Read Trail of the Apache and Other Stories Page 4

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  they’d just be dancin’ around jabbin’ him with their

  knives and laughin’.” Fry stopped and looked at the

  captain.

  Travisin stared at old Solomon without blinking,

  his jaw muscles tightening and relaxing, his teeth

  grinding against one another. Only once in a while

  did Fry see him as the young man with feelings. It

  was a strange sight, the man fighting the boy; but

  always the man would win and he would go on as

  relentlessly as before, but with an added ruthlessness that had been sharpened by the emotional

  surge. Travisin never dealt in half measures. He felt

  sorrow for the old man cut to the bottom of his

  stomach, and he swore to himself a revenge,

  silently, though the fury of it pounded in his head.

  ✯

  Chapter Five

  They camped at Solomon’s cabin that night, after burying the man and woman, and were up before dawn, in the saddle again on the trail of Pillo.

  They rode more anxiously now. Caution was still

  there, for that was instinct with Travisin and the

  scouts, but every man in the small company could

  feel an added eagerness, a gnawing urge to hound

  Pillo’s spoor to the end and bring about a violent

  revenge.

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  ELMORE LEONARD

  De Both sensed it in himself and saw it easily in

  the way the Apache scouts clutched their carbines

  and fingered the triggers almost nervously. He felt

  the tightness rise in him and felt as if he must shriek

  to be relieved of the tension. Then he knew that it

  was the quickness of action mounting within him,

  that charge placed in a man’s breast when he has to

  go on to kill or be killed. He watched Travisin for a

  sign to follow, a way in which to react; but as before he saw only the impassive, sun-scarred mask,

  the almost indolent look of half-closed eyes searching the surroundings for an unfamiliar sign.

  By early afternoon, the thrill of the chase was

  draining from Second Lieutenant William de Both.

  His legs ached from the long hours in the saddle,

  and he gazed ahead, welcoming the green valley

  stretching as far as the eye could see, twisting

  among rocky hills, looking thick and cool. Over the

  next rise, they forded the Salt River, shallow and

  motionless, just west of Cherry Creek, and continued toward the wild, rugged rock and greenery in

  the distance. De Both heard Fry mention that it was

  the southern edges of the Tonto Basin, but the

  name meant little to him.

  Toward sundown they were well into the wildness of the Basin. For de Both, the promise of a

  shady relief had turned into an even more tortuous

  ride. Through thick, stabbing chapparal and over

  steep, craggy mounds of rock they made their way.

  Trail of the Apache

  37

  The trees were there, but they offered no solace;

  they only urged a stronger caution. The sun was

  falling fast when Travisin stopped the group on the

  shoulder of a grassy ridge. Below them the ground

  fell gradually to the west, green and smooth, extending for a mile to a tangle of trees and brush

  that began to climb another low hill. Behind it,

  three or four miles in the distance, the facing sun

  painted a last, brilliant yellow streak across the

  jagged top of a mountain.

  ✯ ✯ ✯

  Ningun jumped down from his pony as the others dismounted, and stared across the grass valley

  for a full minute or more. Then he spoke in English, pointing to the light-streaked mountain of

  rock. “There you find Pillo.”

  Fry conversed with him in Apache for a while,

  shooting an occasional question at one of the other

  scouts, and then said to Travisin, “They all agree

  that’s most likely where Pillo is. One of ’em says

  Pillo used to have a rancheria up there. Pro’bly a

  favorite spot of his.” The scout sat down in the

  grass and reached for his tobacco chew.

  Travisin squatted next to him, Indian fashion,

  and poked the ground idly with a short stick. “It’s

  still following, Barney,” he said. “He must have

  known that at least one of our boys would have

  heard of this place and remember it. He purposely

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  ELMORE LEONARD

  picked a place we’d be sure to come to, and on top

  of that he made it double easy to find.”

  “Well, you got to admit he’ll be fair hard to root

  out, sittin’ on top of that hill. Maybe he just wanted

  a good advantage.”

  “He had advantages all along the way. Here’s the

  key, Barney. Did he ever once try to get away?”

  Travisin sat back and watched the outline of the

  mountain in the fading light. “Now why the devil

  did he want to bring us here?” He spoke to himself

  more than to anyone else.

  Fry bit off a chew, packing it into his cheek with

  his tongue. He mumbled, “You’ve had more luck

  figurin’ the ’Paches than anyone else. You tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you anything, Barney, but I guess one

  thing’s sure. We’re going to play Pillo’s game just a

  little longer.” He looked up over Fry’s shoulder toward the group of scouts. They sat in a semicircle.

