Savage Territory

Chapter Fourteen

San Carlos Indian Reservation

“Delshay, I know the impulse will be very strong for you to get revenge,” Baker said after the funerals of those killed in Delshay’s and Chandeisi’s families. “But don’t. Leave it up to the law.”

“White man’s law?”

“The law is the law,” Baker said. “Just because it was Indians they killed, it doesn’t make them any less guilty of murder. The law will find them and the law will punish them.”

“How will the law find them?” Delshay asked. “Nobody knows who did it.”

“Just leave it in the hands of the law,” Baker repeated. “That is all I am asking of you.”

Delshay nodded, but said nothing else. Then, at midnight on that very night, in the flickering light of a held torch, he spoke to the nine men he had managed to recruit. One of the recruits was Chandeisi; the others were young men, without families,who would be coming along for the excitement and adventure.

“If you are brave of heart, and can leave home without so much as saying good-bye to your mother and father, then you have the fighting spirit that you will need in the days to come,” Delshay said as he looked into the fire-lit faces of the young men who were eager to become warriors.

“Come, we will strike fear into the heart of every white man and all will hear the name Apache and cower.”

“All will hear the name Delshay and cower!” Chandeisi shouted.

“Delshay!” the others shouted.

There was some stirring from those who were still sleeping in their hogans, and Delshay held up his hand to call for quiet.

“Go to your horses,” he said. “We ride.”

San Carlos was made up of several small encampments that were scattered about the reservation. The wickiups were of traditional construction, animal skins, bark, woven grass, and mud. But at the center of the reservation, where the headquarters was established, stood the Indian agent’s house. The equal to any fine home in any city, the agent’s residence was a large, two-story house with white-painted leaded windows, dormers, clapboard sides, and a green shake roof. There was a swing on the deep, front porch where Baker and his family often sat in the evenings, enjoying the cooling breeze.

The sun had not yet risen when Sentorio rode up to the front of the house, dismounted, and hurried up the brick walk.

“Agent Baker!” he called. He banged loudly on the door. “Agent Baker!” He banged on the door again.

A moment later, Baker, carrying a candle and still in his nightshirt, opened the door.

“What is it, Sentorio?” he asked irritably. “What do you mean by banging on my door at this time of morning?”

“It’s Delshay, Agent Baker. Delshay, Chandeisi, and eight others.”

“Delshay, Chandeisi and eight others? What about them, Sentorio? Make sense for God’s sake.”

“They are gone, Agent Baker,” Sentorio said. “All of them.”

“Gone? By gone, do you mean they have left the reservation?”

“Yes, Delshay and Chandeisi gathered several warriors to follow them and they left the reservation.”

“Damn,” Baker said, shaking his head in anger. “It wasn’t Chandeisi. He didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You are wrong, Agent Baker. Chandeisi is with Delshay,” Sentorio said.

“Oh, Chandeisi might be with him, all right,” Baker said. “But you can bet your bottom dollar that Delshay is in charge. Chandeisi is but a puppy that will go along with anything Delshay says. How long have they been gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I did not see them leave,” Sentorio said.

“Never mind. Round up the rest of the Indian police and see if you can find them.”

“If they are off the reservation, we will have no authority over them,” Sentorio said.

“I know that. That means you had better catch them before they get off reservation property.”

“I think it may be too late for that,” Sentorio said.

“Yeah, well, whether it is too late or not, you are going after them,” Baker said. “And when you find them, bring them back bound and gagged. I want the others to see their—hero—humiliated.” He set the word “hero” apart from the rest of the sentence, twisting his mouth around the word.

“I will do so,” Sentorio promised.

At the very moment Sentorio and Agent Baker were discussing their absence, Delshay, Chandeisi, and the others were already off the reservation. Eerily illuminated by the flickering torches many of them were carrying, they sat on their horses on the crest of a hill that overlooked the Doogan Ranch near the little white settlement of Picket Post. Delshay looked down on the little collection of neat buildings that made up the ranch.

“All are asleep,” Chandeisi said.

“Yes,” Delshay replied.

“Delshay, are we at war?” one of the younger riders said.

“Yes.”

“Will we join Goyathlay?”

“No,” Delshay said. “We will make our own war.”

