Shatto's Law (Perry County Frontier) Page 9
Juan was thinking aloud. "When our maps are finished we will know this place. If Apache seek its shelter we can ride ahead and lie in wait. Now their feet are better than our horses for they leave few tracks and we can only follow like dogs on a weak scent. But soon . . . then we will see."
Ted stretched tiredly, despising the stink of his body, concerned that their guards were alert, and about ready to seek his own sleep. A flicker, far in the distance, teased an eye and was gone. Frowning, Ted sought it, using the edge of his vision which saw best at night.
After a moment he had it again. A barely discernible tint against the dark, far away to the south, a glint so faint and so irregular that he could not be sure he really saw.
"Juan, I'm catching firelight, way off, almost due south and real faint. You see it?"
Santos was silent and Ted could see his head turn as he too used eye corners. Then the movement stopped and he said, "It is there, very far."
"Now why would anyone have a night fire in here where there's no wood to speak of and when it's hotter than hell's hinges anyway?" Santos had no answer and Ted thought about it.
"Whatever the reason, a few men wouldn't have more than a twig blaze. There's bound to be a large party down there." Ted thought some more.
"Juan, I'm for finding out just who all is in there."
"We will not reach there tomorrow, Senor Ted. It is too far and we will never locate the right canyon."
Ted agreed, "As soon as we can, we'll start working that way. We'll concentrate on getting south. At dark we'll find a high place like this and look again. If they've got another fire we should see it and we ought to be pretty close."
Ted thought about the miseries of the ride they were facing. The canyon floors would be airless. Gullies would end in cliffs and some would require crawling over with horses slipping and lunging behind them. All day it would be filthy and exhausting, but now they had a destination, or at least a fresh trace. Ted went to his sleep with freshened hope.
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For the second time, Coyote Boy sliced across the white's body. The first cut he had dedicated to the south, where the great heat lay. The second was given to the north to respect the cold fathers who fought the sun's power, who ached the bones and killed the old.
Again the white had not cried out. Twice he had spit into the face of the Coyote and he had thrown powerful sounds at his tormentor in challenge and rage that brought admiration from the watchers.
Into the night the Apaches chanted and danced but the whiskey was gone, and two sent to a jacal for pulke had not yet returned. The captive was tightly bound and thrown into a crude enclosure. The fire was put out early and the sticks saved. Two nights of celebration remained before the final spectacle when Coyote Boy would eat the white's still quivering heart. Though they had fought many times, none had seen this done. It would be a thing to remember.
By beginning dark, Ted was at a lookout. He had brought Juan Santos and a vaquero whose ability to solve the canyon mazes was becoming noteworthy. This time Ted held his compass. If fire could be seen then they might mark its direction more accurately.
Before full dark, reflected flames bounced from cliffs to the south. They judged the fire not more than two miles as the crow flew. Much greater would be the distance traveled. Their final closing in would demand great caution and it would devour time.
A small breeze drifted from the south and brought them the tapping of a drum and occasionally the rhythm of many voiced chanting. Juan Santos pitched a small stone into the immediate blackness and guessed, "They will be the ones we seek, Senor."
Ted agreed and was thankful that they had stopped early because the fire reflection did not last as it had the night before. Ted hoped the Apaches were not preparing to move on. He needed at least another day to get to them.
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When his captors dragged him out for the third cut, Chip didn't see how he could make it. He had gulped water held for him but he didn't have strength. His body burned as though hot coals lived in it and, without hope or escape or rescue, he just wished it over.
Coyote Boy was again off in his dreams but the rest of the bucks waited, expressionless, following him with their eyes as he was half carried to the juniper.
Well, to hell with them. Chip's anger climbed and he fought his legs under him and stood with his own strength. He saw an Indian nudge another and that gave him new heart. He gathered a real mouthful and let Coyote Boy have it full force. In the circle a buck yipped and Chip thought, I can stand it and I will.
By the time the Coyote had him dragged away the courage was again gone, but the Apaches had not seen. His guards threw him down and Chip lay inert where he fell.
