaching hooves. This was not an Apadie, or it seemed imlikely to be. No Apache would ride so noisily through the night toward the camp of the white-eyed ride-plenties.

Instead of heading for either the remuda or the night horse picket line, the rider came straight into camp. His horse's flanks were white with lather and the big stallion showed signs of being hard run. It was Burt Alvord, dirty, disheveled and loofing all in. His trousers* right leg had been cut off at the knee and a bloody rag was tied aroimd his thigh.

Men sprang forward, one to take the Appaloosa's head and others lifting Alvord from his saddle. Grabbing up a tin cup, Coonsldn tossed the coffee out of it and ran to the water keg to collect a drink to slake Alvord's thirst.