The Bounty Hunters

20

They waited in the darkness crouched low in the mesquite, watching the pines off across the clearing. Clouds had formed in the night sky and now the moonwash was a soft haze that barely outlined the dense shape of the trees.

Madora said, "How long now?"

"About twenty minutes," Flynn answered.

"That's not so good."

"Maybe they're close and he can't move."

Deneen, crouched at Flynn's right, moved his leg and his boot scraped the loose sandy rock.

Madora's head turned. "Why don't you ring a bell?"

Deneen began, "Madora, you'll be sorry you ever…"

"Damn it-shut up!"

Indicating the pines across the clearing, Flynn said, "That's where the Mimbre was killed…maybe he's run into something."

"Like the other two," Madora said.

Flynn glanced at Madora. "If he doesn't show soon, we'd better start thinking. What about the rest of your trackers?"

"They'll wait a good hour before following: give us plenty of time. If something happens, they're on their own."

But a moment later, Three-cents appeared, crawling, squirming into the mesquite. He told them that two Mimbrenos were among the trees looking for the one who had disappeared, feeling through the pines carefully. "They will look only a short time more, searching a wider area. Then they will go to inform the others."

"Which means," Flynn said, "we go now or never."

"What did he say?" Deneen whispered, demanding, not merely asking.

"He said it's empty; we could drive a wagon through," Madora told him.

"That's not what he said!"

Madora did not bother to reply; he moved out and they crawled single file after him across the clearing, moving more quickly through shoulder-high brush hands and knees again across another open stretch and then into the pines. They waited, listening to the silence, then deeper among the trees they could hear crickets. They sing if nothing's disturbing them, Flynn thought. But even a cricket wouldn't hear a Mimbre. They moved on, creeping through the trees, brushing pine needle branches, holding them from swishing…and three of them gritted their teeth and felt needles down their spines as Deneen's boot snapped a rotted tree limb. They stopped where they were and dead silence followed.

Three-cents looked at Madora and when the scout nodded he moved off, disappearing into the darkness.

The clasp knife is in the left side pocket, Flynn thought, and his hand moved against the cloth feeling the shape of it. He could feel the weight if the pistol beneath his left arm. But no shooting, he reminded himself. He smelled the cold fresh smell of the pines and suddenly he realized there was no longer the sound of crickets. A movement in the tree darkness flicked in his vision.

He saw it again, a short quick shadow movement, and held his gaze on it, waiting for it to show again. When it did, he knew that it was a man, and almost instinctively he knew it was not Three-cents.

He glanced at Deneen. He hadn't seen him. The shadow moved again, coming closer cautiously, taking the definite shape of a man. It went through Flynn's mind: Joe's closest. It's up to him. Now he could see the shoulder-length hair and the colorless gray of the breechclout. He knew Madora, a few feet in front of him, was ready; but now he thought of Deneen, behind, slightly to the side, and he wanted to warn him not to move, but he knew it was too late. Joe-get the mouth. Whatever you do, don't let him yell. Let him take a few more steps- "Oh God!" and the pistol shot slamming the stillness on top of the words.

Deneen held the pistol out in front of him…the Apache was on the ground…but suddenly another shape was coming out of the trees…his thumb hooked the hammer and he fired at it…the figure hung motionless and he pulled the trigger twice again until the shape dropped to the ground.

Madora's voice suddenly-hoarse, urgent, "Stop him!"

Flynn was moving…one hand gripped the gun barrel, wrenching it from clawed fingers…the other tightened in uniform cloth to drag Deneen to the ground.

"Get off of me!"

The face beneath him was tight with panic, ready to scream again. Flynn pushed his palm down viciously over the mouth, holding it there, seeing the eyes stretched openMadora was next to him. "He shot Three-cents!"

"What!"

"The second one…It was Three-cents! The crazy son of a bitch killed him!"

