21
The four men, average age sixty-two, rode out and headed north, each trailing a packhorse. Most of the townspeople thought they were crazy, but kept that opinion to themselves. They were heading into the Caballo Mountains and a trading post located on the hot springs, about sixty miles north of Las Cruces.
Each of the men wore two pistols belted around them, and two pistols on holsters located on each side of the saddle horn. They all carried lever-action rifles and long-bladed Bowie knives.
Whether the four men had angels riding with them, or if the Apaches were just looking the other way when they rode by, was not known. But whatever the reason, Jamie and his compadres rode from Las Cruces to the springs without incident. The owner of the post shook his head in wonder.
“It happens,” the old man said. “Apaches is like rattlesnakes. I’ve walked a foot from a damned rattler and he didn’t even raise his head to look at me. Other times they’ll start rattlin’ and strikin’ if you get within fifty feet of them. ’Paches is the same way, I reckon. But if you see one, don’t hesitate, just blow the damned dirty heathen right off his horse. I hate ever’ damn one of them.“
“Caused you some grief, have they?” Jamie asked.
The old man spat a stream of brown tobacco juice into a spittoon. “Grief? I should say so. I tried to make friends with them when I furst come out here. I’m still carryin’ the ar-reyhead in my side for that trouble. Then I tried agin. That time they burned down my cabin, killed my wife, and stole my horses. Shot me in the process. For the last ten years I been shootin’ ever’ goddamn one of ’em I could. We gonna have to wipe ’em all out one of these days. Might as well get on with it, I say.” He poured them all drinks and gave them a good look. “You fellers is all past your prime, I’d say.” He looked at Jamie. “ ’Ceptin’ you, maybe. I can’t figure you. You boys just wanderin’?”
“Seein’ the country,” Red told him.
“Yeah? Well, all I can say is good luck. ’Cause you’re shore gonna need it.”
Days later, the four men found themselves pinned down on the east bank of a tiny creek in what would years later become the Gila Primitive Area.
During a lull in the fighting, Red Green asked, “You reckon them’s Apaches?”
“They ain’t your grandmother’s tea party,” Logan told him, shifting his chew of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other.
Red ignored the sarcasm and asked, “Where’s Jamie and Canby?”
“They’re in good positions in the rocks. Jamie’s to the right and Canby’s to the left. Horses is safe to our rear under the bluff.”
“They made a mistake attacking us here,” Jamie called. “And I think they’ll soon realize it.”
Canby was too far off to the left to hear the comment, but Logan did. “Yeah, you be right, I’m thinkin’. We got cover and water and a good field of fire in front of us. But you and Canby best watch keeful to your flanks come the night.”
Logan had roamed and trapped all over the Northwest and worked at various jobs all the way down to central Texas, but he was new to this country. “I thought Apaches never attacked at night.”
“Shit,” the old mountain man replied. “Some do, some don’t. Depends on whether their medicine’s strong enough.”
One small brown object had appeared in Jamie’s line of view. He lifted his rifle, took careful aim, and fired. There was a short scream of pain as the bullet shattered a kneecap.
The Apaches came in a rush then, darting from rock to rock, bush to bush, until they were right on the edge of the clearing. Then they seemed to vanish into the earth.
“Excellent,” Jamie said. “They’ve learned very well the Warrior’s Way.”
“They didn’t have to larn it so damned good,” Logan groused. Then he tensed for a few seconds, jerked up his rifle and fired. They all heard the ugly sound of a bullet striking flesh. A young Apache, looking to be in his late teens, stood up in his moccasins, his chest bloody, and then fell face forward on the rocks. He did not move.
“That one didn’t learn it so good,” Red remarked, as Logan thumbed another round into his rifle.
The fight continued all that afternoon, without either side inflicting any more damage to the other. As the shadows began to lengthen, Jamie softly called, “Now it gets real interesting, boys. Canby? Slide back and make up a big pot of coffee, brew it strong. Do it before it gets full dark and let the fire die down to coals; just enough to keep the coffee good and hot. We’re going to need it. If you sleep tonight, you die.”
“What a cheerful thought,” Canby replied.