Sunlight was again leaving the cliffs when Ted and Santos looked into the Apache stronghold.
It had been another frustrating day. Canyons dead ended and they dared not proceed blindly. Each turning was carefully scouted and there were many backtrackings.
Until the chanting again sounded, they had not located the Apache camp. Then there had to be the most thorough scouting of all. Throughout the day, all ways in and out were found, and passable climbs over surrounding ridges were identified. Ted set his trap with utmost care. When he fired the first shot he wanted every Apache in someone's sights and dead within moments.
Juan leaned close to Ted's ear. "They have a prisoner in that enclosure under the far wall."
Ted nodded and pitied the poor devil. The captive was probably from another tribe; the Apache were friends to none that he had heard about. Well, if the miserable soul could hang on until the ambush was complete he had a good chance of returning to his own people.
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For the last direction, for the fourth cutting, Chip again hung from the tree limb. He wished he was dead and supposed he nearly was. If he survived this cut, and the Coyote planned that he would, another full night of agony waited before Coyote Boy put an end to it.
While his torturer dawdled in his heel dancing and spirit chanting. Chip's mind wandered to the good days of childhood when he, and Ted, and Beth Troop had ridden like young demons through the damp of the Perry County forests.
If he flowed deeply into the dreaming he could feel the cool of the shaded notches where sun rarely reached. In his dreams they swam in the Little Buffalo, skinny as straws, all energy and excitement, or they floated lazily on log rafts in the Juniata's slow current.
Coyote Boy approached with his knife, and despite his outward silence. Chip Shatto's soul screamed. When he spit in the breed's face he knew it would be his last time.
Ted had the devil's own time getting his men into position. They dared not move until the Apaches were occupied. None of the hands were Indian quiet and a rush of broken-loose shale or falling stone would alert their enemy—who would be gone like wraiths, as though they had never existed.
First, Ted placed the blockers at each gully end. Then those who had to climb began their careful edging into position. From his own angle, Ted could not see most of his men. Though he chafed to open fire, he had to wait. Apaches were like cockroaches. They could slip through the smallest opening, and like roaches, Apaches were tough and had to be smashed and smashed again before you could be certain they were finished. Ted had to be sure that his trap was completely closed.
The Apache captive was white! He hung from a stripped off juniper and it looked as though he was being carved on with a knife. Concentrating on his ambush, the captive was being dragged away before Ted recognized his brother. Jolted to the core, Ted tried to steady his aim. Red rage half blinded him but he did not wait. Whether the rest were ready or not he had to shoot.
Ted's rifle cracked and one of the Apaches dragging Chip died with a Sharps .52 bullet exploding his head like a stomped-on melon.
Ted Shatto's shot opened a fusillade. Within the gully's confines the blast of rifles blended into a continuing roar. A hail of lead slashed the dozen Apache. Bodies were struck and struck again. Five of the old Volcanic rifles w
ere at work and their rapid firing hurled a veritable wall of bullets into the trapped renegades.
Those who could ran for it. Already hit, they were shot again. Already dead, their bodies were pounded by additional bullets. Only two lived. One of Chip's guards had fallen so close to his prisoner that no one chose a second shot. The single bullet had ploughed completely through the Apache's body shocking his system into immobility and ensuring that his life would be of short duration.
That the other was Coyote Boy was scarcely believable. A bullet had smashed an arm so that it hung by skin alone. A half dozen other bullets had ripped his skin but nothing else had taken hold until a rifle butt hammered his skull and knocked him unconscious. The breed roused slowly with Ted's men around him. Their battle fever satiated by the thoroughness of their victory, the vaqueros kicked him to his feet and lashed the still dazed Coyote Boy to the juniper where he had tortured his prisoner.
Ted was first into the gully. He reached his brother who was holding his front and trying to sit up. Ted heaved the gutshot Apache aside and took a look at Chip's wounds.
They were horrendous. Old blood had mixed with the fire filth and four gashes lay raw from shoulder to opposite hip. Horrified, Ted blurted, "Oh God, Chip, they've gutted you."