  All wore breechcloths, long moccasins rolled just

  below the knees, and red calico bands around jetblack hair. Only their different-colored shirts distinguished them. Ningun wore a blue, cast-off

  army shirt. A leather belt studded with cartridges

  crossed it over one shoulder. Travisin beckoned to

  him. “Hey, Ningun. Aquí! ”

  The Apache squatted next to them silently as

  Travisin began to draw a map in a bare portion of

  ground with his stick. “Here’s where we are and

  here’s that mountain yonder,” he indicated, draw-Trail of the Apache

  39

  ing a circle in the earth. “Now you two get together

  and tell me what’s up there and what’s in between.”

  He handed the stick to Fry. “And talk fast; it’s getting dark.”

  Not more than an hour later the sun was well behind the western rim of the Basin. The plan had

  been laid. Travisin and Ningun gave their revolving

  pistols a last inspection and strode off casually into

  the darkness of the valley. It struck de Both that

  they might have been going for an after-dinner

  stroll.

  They kept to the shadows of the trees and rocks as

  much as possible, Travisin a few steps behind the

  Apache, who would never walk more than twenty

  paces without stopping for what seemed like minutes. And then they would go on after the silence settled and began to sing in their ears. Travisin muttered

  under his breath at the full moon that splashed its

  soft light on open areas they had to cross. Ningun

  would walk slowly to the thinnest reaches of the

  shadows and then dart across the strips of moonlight. For a few seconds he would be only a dark blur

  in the moonlight and then would disappear into the

  next shadow. Travisin was never more than ten paces

  behind him. Soon they were out of the valley ascending the pine
-dotted hill. The sand was soft and loose

  underfoot, muffling their footsteps, but they went on

  slowly, making sure of each step. In the silence, a dislodged stone would be like a trumpet blast.

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  ELMORE LEONARD

  On the crest of the hill, Travisin looked back

  across the valley. The shadowy bulk of the ridge

  they had left earlier showed in the moonlight, but

  there was no sign of life on the shoulder. He had

  not expected to see any, but there was always the

  young officer. It took more than one patrol to learn

  about survival in Apache country.

  ✯ ✯ ✯

  They made their way down the side of the slope

  into a rugged country of twisting rock formations

  and wild clumps of desert growth. The mountain

  loomed much closer now, a gigantic patch of soft

  gray streaking down from its peak where the

  moonlight pressed against it. At first, they progressed much slower than before, for the irregular

  ground rose and fell away without warning;

  grotesque desert trees and scattered boulders limited their vision to never more than fifty feet ahead.

  Though at a slower pace, Ningun went ahead with

  an assurance that he knew where he was going.

  Soon they reached a level, bare stretch that

  seemed to extend into the darkness without end.

  Ningun changed his direction to the right for a

  good five hundred yards, and then turned back toward the mountain and the bare expanse of desert

  leading toward it. He beckoned to Travisin and slid

  down the crumbly bank of an arroyo that led out

  into the desert. In five months it would be a rush-Trail of the Apache

  41

  ing stream, carrying the rain that washed down

  from the mountain. Now it was a dark path offering a stingy protection up to the door of Pillo’s

  stronghold.

  They followed the erratic, weaving course of the

  arroyo until it turned sharply, as the ground began

  to rise, and passed out of sight around the southern

  base of the mountain. The top of the mountain still

  lay almost a mile above them—up a gradual slope

  at first, dotted with small trees, then to rougher

  ground. The last few hundred yards climbed tortuously over steep jagged rock to the mesa above.

  Ningun scurried out of the arroyo and disappeared into a small clump of brush a dozen yards

  away. In a moment his head appeared, and Travisin

  followed. They crept more cautiously now from

  cover to cover. A low, mournful sound cut the stillness. Both stopped dead. Travisin waited for

  Ningun to move, but he remained stone-still for almost five minutes. No sound followed. Ningun

  shook his head and whispered, “Night bird.”

  ✯ ✯ ✯

  He led on, not straight up, but almost parallel

  with the base of the mountain, climbing gradually

  all the time. They had almost reached the steeper

  grade when the Apache pointed ahead to a black

  slash that cut into the mountain. Going closer,

  Travisin made out a narrow canyon that reached

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  ELMORE LEONARD

  into the mountain on an upgrade. It was gouged

  sharply into the side of the mountain and extended

  crookedly down the slight grade to the desert below. Ahead, it made a bend in the darkness and was

  lost to sight. They climbed along the rim of the

  canyon for a few minutes while Travisin studied its

  course and depth, then they doubled back, climbing

  steadily up the mountain. A hundred yards further

  on, the Apache gave Travisin a sign and disappeared into the darkness. He waited for almost

  twenty minutes, toward the end beginning to wonder about the Indian, and then he looked to the side

  and saw Ningun approaching only a few feet away.