He made a motion with his arm, then pointed toward the barn.

Delshay’s riders rode quickly down the hill to the Doogan Ranch. Without any further directions, a couple of the riders broke away from the rest of the pack and headed toward the barn. One of them tossed a torch inside the barn, where it landed on dry hay. The other threw his torch up onto the dry-shake shingles of the roof. Within moments, the barn was on fire.

Another of the riders started toward the main house, but Delshay called out to him.

“Wait,” he said.

The rider stopped, though it was clear by the expression on his face that he did not understand why Delshay had stopped him.

They waited for nearly two minutes. Delshay and the nine other warriors sat silently as they stared at the house, which, though not on fire, cast back the reflected flames of the burning barn. The popping, snapping fire licked up the sides of the walls and spread over the entire roof, growing in heat and intensity. The horses and cows trapped inside the barn realized their danger and began screaming in terror. Delshay reached down to pat the neck of his own horse reassuringly. The animal was very nervous at being that close to the blaze and it began to prance about.

The ten Indians waited, their faces glowing orange red from the fire. The illusion created an apparition of ten of Satan’s mounted demons.

From inside the house, they heard a young boy’s voice call the alarm.

“Pa! Ma! Wake up! Wake up! The barn’s on fire!”

Alerted, his mother and she poked her husband awake. When Doogan opened his eyes, he didn’t have to ask what was wrong, for by now the light from the burning barn lit up the bedroom as bright as day.

“What in the world! How did that happen? Sue, get the buckets! Donnie, Morgan, you boys turn out double quick! Turn out, boys, we’ve got to save the animals!”

Doogan and his two sons dashed out through the front door in their nightshirts, not bothering to take time to get dressed. They tumbled off the front porch, then were brought to an immediate stop by the sight of the ten mounted Indians. Backlit by the burning barn, the Indians looked as if they were ghost riders from Hell. Doogan shielded his eyes against the glare of the fire, but even though he stared hard at the riders, he couldn’t make out any of their features. As a matter of fact, from his position he couldn’t even tell that they were Indians.

It was Sue who made the connection.

“Indians!” Sue shouted. “My God, Paul, they are Indians!”

Doogan ran back into his house, then returned a moment later with a pistol. He started firing at the Indians, and Delshay returned fire. Those shots were a signal to the other Indians, and for the next several seconds the valley rang with the sound of dozens of gunshots. When the shooting stopped, Doogan, his wife, and both sons were sprawled out in the yard in front of the house. All four were dead.

On board the Western Flyer, somewhere in Kansas

Jay Peerless Bixby’s insufferable manners had continued throughout most of the trip. He grumbled constantly, complaining about everything from the frequency of the stops, to the weather, to the food that was being served in the dining car.

“Is this the extent of your carte du jour?” Bixby asked, thumping his fingers against the menu card that was on the table before him. “Beef, ham, or chicken?” Bixby said. “No lamb? No fish? Just how primitive is this railroad anyway?”

“I’m sorry, sir, these selections have proven to be most popular with our travelers,” the waiter said.

“Well, of course they would be,” Bixby replied. “No doubt in this part of the country, your passenger list is composed of nothing but country bumpkins. But I would think that you would also make provisions for those of us who have a more refined palate. You do get travelers of some sophistication from time to time, do you not?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I am merely a waiter,” the waiter replied.

“Yes. Well, I will have the braised sirloin tips in hopes that the chef can render it edible.”

As the trip progressed, Matt saw that Bixby’s boorish behavior wasn’t limited to the crew. He treated his wife and business manager with equal disdain. Once, when Cynthia asked Matt a question about ranching, Bixby interrupted her.

“Cynthia, please don’t try to discuss business,” he said. “It only exposes your total lack of knowledge.”

“I’m just trying to take an interest, Jay,” she replied. “If we are going to have a ranch out here, then I want to be of some value to you.”

Bixby laughed scornfully. “Your value to me, and your only value, is in your looks,” he said. “Having a beautiful wife is an asset to a successful businessman. Though I must tell you, my dear, that the moment you open your mouth to show your ignorance, that asset is nullified.”

