‘Sir, look!’ a trooper called out to Perkins who turned to stare in the direction the man had indicated. He raised his hand to fend off the glare of the sun then he saw them. On a ridge, some three hundred yards distant, sitting atop motionless horses amongst scattered saguaros, was a line of at least eighty Apaches.
‘What do you want to do, Sir?’ Waters asked as he approached Perkins and stood at his side.
Waters was a big man with dark hair and an undying passion for the Confederacy.
Without taking his eyes from the imposing line, Perkins said, ‘Get that flag-of-truce I had you make up last night and a rifle. Then come back here. We’re goin’ for a walk.’
Waters did as he was ordered and returned with both of the items required.
Perkins turned and looked for Crow and found him staring up at the ridge.
‘Crow,’ Perkins called. ‘If anything happens to us, form up the men and fight your way back to Fort Jackson. Don’t get penned up here.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
The two men walked out beyond the camp under the fluttering white rag that was supposed to ensure their safety. But how many times had Indians been slaughtered under a flag of truce?
Five riders started down the slope towards the two advancing men. The groups met around a hundred yards from the Confederate encampment.
‘What is it you want White-eye?’ a middle-aged Apache on a wiry mustang asked abruptly in halting English.
Perkins’ gaze drifted over all of the fearsome looking Indians with their faces painted for war and wondered if he was doing the right thing.
‘My name is Major Christopher Perkins and I have come to talk to the chief of the Yavapai-Apache,’ Perkins said.
‘Then you shall talk to me,’ the Apache grunted. ‘I am called Delshay. Make it quick before I have my warriors kill you all.’
‘Well now, that would certainly be an inconvenience to both of us, wouldn’t it?’ Perkins said in a condescending manner. ‘Especially with what I have in that wagon.’
There was a flicker of interest in Delshay’s eyes.
‘Speak,’ he grunted with more than a hint of irritation.
‘I have fifty Spencer rifles in that wagon,’ Perkins explained. ‘Just like this one.’
He motioned to Waters to hand the rifle over.
Delshay took it in calloused hands and looked it over. If there was any emotion flowing through the Apache chief he kept it well hidden.
After a minute or so Delshay nodded his approval and handed it back. ‘You say you have fifty of these?’
‘I do,’ Perkins confirmed.
‘What you want for them? Gold? Money?’
‘I want your help.’
Delshay looked puzzled.
‘You and I have a common enemy, the blue-coats.’ Perkins went on to explain. ‘I want us to join forces to fight that enemy.’
The Apache chief looked skeptical. ‘Why should I join forces with you when I can fight them myself?’
‘I can supply your warriors with the rifles that they will need and you can supply fighters that will help me with my cause. You and your people will be able to take your land back from the white-eyes and I will be able to rid Texas of the invaders.’
‘All that for just fifty rifles?’ Delshay snorted derisively.
Perkins shook his head. ‘No. I can get you another hundred.’
There was a hint of interest in the Apache chief’s eyes at the mention of the number of rifles. He thought in silence then nodded. ‘I talk to some of my people and then I tell you.’
Without waiting for a reply he whirled his horse about and rode back up the slope followed by the other four Apaches.
Waters breathed out slowly and said, ‘That went well. I think.’
‘We’re still alive so that counts for something,’ Perkins allowed.
~*~
They waited for half an hour before the same five Apaches came riding back down the slope and stopped in front of the two men.
‘We have talked and decided that we will accept your terms,’ Delshay told Perkins.
‘That’s good,’ Perkins said with a smile.
‘But we want rifles now,’ the Apache chief told them. ‘All rifles.’
Perkins stared at him warily. ‘We only have the fifty with us.’
The Apache’s gaze grew icy. ‘We take them. You bring rest here in two days.’
From the look Delshay was giving him, Perkins knew there was no arguing with him.
‘Deal,’ he said offering his hand.
Delshay curled his lip into a sneer and turned his horse away. Perkins and Waters watched them go.
‘I don’t like it,’ Waters muttered.
‘Neither do I,’ Perkins acknowledged, as he showed doubt for the first time. ‘But we’ve come too far now. Get the wagon and bring it out here and leave it.’
Fifteen minutes later, the troop was formed up and ready to move out. The Apaches still waited on the ridge even though the wagon had been moved to where Perkins had directed. Only once the troop had gone did they ride down and pillage the wagon.
~*~
‘The bastards have double-crossed us,’ Waters said from the corner of his mouth as he rode beside Perkins.
It was still an hour until noon and the desert sun held a serious bite as it climbed towards its peak. The trail snaked through a narrow canyon and out into a wider dry wash before it climbed a gentle slope through clumps of boulders.
