Trail Hand (11 page)

He nodded back at me, indicating that he understood me all too well.

“Oh, and no need to mention about the shovel to them,” I added.

“None of mah business,” he answered, shaking his head. “But good luck at whatever ya got in mind, anyway,” he added. “Ah reckon you’ll need it.”

I knew my choices were limited. Trying to follow
those three would have been out of the question. I had no way of knowing for sure if they’d ever even return to the herd, and, if they did, they’d surely be watching their back trail. Since I hadn’t gained their confidence and had failed to convince them to let me ride with them, I really had only one option left: somehow to force them to reveal the herd’s location to me. I knew that wouldn’t be easy, and I’d have to hightail it for a while, because what I had in mind for them couldn’t be done in town.

After leaving the livery stable, it took several hours of hard riding to find a stretch of ground suitable for my purpose. Reynolds and his pals were so angry when I left, it was an easy bet they’d follow, which was precisely what I now wanted.

Three men armed against one doesn’t make for good odds in anyone’s book, so I wanted an edge. Some years ago a small band of Mescaleros had wiped out a cavalry patrol five times their number. The Apaches saw them coming, buried some of their own men alive, and then waited. When the troopers passed by, the Indians sprang up out of the ground and attacked the patrol from both sides.

Describing the attack, Uncle Zeke once told me: “Remember, most folks don’t pay attention to detail, they just see what they want or expect to. Soldiers often have too high a notion of themselves, but the Apache knows that plannin’ and surprise in battle will make up fer a whole heap of men.”

I don’t know why that particular story of his stuck in my mind, but I reckoned, if the trick had worked once, it could work again, so I began looking around for the right patch of dirt.

After finding a good spot, I stopped and hobbled the roan. Since I didn’t know how he’d react to gunfire, I also ground-tied him to a hefty rock. I chose a place with a big tree nearby that I hoped would act as yet another distraction, giving Reynold’s group something else to look at.

It took almost twenty minutes to dig a big enough trench. I angled it between the base of the tree and the horse, opposite the side I expected them to ride up from. It took another ten minutes to clean the area of tracks and other sign, but before I got down in that hole, I did two more things. First I buried the shovel. Then, foolish as it might seem, I took off my holster and hung it on the saddle horn, right out in plain view.

I had my reasons. The gun belt would attract their attention up, away from the ground, and over to the saddle, making them think I was unarmed. I hoped it would give them a false sense of security. Also, I had no intention of getting that Navy Colt of mine all choked with dust. Instead, I unsheathed the rifle from the saddle scabbard, and wrapped it in my shirt. After that I laid down in the hole, with the rifle along side, and pulled some sagebrush and tumbleweed over for cover. I figured they wouldn’t be looking down, not when searching for someone my size. All I had to do now was wait.

White men deal with time differently from Indians. Seems like we’re always expecting things to happen quickly. Heck, it’s gotten so bad a lot of folks can’t live without constantly having to check their watches. The Indian on the other hand doesn’t worry about time like we do. They just wait, preferring to let things take their own natural course.

Having to lie half naked in a hole in hot ground would drive an impatient man crazy, but I had learned enough from Sprout not to make that mistake. Once I was down in there, I tried to relax and not worry about what might happen or when. Reynolds could be right on my tail, or he might still be in town. Though I felt fairly sure that he would follow me, all I could do now was wait and listen. Wait in that hot dirty hole with my rifle and the bugs. In the meantime, the trick would be to remain still, not cramp up, and to be ready to move when need be.

I lost track of time, but it was beginning to cool off when I finally heard them ride up.

“There’s his horse. I don’t see him around, but be careful.” It was Pete Evans doing the talking, as usual.

“Wonder where he is?” said Jenkins.

The one I wanted most was Reynolds, who finally spoke out.

“I don’t like this. Where the devil could he have gotten to? Even if he had another horse waiting, he sure as hell wouldn’t leave that fancy hogleg o’ his behind like that.”

I flexed my muscles in grim anticipation and tried extra hard not to make any sound.

“Well, I’m gonna grab that gun afore he gets back, that’s for damn’ sure.” It was Evans again. “Here, Ed, hold these reins fur me,” he said.

Because of the way I had that roan tied to the tree, in order to reach the holster without getting hung up in the branches he would have to dismount and walk around the horse. And that’s exactly what he did.

“What makes you think you’ll get to keep that thumb-buster?” Jenkins asked.

“ ’Cause I got to it first,” he replied.

Just as Evans started reaching for the holster, I came out of the ground, screaming as loud as I could. The horses all spooked, trying to buck their riders and Evans froze in his tracks. I was on him in a second, cold cocking him with the butt of my rifle. I was lucky, and he went down limper than a wet rag.

