Shatto's Law (Perry County Frontier) Page 19

  Ted doubted an undisciplined rabble like Snyder's could stand long to heavy fighting, or dare to remain if the battle dragged out. The fire at the river would not seriously delay the outlaws. Could the Arrowhead get help from other ranches? Not time enough, perhaps.

  Well, he had hours of hard riding before he had to announce how they would lick this army. Ted Shatto hoped by then he would have something sensible figured out.

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  Chapter 14

  Before they reached the adobe wall, Ted Shatto slowed his mount to an easy walk. Surprised, Juan Santos pulled up beside him, his head turned to inquire why they had ridden so wildly, only to slow at the very end?

  A hundred yards out, Ted halted and they listened to the night. Ted said, "When that army of thugs arrives, they'll likely send a scout or two ahead. If we have people on the wall, as we have now, the scouts might hear them."

  They listened but sensed nothing unusual. Ted moved them closer and in the dark the wall seemed to loom higher that it was. Again they listened and after a moment something scraped somewhere above. Santos grunted in irritation but Ted was not surprised. Apache might wait endlessly in perfect quiet but others weren't trained for it. He called to identify himself and a voice answered for them to come in.

  Getting back to the ranch they had ridden as hard as they had dared, but it took longer at night. A few miles out one of the mounts had lamed and they had released the animal and brought the saddle in on the remaining remount. It had all taken time and dawn was close. They were already tired and their people, anxiously guarding the wall, would have lost much of their alertness. When their enemy came, the ranch must be ready. Being rested would be an important part of that preparation.

  Ted pulled all but a few from the wall. The outlaws would still be regrouping after the confusion of the brushfire. With light, lookouts on the cliff could give the valley many hours warning and Pablo Estaves should come in well ahead of any attack.

  Ted sent riders to light their council fire and the valley's occupants, young and old, male and female, assembled at the big house to listen.

  Ted waited on his porch talking with Beth while the last of the stragglers drew in. Women appeared with food and wine. The Scholar and the priest sat together, speaking animatedly. The Scholar using his poor Spanish and the Padre torturing his listener with extremely limited and horribly accented English. Weariness lay over them all and Ted knew it was important to make his talk short. Tension took the vigor from anyone and his people already had a night of it.

  When they were ready, Ted rose tiredly. His weakened ankle throbbed and he limped a little on it. It seemed like a year instead of a few days since he'd strained it. Small potatoes now. He had life or death things to worry about.

  When Ted reached the circle, Juan Santos came over and stood beside him. Ted liked that. Once, Santos would have stood behind, hat in hand, shoulders stooped a little in subservience. Looking across his audience, Ted saw the same strength in others. Most of the peonish deference was gone. These were men worth riding beside. They handled weapons with an easy familiarity and they sat relaxed m apparent confidence. Some were strong, others smart, a few were weak, and one or two were pretty thick headed. About like any group of men, Ted expected.

  First he told them what they faced. Even in the flickering firelight Ted could see lips tighten and features lengthen, but he did not make it easy. He described seasoned gunmen, ex-soldiers, and longtime bandits. The cannon brought increased worry. Only a few had even seen salutes fired, but none doubted a cannon's destructive power. Ted knew they waited with only partly disguised anxiety to learn how they would defend themselves against such heavy odds.

  "Now I reckon we could just run from 'em and let 'em wreck and burn till they tired and rode off. We won't do that because this is our home. All we have is here and our children's futures depend on this ranch staying alive. Together, we've built homes and most have begun saving against harder times. We have a school and you will soon have a church. Most of the people in the world would fight to save what we have and we'll do the same." Ted let that sink in before continuing.

  "The fact is, we've got a number of advantages and if we use them right we can turn this fight around and discourage anyone else out there getting hungry for what we've got. To my mind, the big thing isn't whether we're going to whip this gang coming at us. What we've got to be sure of is that we don't get hurt doing it. When the smoke clears and we count their carcasses, I want to see the same faces sitting across the fire that I do now. So, when we get to shooting, remember you're important to all of us and avoid taking foolish risks."