Delshay and his Apaches had been shadowing them for the past hour confirming Perkins’ suspicions that the chief was about to go back on their agreement.
Perkins nodded. ‘Make sure the rest of the troop is on its toes.’
Waters swung out of line and rode back along the column to see to the rest of the men. He needn’t have worried because they were all experienced and had seen all the signals that Perkins and Waters had.
By the time he rode back and eased in beside his commanding officer, they all had rifles out and were prepared for what was to come.
It wasn’t until they reached the boulders that the Apaches opened up on them. Even though they were expecting it, the effect of the first volley was devastating. Beside Perkins, Waters’ throat seemed to erupt in a great gout of blood as a heavy caliber bullet from a Spencer tore through it, spraying blood over his commanding officer.
Angry lead hornets fizzed through the air and Perkins flinched at the loud snap as one passed too close. Behind him, shouts of panic from his men rang out as friends and comrades died violently. Perkins saw a trooper go down with half of his face shot away while another took two slugs to his midsection.
Wild cries from the Apaches erupted from the rocks as the gunfire rolled across the desert. Some of the troopers dived from their horses and sought cover beside the trail. Many were cut down before they’d taken two steps.
The ear-piercing screams of wounded horses added to the din. But these were professional men and all had been under fire at some stage throughout the war. Back along the column, Perkins could hear the rallying cries of Crow as he tried to get a bunch of troopers to concentrate their fire. Then his shouts stopped as he took a Spencer bullet to his chest and another through his left eye.
All around Perkins troopers were dying. Some looked to him for direction only to be met by silence. For the first time in his career, Perkins froze and didn’t know how to save his men. And as the screams and gunfire reached a crescendo he did the only thing that he could. He ran.
Ten minutes later it was all over and only three men escaped the massacre laid out by Delshay. The Apache lost five warriors.
Of the three rebels who survived, one was Perkins.
~*~
Late in the afternoon, Savage estimated that he was perhaps two miles from the lookout rock and decided that the best time to scout Fort Jackson to see exactly what was what would be under the cover of darkness. By chance, he was unable to wait for dark.
Two troopers on foam-flecked horses came blundering hell-for-leather out of a draw and almost rode Savage and the pinto down.
They hauled back on their reins and brought their mounts to a sliding stop. Savage rested his hand on the butt of his Remington and said, ‘You fellers look like you’re in a hurry.’
‘Get out of our way,’ one of the riders bleated, ‘we gotta get back to the fort before we wind up dead too.’
Savage left the pinto where it was. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Like the rest of the troop that went out with Perkins,’ he answered. ‘They’re all dead.’
‘Not Perkins, though,’ the other man snorted. ‘That son of a bitch lit outta there like a scalded cat. I’d like to put a bullet between that bastard’s eyes.’
Suddenly the other man’s eyes lit up in recognition. ‘Say, aren’t you that feller who escaped from the fort?’
The Remington seemed to leap into Savage’s fist and it came up level, cocked and ready to fire.
‘Don’t you fellers get too excited,’ Savage warned. ‘I want you to tell me what happened.’
‘Perkins thought he could make a deal with the Apaches,’ the first man explained, a disgusted look on his face. ‘He took rifles from the fort to help make it happen. He thought if they got the rifles then they would be happy with that and join with us. Dumb son of a bitch. None of us liked the idea but what could we do? He was our commanding officer. Then the Apaches double-crossed him and ambushed us. The rest you know.’
‘What about Shelby?’ Savage asked. ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘Perkins had him locked up and was goin’ to try him for treason,’ the first man explained.
Savage shook his head. Dumb son of a bitch.
Savage holstered the Remington. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go.’
‘What?’
‘I’m comin’ with you back to the fort,’ he explained. ‘Who did Perkins leave in charge?’
‘Esa Brown.’
Nodding, Savage asked, ‘Where do you fellers stand now? Are you still loyal to the coward that ran out on you or are you willin’ to follow Shelby?’
‘We’ll follow Shelby,’ the second man said.
‘Even if he wants to give the cause away and go home?’
They looked at each other and nodded.
‘We’ve had just about enough of all this,’ the first man told Savage. ‘We wouldn’t mind goin’ home ourselves.’
‘So then you’ll help me?’
‘Do what?’
‘Bust Shelby out of the guardhouse?’ Savage said.
‘We will,’ they agreed.
‘What are your names?’
‘Fox,’ said the first man. He was only young with a babyish face and red hair.
‘I’m Munn,’ said the second man who was in his thirties with dirty blond hair.
‘Let’s go then.’