Looking down, seeing the eyes, Flynn's hand tightened over the jaw. And one of the flashes in his mind, coming through the shock of Madora's words, said: This would be easy. But it was momentary. Ten years on the frontier was telling him something else, something undeniable, urgent…and he leaped up to follow Madora who was already moving, running through the trees. They reached the end of the trees together and paused, drawing their pistols. Then they were in the open-five, six, seven strides-and suddenly the gunfire broke, coming from three sides, pinpoint bursts of flame, stopping them in their tracks, forcing them back crawling, lunging into the cover of the trees.

Minutes later, after the firing had stopped, Deneen appeared. He said it once. "Goddamn it they all look alike. How did I know who it was?" That, by way of an apology.

Flynn could still feel the hot anger and he thought: Now that he's said that, he can forget about it. He's explained and apologized in one. Life is very simple. Why do you let it get so complicated-just look at it the way Deneen does. And within the first few minutes he also thought: Take your anger and use it now against these Mimbrenos. But he felt the closeness of the trees. No, it would be all right if you were fighting them in the open, with fists; but there's no place for anger here. They'll come at dawn and if you're still excited, two minutes later you'll be dead.

They moved a few yards to where there was more protection-the brush was heavier and a fallen tree formed a natural barrier on the side that faced deeper into the trees, and out from it there was a fifteen foot clearing to help some. The other side looked out on the open meadow they had started to cross. Flynn remembered that the next trees were about two hundred yards off, with Soyopa's cemetery beyond them. The threat was not from the open side.

Madora moved next to Flynn.

"They'll come soon as there's a hint of light."

Flynn nodded.

"How would you figure it?" Madora said.

"Come from the inside, through the trees. If they can count to five three times they've got us."

"Be all over before we could reload."

"Did you take Three-cents' gun?" When Madora nodded he said, "That'll help some. How many rounds you got?"

"About thirty, plus the loads in Three-cents' gun."

Flynn patted his coat pocket. "That's about what I got. Will they count shots?"

"Hell yes. What side do you want?"

Flynn was closest to the fallen tree. He said, "Well, now that I'm here." He glanced at Deneen who looked away quickly.

"Then you get this," Madora said, handing him the extra pistol.

"If you want to use it sometime, it's all right."

"Maybe next week," Madora said.

Now Flynn was looking out past the fallen tree, his eyes probing the darkness and the trees. There! Did you hear it? There must be a lot of them if they make a noise. The Coyoteros will be pinned down; there aren't enough of them to do anything. Twice he thought he saw movements, but he held his fire. Wait for the real thing, that will come soon enough. The time was passing and he knew it would not be very long and he was as certain as he could be that he would die within the next hour. You have to have time to reload. O my God I'm heartily sorry for having offended Thee. I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy graceThere!

His left pistol came up and fired. Count them! One. Another shape coming across the clearing, stumbling with the report. Two. A Mimbre darted from one tree to another and he missed him. Three. Don't throw them away! The same one came on, in view for a longer time, and he knocked him flat. Four. Madora's firing the other way. Don't look around. There…off left! The slamming report and powder smell. Five. Now wait…you're starting to reload…here they come!

He stood up suddenly, pointing the other pistol, firing, seeing them go down…four blasts from the pistol and two Mimbres dropped, one hit twice. Others were coming out of the trees! No…split-second indecision and they were going back in. Hurry up, reload! He inserted two cartridges, looked up, and when there was no movement he loaded three more; then the other gun.

The firing had stopped on both sides. "What did you have, Joe?"

"Ponies. Didn't you hear them?"

Flynn shook his head.

"They were for attention," Madora said. "Your side's the one."

"Don't tell me."

"You want to trade off?"

"I'm used to it now."

Turning toward Deneen, Madora said, "You want to help out next time?" He stopped, his eyes narrowing into a frown. "You feel all right?"