  The long night ride had allowed time to work out a plan. As he and Juan had labored across the ridges and through the draws, Ted had imagined himself as Captain Snyder with his army of drifters and ruffians. How would he handle such a band? Gradually Ted gained a sense of what Snyder might attempt. They would ride close tomorrow, rest the night, and probably attack about dawn the next day. It seemed as though everyone found that the best time. Unsuspecting people slept heavily then and you had a whole day of light ahead to finish what you were doing.

  Snyder would come forward with everything he had, hoping to take the wall without effort. If he couldn't, the cannon would do the bloody work for him. Once inside, Snyder's many men would overwhelm the valley's defenders. If there was resistance, houses would be leveled by cannon fire. Against such an attack, Ted had his untested men, women, and older children. Their task appeared . . . formidable.

  Before he could begin telling his defensive plan, Juan Santos got Ted aside.

  "The lookouts on the cliff say there are three men with rifles coming across the face of the mountain."

  Ted nodded, not surprised and pleased by the low number.

  "All right, Juan. As soon as I am done here, pick enough men to do the job right. Send 'em up top and have them finish off those three. They can shoot them or bring them in, but tell them to get it done and be back down here as quickly as they can. We'll need every man before this war is over."

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  Captain John P. Snyder sat on his wagon seat examining the mess stretched along the river bank. Daylight made straightening out at least possible, but Snyder doubted he had ever seen a more weary and demoralized bunch.

  The brushfire had caught them completely unprepared. It came with the wind and looked like a solid wall of flame. Snyder guessed the Indians that had started it must have been afraid to attack a band as large and as gun-hung as his, but their fire had raised enough hell to last a while.

  Horses panicked first and tore through the camp in herds. Some men were dead drunk and couldn't even help themselves. Everybody headed for the river and went straight across. A wagon got tangled in a brush clump and when fire started falling among them, the men hauling at it ran. The wagon went up in a fine flare, aided by the whiskey it contained.

  In the dark, men bumped, cursed, and floundered. Belongings floated downstream and about every five minutes another band of spooked horses came stampeding through, knocking men down and trampling everything underfoot.

  Now the river edge was alive with tired and angry men. Some slept but most were locating mounts and sorting gear. About as many were on the burnt out side hunting possessions and checking over the few who had been burned or horse stomped.

  On the other hand, Snyder knew they had been lucky. The cannon wagon with its boxes of powder had survived. The cannon itself sat half mired along the river's edge but that would not hurt the gun. Most of the mounts and all of the draft animals had been found. Many had waded the shallow river and gone to grazing as though nothing had happened. God, horses were dumb, Snyder thought. The crazed animals had kept running back into the fire. Now they acted as though they hadn't even been a part of it.

  He saw Jud Carp riding over and guessed it was time to move everybody out. Getting the column moving would help shake things down. Once they were well along he'd set up a spike camp and have coffee, cow, bread, and
beans cooked up. He would break out canned peaches as well and with full bellies men would settle down. By sundown they would be in the camp he had intended. The evening whiskey would be rationed because so much had been lost. Snyder smiled slyly to himself. He could shake his head and make out that it was all the more important that he went for supplies. He wondered another time just how much gold Shatto had in the big house. Some rumors said almost a wagon load. Snyder found he was licking his lips.

  Less whiskey would leave his riders mean and thirsty. Already madder than stirred hornets, they would slice through Shatto's Mexes like a knife through lard. Without knowing it, John P. Snyder again licked his lips in anticipation.

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  When Jefe Santos chose him to lead four others against the men attacking from above the cliffs, Jesus Escalante suspected he grew an inch; never could he have a prouder moment. That the Jefe allowed him to choose his own band further sweetened the moment. He named his men quickly, and with the certainty a leader should use. Jesus rolled the names clearly so that all would hear. The selection would be proud for each of them as well.