Just as planned I’d come up right between the tree, my horse, and the others. The roan was both hobbled and ground-tied, and couldn’t move even if it had wanted to. On the other hand, it was a while before Reynolds and Jenkins could gain control of their horses, more than enough time for me to get behind the roan and, using it for cover, replace the holster on my hip. I stood there with my rifle cocked across the saddle and waited.

They finally settled their broncos down and turned to face the rifle I had pointed at them.

“Jenkins, you may still have a chance to get out of this with your hide intact, so, if I were you, I’d just sit there and try real hard not to flinch. If you even blink, I’ll blow you right off that kak and not think twice. It’s Reynolds I want.”

“What do you mean? Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?” Comanche asked, somewhat puzzled. He was trying to position himself as best as he could but his horse was still jumpy.

“Look, we were just riding this way when we saw your horse. Thought something was wrong and you might be hurt. Is this what we get for trying to help out?”

“Nice try,” I said. “That might’ve worked on someone else, but the truth is I don’t give a damn what the hell you were doing. You’ll likely die today, Reynolds, but it won’t be for trying to bushwhack me over a lousy card game.”

“What is it, then? What are you talking about? We never even met before today, so what’s your problem?”

I had to hand it to him, he seemed more unsure than scared.

“Happened a long time ago. About the same time you started going by the name of Comanche,” I said, walking around the horse. I switched the rifle to my left side, cocked it, and held it pointed at Ed Jenkins, who so far was just sitting still and listening.

“I don’t get it. If you aim to kill me, you can at least let me in on why.”

“I will…in due time,” I said. “By the way, that Indian necklace you wear around your neck, the one you’re so proud of.” He glanced down to his chest. “It ain’t Comanche, it’s Kiowa.”

“What the hell makes you such an Injun expert?” he said angrily. He fingered the talisman with his left hand without letting the reins drop.

“Because the boy it belonged to was my friend.”

He was still looking down at his chest as I spoke, but, when the meaning of my words sunk in, he slowly looked back up at me. From the way he stared back at me, I knew I had the right man. I could see fear in his eyes for the first time, just as I’m sure he read death in mine. Reynolds hesitated a second or two, and then went for the pistol at his side.

He started the draw but I finished it. At that range I couldn’t miss, and the last thing Reynolds ever saw before the bullet took his head off was the hatred in my eyes.

Jenkins decided to make his play, too. He must have figured I was too distracted, or that my left hand would be slower with a rifle, but he was wrong. As soon as he cleared leather, I let loose the Spencer right into his chest. He toppled off the horse and fell to the ground, flat on his back. He didn’t die right off, though, and, as I stood over him, I could see he was trying to tell me something. I leaned closer.

“It were Reynold’s idea,” he gasped. “But Pierce and I was with him. Felt bad about the boy even if he were an Injun, but we was drunk. When the kid hit Reynolds, the other two kinda went loco. Couldn’t stop ’em.” He coughed.

“Pierce who?” I asked.

“Pierce held him while Reynolds knifed him clean through.” Jenkins was dripping blood from his nose and his breathing was much heavier.

“What about the other one…Evans?” I asked.

“Pete? Talks too much. Weren’t even there, just us three. We met Evans a year later.” He was breathing so bad I was barely able to understand what he was saying.

“Where can I find this Pierce now? And what about later on? Tell me about the EH brand on Reynold’s horse, and about the herd you rustled,” I asked, but it was no use. I was talking to a dead man.

When Pete Evans finally came to, he found himself flat on his back with both arms and legs bound firmly to the stakes I’d driven into the ground while he was unconscious. I’d found some pigging strings in the saddlebags, the rawhide straps that cowboys use to tie cattle. It was a sure bet that, if a steer can’t break free from them, Pete sure as hell wouldn’t.

About ten feet off to his right and facing him lay the bodies of Reynolds and Jenkins. Evans awoke to find ants crawling on his face and chest.

After only a second or two, he started yapping.

“What’s going on? Get me outta here. Untie me.” He wasn’t screaming yet, that came later. For now he was just jittery.

As for me, I couldn’t have been more relaxed. The hour I’d spent whittling in the shade of that tree had a nice calming effect, until Evans woke up, that is. After that he never shut up, whining the whole time. I let him go on for a while. Before I really went to work on him, I thought I’d give him a chance to confess on his own.

“Well, Pete,” I said quietly. “Seems like you three were involved in a little rustling a short time back. Why don’t you tell me all about it. Start with where the herd is now, who’s behind it, and
finish with who ambushed that scout just before the raid.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said. “Any horses got stole warn’t by me. Maybe it was those two.” He nodded toward the bodies. “Hell, I just met them, don’t even know ’em that good.”