  The Apache pressed one finger to his lips, then

  whispered to the captain. Travisin nodded and followed him, creeping slowly up the rocky incline

  above. They reached a wide ledge, Ningun leading

  along it to the left before climbing again over a

  shoulder-high hump that stretched into a long, flat

  piece of ground. Two hundred yards to the right,

  the mountain rose higher to a craggy peak, sharp

  and jagged. Nothing would be up there. Travisin

  and Ningun were on the mesa. Not far away they

  heard a pony sneeze.

  On this part of the mesa the grass was tall. They

  crawled along, a foot at a time, toward the sound of

  the pony. The grass made a slight, stirring noise as

  they crawled through it, but at that height it could

  easily be the wind. Every few feet they would sink

  Trail of the Apache

  43

  to their stomachs and lie flat in the grass for a matter of minutes, and then go on, extending a hand

  slowly to a firm portion of ground before dragging

  up the legs just as slowly. In this way they covered a

  portion of the mesa that extended to a scattered

  line of small boulders. The occasional snort of a

  pony seemed to come from less than a stone’s

  throw away.

  Travisin raised his head gradually an inch at a

  time until he could look between two of the rocks.

  From there the ground dipped slightly into a shallow pocket, descending from four sides to form a

  natural barricade. As he peered over the rocks, the

  moon passed behind a cloud and he could make

  out only the dying embers of a cook fire in the

  middle of the area. As the cloud moved on, the

  moon began to reappear gradually, the soft light

  crawling over slowly from the right, first illuminating the pony herd and then extending toward the

  center of the pocket. In a few seconds the entire

  camp area was bathed in the light. Travisin felt a

  weight drop through his breast as he counted

  sixty-three Chiricahuas.

  The amazement of it held his gaze between the

  two rocks for a longer time than he realized. He

  jerked his head back quickly and looked at Ningun

  who had been spying the camp from a similar concealment. As he looked at Ningun he realized that

  the Apache understood now, just as he did, why

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  ELMORE LEONARD

  Pillo had left such an obvious trail. But this was not

  the place to discuss it.

  Making their way back to the outer edge of the

  mesa seemed to take even longer, though actually

  they snaked through the tall grass at a faster pace

  than before. They were seasoned enough to retain

  their calm caution, but now time was even more

  important, if they were to cope with Pillo. In less

  than two hours the sun would be present to create

  new problems. At the edge of the mesa Travisin,

  still crouched, peered cautiously to the ledge below,

  and then past it, determining the quickest route that

  would lead them to their planned rendezvous with

  Fry and the others.

  Without speaking, he nudged Ningun and

  pointed a direction diagonally down the mountainside. The scout rose to his feet silently and placed

  himself in position to jump to the ledge below.

  Travisin turned his head for a last look in the direction of th
e hostile camp. As he did so, he heard a

  dull thud and an agonizing grunt escape from the

  scout. He wheeled, instinctively drawing his pistol,

  and saw Ningun go backward over the edge, an arrow shaft protruding from his chest.

  ✯ ✯ ✯

  Travisin was up and hurling himself at the ledge in

  one motion. It happened so fast that the Apache

  aiming his bow on the ledge below was just a blur,

  Trail of the Apache

  45

  but he heard the arrow whine overhead as he

  landed on the sprawled form of Ningun and was

  projected off balance toward the Apache a few feet

  away. The Apache hurled his bow aside with a

  piercing shriek and went for a knife at his waist just

  as Travisin brought his pistol up. In the closeness,

  the front sight caught in the Apache’s waistband on

  the upward swing, and the barrel was pressing into

  his stomach when he pulled the trigger. The Indian

  screamed again and staggered back off the ledge.

  Travisin hesitated a second, searching the mountainside for the best escape, but it was too late. He

  heard the yelp at the same time he felt the heavy

  blow at the back of his skull. He heard the wind

  rush through his ears and saw the orange flash sear

  across his eyes, and then nothing.

  ✯

  Chapter Six

  Pillo waited until the officer opened his eyes and

  started to prop himself up on his elbows. Then he

  kicked Travisin in the temple with the side of his

  moccasined foot. The Indians howled with laughter

  as Travisin sprawled on his back, shook his head

  and attempted to rise again. Pillo caught him on the

  shoulder this time, but still with enough force to

  slam the officer back against the ground. The other

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  Apaches closed in, a few of them catching Travisin

  about the head and shoulders with vicious kicks,

  before Pillo stepped close to Travisin and held his

  hands in the air. He chattered for some time in

  Apache, raising and lowering his voice, and at the

  end they all stepped back; Pillo was still chief,

  though wizened and scarred with age. Travisin

  knew enough of the tongue to know that he was being saved for something else. He thought of old

  Solomon.