  Escalante could boast of only seventeen years. He was squat with bowed legs and friends called him The Apache. Jesus savored the nickname. He was already the ranch's best hunter of deer or elk and his skill with his Sharps was known. Juan Santos had chosen the right man and Escalante had seen Senor Shatto's approval.

  Because he had shown promise with his father's old gun, Senor Shatto had taught him more about shooting. When he had developed unexpected skills as a stalker of game, Senor Ted had again noticed. One memorable day, just past his sixteenth birthday, the Senor had called him to the hacienda. They had talked of hunting and ways of shooting. Proud of his abilities, Jesus had become mortified at how little he really knew. Men like the Senor had taken animals he had only heard of in lands he had never seen. Then the Senor had brought forth a new and shining Sharps breechloader with a barrel of great length. In detail, Jesus was shown how to load. Then the rifle was his. There had been words and Jesus Escalante remembered them.

  "This rifle should be your closest friend, Jesus. Study it as you have the animals you hunt. Give it a secret name and know its every strength or weakness. The great hunter becomes as one with his weapon. He knows it as he knows his own hand and he values it as highly, use your rifle often, believe it to be the finest in all the world and plan to someday pass it to your firstborn son with words like those just spoken."

  Jesus Escalante had become the valley's best. He studied the papers that came with the rifle and labored through the few notes on shooting that Senor Shatto owned. Escalante learned to make special cartridges. Where others might load using paper cartridges, he sought fine linen. The cloth was soaked in a solution of saltpeter and, while wet, shaped around a chamber-size stick. For quick shooting, the bullet was placed within the tube of linen and powder added behind it. For best accuracy, Escalante loaded his bullet first and placed only powder in the twist of linen. Paper left fouling. The salt-petered linen burned completely and left a clean chamber. Jesus Escalante and his long Sharps were the right combination to send to the cliff tops.

  As leader, Jesus chose three of his regular companions and one older man. When they called for the attackers' surrender, the voice should be deep and mature. Their enemy might take lightly a youthful voice, but if it was necessary to shoot, his friends too were among the best.

  Before they went to the cliffs, Padre Gomez prayed for them. Jesus welcomed the blessing. He expected, however, that their quickness among the rocks and skill with rifles would be most valuable.

  Gaining the cliff tops was slow as the rope lift accommodated only one. Jesus went first and found the morning sun already touching the high mountain. A lookout took him to a point from which they would be able to see their enemy. Then there was only waiting until the light reached them.

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  Like deer, five from the Valley of Bones darted among the hollows above the still shadowed canyon. Like wolves they closed around the three who looked over the cliff edge and, from this great distance, it seemed to Chinca, The Watcher, that all were close enough to touch one another.

  Chinca twitched with the excitement of it. The Eye of Ted made him almost a part. He saw the leader's signals to his men and admired the leader's serpent's slither when he slipped closer.

  Often Chinca had seen the leader hunt. Surely he was Apache. Ted was wise in choosing an Apache to lead an ambush. Engrossed in what was to happen. The Watcher leaned into his telescope as though it were a rifle.

  Jesus Escalante felt sweat below his Apache headband. He was surprised because the morning was chill and the rifle cold in his fingers. Leading men into fighting added tension. He wondered if he would experience special tremors if he had to shoot at men. Once he had felt them when a bear had risen almost beneath him—but he had been younger then.

  Escalante chose his own position with care. By peering around a rock he could see their quarry and most of the places they might use for cover. His range was long but he had moved his men closer. If they were fired upon, the rifle of Jesus Escalante would speak without chance of being pinned down. If there was shooting, the longer distance would not matter. His rifle could end the fighting. Escalante gave the signal for calling out and watched to see how their enemy chose.

  Jim Lilly heard the shout from nearby rocks with total surprise. It was a Mex voice and Lilly dove for cover with an instinct developed through too many shooting situations. An instant later his companions had found their own protection. They talked it out.

  "Who the hell is that, Lilly?"