Even in the vastness of his relief Chip thought his brother a little tactless, but he said, "I'm not gutted, Ted. The cuts aren't deep." At least he hoped they weren't. Damned things felt like fire clean to his backbone.
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Chip Shatto wanted Coyote Boy. When Ted suggested hanging the Coyote, Chip rose up like a storm. Coyote Boy was his and he would take him the way he chose, here, this day—but after he ate a little and got some strength back.
Ted argued only a little. Chip deserved having it the way he chose. Judging the terrible wounds, Ted feared Chip was infected beyond saving, but that wasn't sure and maybe if they could get him back to the ranch he'd have some sort of chance.
Ted hung the other Apache. He hung him from the torture tree and left the corpse swinging a few inches from Coyote Boy's pain drawn features. The Coyote too was hurting. Not as badly as Chip, but his agonies were increasing as shock wore away.
When Chip told how he wanted it, Ted did put up a howl, but arguing only prolonged the deed. Chip's eyes had pinched down and gotten hard as hickory nuts. He had eaten some and swilled water until it spilled out his mouth. When he stood, Chip rose without help and when he moved, some of his old cat-like prowl was there. But, Chip was not himself and Ted had fears he believed were justified.
They hauled Coyote Boy into a blind cut in the gully wall and tossed him a knife. When they heard him singing, Chip took his own blade and went in after Coyote Boy.
Ted had found a position that looked into the hollow. He laid his Sharps front sight on the Coyote's chest. If Chip went down, Ted planned on blowing the life out of the Apache. Chip wouldn't like being covered and Ted hoped he would never need to know.
When he saw his battered prisoner coming to him, Coyote Boy grew strong. Confidence leaped and he knew his power would give him victory. Coyote Boy resolved to kill quickly.
Ted Shatto saw it as though time slowed to allow appreciation. Chip went at the Apache like a bull through clover. The buck's knife darted and met nothing. Chip slashed like a cleaver and the Coyote's blade fell away and most of his hand and wrist went with it.
Ted could see horrified realization change the Apache an instant before Chip's knife sunk to the hilt, low in Coyote Boy's belly. Chip heaved as though lifting a weight and the knife sliced upward, through the Apache's middle and lodged against his breastbone. Intestines fell in multiple loose folds and blood gushed in a torrent. Chip jerked free and the body fell onto its face as dead as the stone it landed on. Ted slipped from his overlook and nodded satisfaction to his waiting men.
Chip was a long time appearing. When he came he looked really done in and he carried in one hand a roll of skin he had flayed from Coyote Boy's back. He dropped the skin near the fire and lowered himself wearily beside it.
Chip said only, "Save that hide for me, Teddy. I'll find a use for it."
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Chapter 7
Chinca, The Watcher, saw Ted's band after it had left the badlands. The whites had divided and the larger group rode swiftly along the routes that led to the Valley of Bones. The fewer riders moved slowly, as though their horses' feet gave pain. Chinca found this curious and focused Ted's eye on them.
Clearly a rider was injured. A companion rode close on each side, lending support when they could. The rest of the group stayed near, weapons held ready. Chinca was not surprised. The riders had entered an angry land, one poorly suited for horses. It was place for Apache dog soldiers who could trot tirelessly through mazes impassible to horsemen. Because he rode slumped and clinging to his saddle, it was long before The Watcher recognized the brother of Ted.
Chinca felt his breath catch. Disbelieving, he leaned more securely against the sticks supporting his telescope and concentrated on the rider barely holding his seat. He had been right, the injured one was the brother. Chinca abandoned his watching to lean back and to think strongly.
He could not imagine Coyote Boy or his men allowing their captive to live. It could only have been because the white had escaped. Yet, Chinca knew that to be as unlikely as the sun not rising. Sudden foreboding darkened Chinca's mind, for a single choice remained. Coyote Boy and his men had been beaten. Taken by clumsy and horse-bound whites? Unbelievable. His people must discover what had happened. Chinca returned to Ted's eye, hoping further looking might tell more.