Matt watched Cynthia’s reaction to the hateful words, amazed that Bixby either didn’t see how his words hurt her, or didn’t care. On the other hand, Hendel seemed acutely aware of the way Bixby treated Cynthia and though he didn’t say anything, he did get up and walk to the back of the car, then out onto the rear vestibule.

Matt waited for a moment, then walked out to the rear platform as well. Hendel was leaning against the railing, watching the track unwind beneath and behind as the train moved at a twenty-mile-per-hour pace.

“Mind if I join you?” Matt asked.

“Not at all, sir, not at all,” Hendel said.

Matt pulled out the makings and rolled a cigarette, then offered the makings to Hendel.

“Thank you, no,” Hendel declined. “I’ve never acquired the habit.” He chuckled. “I tried, but can’t seem to get the hang of pulling the smoke down into my lungs.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Matt said as he leaned into the car and, using it as a shield against the wind, snapped fire onto the end of a match with his fingernail. He lit the cigarette, tossed the spent match out onto the track, then took a puff.

“I don’t want to step on any toes here,” Matt said, “but your Mr. Bixby seems to be a difficult man to please.”

“You’ve noticed that, have you?”

Matt chuckled. “I think everyone on the train has noticed it.”

“Yes, well, Mr. Bixby can be difficult.”

“You seem to handle it well.”

“I have had years of practice,” Hendel said. He turned back to look out at the passing countryside. “It’s funny, Mr. Bixby has been complaining about the fact that the country out here is so desolate, but I find it awe-inspiring.”

“Your first time out here?”

Hendel smiled. “Yes, it is. As a matter of fact, this is my first time out of the city of New York,” he said. “You seem to be a man who is well in control of things, the manifestation of what one thinks of when one thinks of the Westerner. Do you live out here?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Oh, that’s hard to say,” Matt replied. “I’ve been just about everywhere out here, from the Canadian border all the way down to the Mexican border.”

“What is your occupation, if I may ask? I mean, what sort of job would afford a man so much opportunity for travel?”

“I’ve done a bit of everything, I reckon,” Matt replied. “I’ve been a deputy sheriff, a deputy city marshal, and a deputy U.S. marshal. I’ve scouted for the army, I’ve been a railroad detective, I’ve been a cowboy, I’ve trapped fur. I’ve even done some mining for gold and silver.”

“My, what an exciting life you must lead,” Hendel said. “You truly are the stuff of legend—the kind of man that books are written about.”

Matt smiled but said nothing, for in fact, two dime novels had already been written about his exploits.

“I must say that I not only admire you for living such an exciting life, but also for living it in such a magnificent environment.”

“If you think this is magnificent, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Matt said. “Wait until we reach the Rockies in Colorado.”

“I am looking forward to that,” Hendel said. “It almost makes it…” He paused without finishing his sentence.

“Almost makes it worth working for a man like Jay Peerless Bixby?” Matt asked.

Hendel smiled. “I didn’t say that,” he said.

“No, you didn’t, because you are too good a man, Mr. Hendel, and it doesn’t take a strong sense of observation to see that,” Matt said. He looked back into the car. “But I don’t work for Mr. Jay Peerless Bixby, and I have no such restraints. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a more insufferable man, or a more long-suffering woman. I don’t know why she puts up with him.”

“She puts up with it because she feels a sense of obligation,” Hendel said.

“A sense of obligation to who?” Matt asked.

“No who, so much as what,” Hendel replied. “She feels a sense of obligation to honor. You see, this marriage was arranged by her father. It was his last wish—or, one might say, his last command to her—before he died. I wasn’t able to talk him out of it, so the least I can do is…” Again, he left the sentence uncompleted.

“I’ll be damn,” Matt said with a chuckle. “That’s it, isn’t it? The only reason you work for Bixby is so you can look out for Cynthia.”

“I don’t know that I would put it quite that way,” Hendel said. “But I do look out for her as best I can.”

The door to the car opened and Bixby stepped outside.

“What are you two doing out here?” he asked.

“We just stepped out for a breath of air,” Hendel said.

“It stinks of smoke and ash out here. Anyway, they are about to call the first setting for dinner. I would like to eat early, then have the porter turn my bed down. I have discovered that the more I can sleep on this accursed trip, the better it is.”

“Yes,” Hendel said. “I have discovered that as well.”

Matt hid his smile.