  "How should I know? From down below, I guess."

  "What'd he say? I couldn't get it all."

  "Claimed we were surrounded and to surrender."

  "Surrender to Mexes? Hell, there can't be more'n a few."

  "See anybody?"

  "Caught a glimpse of one but he was moving."

  The voice called again and Lilly said, "If Mexes had enough men or guns they'd already have wiped us out. Probably no more than we are."

  "Mexes can't shoot, and they won't stand to a fight. We'd best start workin' into 'em.'

  "Snyder'll be madder'n hell."

  "To hell with Snyder, we can't wait on him."

  "All right, we'll just begin easing ahead. Take whatever shows and look to the sides so we don't get flanked."

  "I'm takin' hair."

  Lilly made no claims. He didn't like the feel of it.

  Jesus Escalante lay with his rifle in the boulder's shade,- that way both he and the weapon were hidden. He saw their enemy begin maneuvering, guns drawn, slipping from cover to cover. He felt his hands dampen and his breathing quicken. He quieted both and rejudged his shooting distance. Two hundred yards to the closest, perhaps two hundred and fifty to the farthest. He adjusted his tang peep sight and scrunched himself comfortable.

  The farthest first was the right way. The Sharp's front sight rested high on the target's rib cage, almost under the arm. Escalante squeezed gently and the big gun rammed his shoulder as it had countless times before. Escalante let the recoil shift him out of sight behind the rock and reloaded with practiced precision.

  Heart pumping, Jesus slid sideward until he could peer through a low bush—an enemy might be sighting on the boulder's shade, waiting for the shooter to reappear.

  His target sagged limply, anchored by the .52 caliber lead slug. Where it entered, the bullet hole would be small, barely noticeable. Inside, the soft lead would have expanded to an inch diameter. The destruction would be vast and the exit hole might be larger than a fist. A .52 caliber Sharps bullet could drop a thousand pound buffalo in its tracks. No man survived such a hit.

  Lilly's companion said, "Tom's hit solid." His voice was panicky and when he looked, Lilly felt his own guts loosen. No question that Tom was dead as a log.

  Without answering, Lilly slithered back to the cliff and went over the edge into a low swale that paralleled the rim. Lilly heard h
is companion's Colt rifle begin to crack but he kept going. It was every man for himself now and Lilly was getting out.

  Jesus Escalante saw a man dive for the cliff edge an instant before the third bandit opened fire with a repeating rifle. Clearly Jesus saw rock and dirt fly near a cousin's head but the cousin rolled to a new place and Escalante saw his teeth as he grinned.

  The shooter was still in sight and Escalante's long barrel drew down on him. Again the powerful gun rocked Escalante's short body and smoke hid his target, but Jesus didn't wait. A hunter knew when a shot was good. His attention went to the last bandito.

  Lilly was up and running. He sprinted, squat body doubled, eyes on the treacherous footing along the cliff edge. Protected by the slight rise between himself and the ambush, Lilly figured he had a good chance. He would be gone before the Mexes could close the spot where they had last seen him.

  Staying low, Jesus reloaded as he ran for the nearby cliff. He had no shot from his old place, but he might find a way to edge along the cliff and trap the last outlaw from the side. He dropped the Sharps' lever and chambered a fresh linen cartridge. His fingers flicked the fired percussion cap aside and a live one went on. Because he had learned to reload without looking, Jesus glimpsed his enemy almost in time.

  Lilly saw the Apache leaping from cover almost in his face. The Indian's gun was pointed a little aside and Lilly made his play. He snapped off his own shot from the waist and snatched at his pistol. He sensed his rifle bullet's miss as the Indian melted into the rocks but his Colt came free and he went at the brave as his thumb cocked the hammer.

  Jesus Escalante saw the outlaw and dove behind the closest cover all in the same instant. He hit hard, stung by rock shards flung by the bandit's wild shot. Jesus slithered like a snake to get himself facing right before he came up with his rifle pointing.