Flynn looked over. Deneen was crouched with his back against the base of a pine, half hidden by the branches, clutching the pistol in a tight-knuckled, close-to-chest, protecting way as if it were the only thing that stood between him and the end of his world. And the picture of that night at Chancellorsville flashed through Flynn's mind-the darkness and the dripping pines and almost the same tight-jawed wide-eyed expression frozen on his face-and Flynn looked away, back to Madora.

"We're not going to get any help from him," the scout said. He looked out over the meadow in the dawn light. Flynn moved back to the fallen tree, but as he did Madora called, "David, look-at over there."

His eyes followed Madora's outstretched arm through the early morning haze, out across the meadow. There, at the edge of the trees two hundred yards off, stood three Mimbrenos. They were looking toward the pines; then one of them motioned and others appeared, carrying something.

"David…that's a man."

Flynn studied them, watching two warriors drag the limp form of a man between them. They held him upright then while another Mimbre threw a line over a tree limb above them. Flynn saw now that one end was fastened to the man's wrists and as the Mimbrenos walked off holding the free end, the line tightened, drawing the man's arms up over his head and the next moment he was hanging above the ground.

Madora said, "Do you recognize him?"

Flynn shook his head. "His head's down."

"Get Deneen's glasses."

Deneen was staring at Flynn as he turned toward him. "What is it!"

"Take it easy. Let me have your glasses."

Deneen's left hand felt the case hanging at his side. "I'll look first!"

Flynn shrugged. "You won't like it." And he thought: He's not as bad as at Chancellorsville. Maybe he thinks there's still a way out.

Deneen looked through the glasses. When he brought them down his face was drawn tighter than before and for a moment Flynn thought he was going to be sick. Madora jerked the field glasses from his hands without ceremony. "He told you," the scout said, and handed the glasses to Flynn; and after he had given Flynn time to study the man he asked, "Who is he?"

Flynn lowered the glasses, handing them back to Madora. "I don't know. His head's still down…what's left of it."

Looking through the glasses Madora said, "Scalped. And nekked as a jaybird." He was silent. Then, "He's alive, David."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"What's that?" Flynn watched the Mimbres nearing the man again.

"They got knives," Madora said. He grunted. "You see that?"

"Enough," Flynn said quietly.

"They cut the tendons in his arms." Madora waited, and winced holding the glasses to his eyes. "Now both his legs."

Deneen turned away.

Flynn said, "That's for our benefit."

"You bet it is." Madora lowered the glasses. "They're telling us what's coming up about an hour from now."

"Next time they'll rush until they get us," Flynn said.

Madora nodded up and down. "The first time they found out what they wanted to know…though it cost them more than they figured. Your side was the natural, cuz of the cover, just fooled around mine. Next time they'll come mounted, all of them…like a twister and run right through us."

Flynn didn't know what to say, but he said, "Well…" and in his mind, rapidly:…but most of all for having offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of…"Joe, what if we run?"

"Which way?"

"Back." He nodded into the trees.

"We wouldn't get ten feet." Mildly, Madora said, "David, the only thing we can do now is think about all the things we shouldn't of done before."

Flynn half smiled now, thinking of Nita. "And all the things you'd like to have done."

"What would you do, David, besides kick his francis from here to Prescott?" He nodded toward Deneen.

Flynn said vaguely, "Maybe stay around here."

"And prospect?"

"Maybe."

"For what?"

Flynn smiled. "She's a nice girl."

"I thought so," Madora said. "Well…it'd be a nice living." He looked at Deneen again. "And I wouldn't see how you'd have anything further to prove as far as he's concerned."

Flynn said, "Only nothing like that will happen now." Still, he thought of Nita Esteban, until she was forced suddenly from his mind"David…here they come!"

Flynn had time to recognize Soldado, though it was a quick, fleeting glimpse-first Soldado, then his warriors riding out of the trees, coming out bunched, separating in the open, the rumble of their ponies, dust rising-then he was whirling back to face the dense pines. He heard a pistol shot close behind him, but it went in and out of his mind for he was tensed waiting for something else, then Madora's voice"David!"