“Then how’d you know I was talking about horses? I didn’t mention it. Most folks around here would have thought I meant a herd of cattle.”

“Uh, I just guessed,” he answered unconvincingly.

I decided to speed things up a little. Taking out my Bowie knife, I bent over quickly and slashed his forearm.

“Damn, what’s that for?” he screamed.

“Ants love fresh blood. Ever see them after they finish with a body, Pete? Isn’t a pretty sight. And in case you’re wondering why you’re itching so much, you happen to be lying over an ant hill. It’s a well-known Apache cure for lyin’ and thievin’.”

“Get me outta here. I swear I didn’t rob those Mexes.” More ants began crawling around on his face, and he was struggling hard against his straps.

“Whoa, wrong answer, hoss. I didn’t say anything about who the herd belonged to. But now that you mention it, Pete, there is a whole pack of angry Mexican
vaqueros
after my hide. Seems they wrongly think I had something to do with them losing their herd. So you see I don’t have a whole lot of time to waste.”

I took a small piece of wood and measured it against his eyelids.

“What the hell you doing now? Are you loco? I can’t help you, honest.” Sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

“I’m gonna prop your eyelids open with these here pieces of wood, like the Apaches do. I’m sure you can figure it out. With the sun as hot as it is, shouldn’t take more than an hour or two for you to go blind. You know, Pete, you might prefer to talk. Otherwise, I get to find out which drives a man crazy first, having his eyes burned out by the sun or being slowly eaten alive by ants. You mentioned a name during our card game. Davies, I think it was. Why don’t you start there.” I snapped a piece of wood for effect and he immediately began screaming.

“You’re right…Davies hired us, he hired the three of us. God, get these ants off of me.”

“Go on,” I said quietly.

“Comes from California, but he already knew all about that herd. Wants to take some fellow’s ranch away from him back home, and figured, if those horses ever got through to be sold, it would spoil things for him. So Davies had the herd rustled. His men are driving it west so he can sell the horses himself. Changed the brand, too. The three of us dropped out after the first part of the job was done ’cause Reynolds didn’t want to ride all the way back to California.”

“What did they change the brand to?” I asked.

“Four Box. Used a runnin’ wire to close off the old brand.”

That would be simple enough. With a hot wire you could close the top and bottom of the H and the side of the E to make two double boxes. Hence, the 4 Box brand.

“How’d he know when the herd was coming?”

“Someone tipped him…telegraph, I think…but I swear I don’t know who. Now untie me!”

I ignored his pleas. “Another thing. There was a man bushwhacked just before your gang hit the herd. Who did it?”

“It must have been Pierce. Luke Pierce. Reynold’s knew him from sometime back, they rode together I think. He’s Davies’s right-hand man now. All I knows is Pierce rode out ahead, and then came back later riding a different horse.”

“A Morgan bay?”

“Think so. Yeah, that’s right.”

“How do I recognize this Pierce fellow?” I asked.

“Sandy hair and moustache. Tall…about your height and size. Always wears two pistols butt forward. You know, crossdraw style.”

No wonder the Hernandez outfit thought me guilty! After convincing them to change directions, I’d disappeared, leaving them to face an ambush led by someone riding my horse. On top of that, with a hat and bandanna mask to hide his face, Pierce apparently could have easily been mistaken for me.

I got up and walked over to my horse, having already tied the others together.

“Hey, what about me?” Evans screamed.

“What about you?” I said as I saddled up.

“God, don’t leave me here. I can’t stand it.”

He was shaking his head frantically back and forth.

I laughed to myself a little before slowly answering. If he had only shut up and thought about
it a while he’d have figured out something was wrong. Not enough ants for one thing.

“See, Pete, that ant hill you’ve been lying on’s been dead for quite some time. I just brought a few ants from over yonder to keep you company.”

“But you’re goin’ to leave me staked out here! I’ll die anyway.”

“You worry too much. Just keep on struggling and those pegs ought to work loose in a couple of hours. It’ll be dark in an hour or so, so you won’t really burn much. After that, I suggest you bury your friends with that shovel over there.” I was actually enjoying this part.

“What about my cayuse?” he asked.

I tossed a half empty canteen on the ground.

“The horses come with me. Might make up for the ones you stole. Besides, walking ought to do you some good. You should make it into town in a couple of days. After that leave the territory,’ cause I swear the next time we meet I won’t be so generous,” I said, mounting the roan.

“What if you’re wrong about these stakes comin’ loose?” he shouted.

“In that case,” I said, turning the horses around, “Jenkins and Reynolds will have a third for poker. In hell.”

I rode out, leaving Evans lying there, screaming back at me, but I wasn’t listening. My mind was focused instead on someone named Luke Pierce. It now appeared I had more than one account to settle with the man.