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Chip's days were bad and his nights worse. The almost certain fevers struck while he still straddled his horse. Later, riders returned from the ranch with travois poles and Chip completed the slow and careful march, barely aware, laid out like a deer carcass being brought home for butchering.
Chip roused when gentle hands lifted him from the travois and he felt the soothing comfort of heated water as he was immersed in what he recognized as Ted's largest horse trough. His body was washed clean as he lay almost afloat and he luxuriated in the surges of hotter water as it was added to keep the temperature high. Someone shaved his face and he tried to see, but his vision was fogged. He thought it was Beth but a terrible sweat came on and comfort was gone and awareness lost.
Beth touched gently with a damp cloth along the terrible slashes across Chip's body. Tia Santos and a younger woman assisted so solicitously that Ted could hardly get a look.
"Damn, Beth, those cuts are bad. We ought to sew them up."
Beth Shatto paused to wring her cloth. Ted couldn't be much use at this point and he was himself worn to falling down tired. The most helpful thing her husband could do would be to soak himself clean under the waterfall, shave his scratchy beard, and sleep the clock around. Beth supposed he would finally discover this for himself but his worry over Chip made it take a lot longer.
"It's too late for stitching, Ted. Those ashes burned terribly but they stopped most of the bleeding." She shuddered in sympathy. "We are just cleaning close to the edges. Trying to get the ashes out would just make things worse."
Ted leaned in for a better look. "Whew, Chip'll have scars that'll look like a giant bear raked him"
Beth's silent prayer was that Chip might live to display them.
Ranch work went on, but Chip was on everyone's mind. For a time fever subsided and hopes rose. Then it returned with a vengeance. Delirium tossed its victim like a ship at sea. Nightmares filled with dancing shapes and long knives haunted him. Again and again he hung from the juniper as Coyote Boy raised his blade. Chip's body shuddered with cold and crackled with heat.
The Shatto children were cared for by the ranch mothers while Beth and Tia Santos hovered above Chip as if guardian angels. They devised soothing treatments and forced water between parched lips whenever he woke. When chills wracked Chip's frame they were ready with oven-warmed blankets and, as the cold gave way to heat, cool cloth
s were placed across his brow.
Once the fever rose impossibly high but the women were ready. They rolled Chip's lax body in blankets soaked in the cold of the waterfall and kept them chilled until his temperature fell. Wink quick they rewrapped him in warm, dry blankets, and when his eyes opened his nurses raised him and got a cupful of warm bone marrow soup into his ravaged system.
Ted patrolled his ranch almost unseeing. He was in for a look a dozen times a morning and as often in the afternoon. Helplessly he watched Chip's big body shrink as fever ate its way. In places the terrible wounds festered and he marveled as Tia and Beth cut the poisoned flesh away until the wound was clean and bled as though freshly cut.
On the positive side, only bits of the savage cuts became infected. The remainder was healing even as Chip fought the fevers. At least as important, no pneumonia rattle touched Chip's breathing. Though his lungs heaved in effort, the sound was strong. The old mountain men claimed that, given time, the clean dry air of the high country would heal about anything. Beth and Tia Santos' ceaseless vigil was giving Chip that time.
A supply wagon came in from Santa Fe with saddening news. Don Mano De Castella had died, unexpectedly but naturally, on a visit in old Mexico. The Shattos' most reliable friend was gone. With him, Ted supposed, went a
certain comfortable and accepted stability. Heirs would divide and argue, and opportunists would attempt to move in. Ted sent Juan Santos and a few vaqueros who had served with Don Mano to present their grief and respects. With Chip down he could not go himself.
Other news was of concern. The nation was at war with itself. Fighting had begun in South Carolina and flared like wildfire. States had seceded from the Union and armies were facing only miles from the country's capital.
Ted found it hard to believe. Though rumbles over states' rights and slave ownership had rattled most assemblies for decades, logic demanded political solutions.