Nothing moved in the trees. He glanced around quickly seeing Madora and beyond him the Mimbrenos swerving their ponies, racing down through the wide aisle between the pines and the trees they had come out of.

"They don't want us!"

And off to the left, far out, were mounted men. They had been coming along the road that, ahead, would skirt the cemetery, but now momentarily they stood holding their horses, almost a dozen riders, watching the Apaches bearing down on them…then as one they spurred, breaking for the village off beyond the trees.

"They were waiting for them all the time!"

"Joe, that's Lazair's men!"

"God Almighty they don't have a chance!"

"Joe!"

Madora's head jerked toward Flynn, seeing him pointing off to the right, the other direction, and as he followed Flynn's gaze his eyes opened in amazement.

"God Almighty…rurales!"

Flynn screamed through the din of the horses that had swerved around from the right side of the trees, "And Bowers! Look at him!"

And there it was. Cavalry! Cavalry out of the Manual. Charging, full-glory cavalry used the way it should be, the way you dream about it but seldom see it. Something out of Cooke's Tactics. And it was all there as Flynn had seen it before-only here were straw Chihuahua hats and the full-throated battle screams were in Spanish. Flynn felt the excitement in him and screamed at them as they rode by bearing down on the Apaches who were milling, turning in confusion and not all the way around when Bowers hit them. He hit them with gunfire, carbine butts, sabers and a will…a rawhide cavalry will to hit the enemy, slash him hard in the first few seconds and use the rest that makes up a minute to mop up, chase the stragglers, run them to the ground.

And as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Some Apaches, perhaps a dozen, had broken free and were streaking off in the distance; many were on the ground, horses and men, scattered over the meadow; and there were those who had given up. They sat their ponies sullenly with their hands raised in the air, herded into groups, rurales circling each group with carbines ready.

Then Bowers was coming toward them, holding his mount to an easy trot, the saber flashing in the sunlight; but he saw the naked figure hanging from the tree and he guided the left rein in that direction.

Madora was grinning broadly in his gray-streaked beard. "Where'd he get that saber? David, I think he might do."

Flynn was smiling, but then he turned quickly remembering Deneen…there, by the tree. "Colonel…" The word hung by itself with none to follow. Flynn stared, feeling the cold shock of what he saw, then gradually realizing what had happened-remembering the pistol shot right after Madora had yelled that the Mimbrenos were coming.

That was enough, just knowing they were coming, and knowing what they would do from seeing the man strung up across the meadow. That finished him, Flynn thought. At Chancellorsville it was a shelling. That had been bad. But what the Mimbrenos had in mind would have been much worse. So…

"Joe…look here."

Madora was silent for some time looking at Deneen slumped against the tree. The face was beyond recognition, the pistol barrel still jammed into his mouth, his hand still on the trigger. Then Madora shook his head slowly. "When did he do that?"

"Right after you yelled. I remember hearing a shot close, but I thought it was you."

Madora shook his head again. "Just think, if he'd a put that off one minute he'd be bitchin' at us for something right now."

"Maybe," Flynn said, "he's done everybody a favor."

Madora said, looking up, "Here comes Bowers," and moved out to the edge of the trees.

Flynn started to follow, but he stopped, glancing back at Deneen thinking of Bowers. What good would it do him to see that? Flynn thought. Throwing it in his face that Deneen was a coward…a Colonel, United States Cavalry. And suddenly he had hurdled the fallen tree trunk and was dragging back the nearest of the dead Mimbrenos, lifting him over the trunk, dropping him to the other side, dragging him up facedown over Deneen's body. He pried Deneen's hand open, closed the Mimbre's fist around the gun butt and placed the barrel back-gently-against the gaping teeth-shattered expressionless hole.

Madora was calling, "Red, where in hell did you get that sword?"

Bowers was dismounting as Flynn reached him. He pushed the sword point into the ground, taking the extended hand, grinning, feeling the glory of it, but not wanting to show his excitement.

Flynn smiled back at him, saying, "There was no room for cavalry, but it was cavalry that won after all. How'd you do it with Santana?"

Bowers smiled half self-consciously, even in his cavalry pose, hand resting on the sword hilt. "Santana and I talked for a long time last night," he said. "We discussed again the battle of Cinco de Mayo at Puebla. We talked of Santana's military ability-about which he wasn't the least bit restrained-then we got around to Gettysburg-the second day, if the memory of my father's words serves me correctly-and I told him about an incident during the Culp's Hill skirmish."

Bowers squinted. "Now I think it was Geary's division of Slocum's XII Corps holding the hill, with Ewell's rebel division pinning them down. Ewell couldn't climb his division up the hill, but neither could Geary get out…and Meade, that's General George G. Meade, wanted part of Geary's division over to reinforce Sickles' end of Cemetery Ridge where Longstreet was hammering. Now there was a fellow named Gregg with some cavalry sent to help out Geary, but he couldn't see how to get at Ewell, until, from the hill, they spotted a supply train coming up along Rock Creek. They knew Ewell's scouts would tell him about it and from then on it was timing. Ewell started for the supply wagons and Gregg hit him while his pants were down with umpteen troops of Union Cavalry." Bowers' eyes were alive, smiling. "I've always considered that would have been some sight to see." He said then, "Now just casually I mentioned to Santana, 'If Lazair's men were to come down that road in the morning, Soldado would sniff him and it would be pretty much the same maneuver, wouldn't it? And for a military man of your ability, it would be easy as walking.' That did it. He even dug sabers out of Duro's storeroom. We knew the Mimbres were in the trees…no other place they could be; so we waited until there was a sign of Lazair's men far out, then swung out a side street and barreled around that grove of trees."

"How did Duro react?" Flynn said.

"Duro's dead. He ran for it during the night. Hilario was watching then…he told him to stop, but Duro kept going, so he shot him. Hilario said someone else ran out ahead of Duro. We've been trying to figure out who it could be." Bowers jerked his thumb over his shoulder vaguely pointing across the meadow. "We didn't even think of him, but that's who it must have been."

From Flynn, "Who is it?"

"Lazair."

Flynn paused, surprised. "Is he dead?"

Bowers nodded. "Dead as a stone."

Madora half smiled in his beard, noticing the new, sure-of-himself tone of Bowers' voice along with the hip-cocked cavalry way he stood. He said, "Red, you might do at that…with a little seasoning."

Bowers smiled, though he was thinking: Damn, how you have to listen to old men and smile just because they are old men. As if a few more years just naturally makes them wiser. Then he said, because he had to say something, "I hope so, Mr. Madora. I do hope so." And then, remembering, Bowers said, "Where's the colonel?"

Flynn stepped aside and nodded into the trees and followed Bowers as he walked in among the pines.

"My God-"

Flynn said nothing. And suddenly, watching Bowers' face, he was more than glad he had done this-seeing the young lieutenant looking at a soldier's death-no, more than that, looking at a colonel of cavalry killed in action. When a colonel dies, it's a bigger thing, Flynn thought. No matter how he dies.

Bowers was saying, "This will head the report," his voice heavy with respect, "for it isn't often that a colonel dies this way."

Flynn looked at him quickly, but only awe and respect were on Bowers' face and Flynn said, "No, thankfully, it isn't often."

Madora came up behind them. He glanced at Flynn after looking down at Deneen, but he said nothing to him. Then to Bowers, "I see Soldado survived…him and about two dozen others. Counting his women up in the hills somewhere, you'll have about seventy people all told. Red, how do you propose to get 'em to San Carlos?"

"I was thinking of talking Santana into helping as far as the border…have cavalry come down to meet us there." Bowers smiled. "Hell, Joe, all the fight's out of those Mimbres. The three of us could take them up, for that matter."

"You mean the two of us."

"Two?"

"David here's talking about doing some prospecting."

Flynn smiled, but he didn't deny it.