Darkness soon covered the land, and Jamie could taste moisture on his lips. He looked up. Clouds had moved in, obscuring the stars. Rain was not far away, and that was not good for the four defenders. As soon as the rain started, the Apaches would attack, the falling drops covering any sound they might make.
Jamie did not have to tell the others that. They knew.
Lightning began licking the sky, and thunder rumbled high above the Mimbres Mountains. There was a searing and sudden flash of lightning, and the eyes of the men widened as they caught sight of the warriors coming across the creek, the lightning catching them on the rocks and in the water.
Four rifles crashed and boomed in a deadly crescendo, as fast as the men could fire and lever. Three Apaches made the crossing and leaped onto and then behind the rocks. Logan fired point-blank into the chest of one Apache, the bullet nearly stopping the warrior in mid-air. The mountain man stepped to one side and let the lifeless form fall to the ground.
Canby deflected the swipe of a knife with the barrel of his rifle and brought the butt around with all his strength. It thudded solidly against the Apache’s head, followed instantly by the sickening sound of the man’s skull being crushed.
Meanwhile, Jamie wrestled a smaller and younger man to the ground and kneed him hard in the groin. The Apache’s mouth opened in a silent rush of agony, and he relaxed his hold on Jamie’s arms. Jamie closed one big hand around the Apache’s throat and crushed the larynx, twisting his hand as he did. The Apache thrashed about on the sand and the rocks as he fought for breath that would never come again.
Jamie picked up the warrior and threw him out into the clearing.
“Anybody hurt?” Jamie called.
No one was.
The night grew quiet as the rains came.
“Get ready for another charge,” Logan said, wiping off his rifle and thumbing rounds into the tube. “It ain’t over.”
* * *
Hundreds of miles to the north, the residents of the town of Valley were relaxing after a day of work and a good supper. The cafes were preparing to close and clean up. Card games were beginning in Falcon’s Wild Rose Saloon and Gaming House. Cowboys and miners were drifting in for a drink and some talk. Mothers were putting small children to bed. Older kids were studying textbooks and doing homework. Ben F. Washington was working on his manuscript. Falcon knocked on Matthew’s front door and stepped inside.
“What’s the matter with you?” Matthew asked, taking a look at his younger brother’s face.
Falcon handed him the telegram he’d just received from a friend of his in Kansas.
Matthew opened the single sheet of paper and read: ASA PIKE AND GANG LEFT HERE SEVERAL DAYS AGO. STOP. RIDING FOR NEW MEXICO TERRITORY STOP. BELIEVE YOUR FATHER AND SEVERAL FRIENDS HEADING FOR ALBUQUERQUE. STOP. ASA PIKE HAS AT LEAST TWENTYFIVE MEN WITH HIM. STOP. SWORN TO KILL YOUR FATHER. STOP. BEST LUKE.
“Who the hell is Asa Pike?” Matthew asked.
Falcon shrugged heavy shoulders. “I don’t know. One of Pa’s enemies, I reckon. I think I’ll take me a little ride south.”
“I’ll get my gear together, and—”
“Forget it, Matt,” Falcon said, holding up a hand. “You’re the sheriff here. You can’t just up and leave. Big brother Jamie sure can’t go; he’s gettin’ too fat in the butt. Long ride like that and he wouldn’t be able to walk for a month. Morgan’s tied down with all his business interests; more so now since he owns controlling stock in the bank. I’m packed up and ready to ride. I’ve said my goodbyes.” He held out a hand, and his older brother shook it. “I’ll get word to you when it’s over.”
Matthew stood on the front porch and watched Falcon ride away into the dark. His wife, Ginny, came to his side. “I overheard. Falcon will always be riding off, won’t he?”
“I’m afraid so.” Matthew put an arm around her waist. “He’s just like Pa. The wilderness calls to him.”
“And the wildness,” she added.
“That, too.”
“He’s lucky to have a wife like Marie.”
“Ma liked her. In the short time she got to know her, she really liked Marie.”
Within minutes, the rest of the MacCallister clan had gathered at the house. Matthew handed them the telegram, and they read it, passing it around.
Joleen asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “Who is Asa Pike?”
No one knew.
“I feel really bad about not going with Falcon,” Jamie Ian the Second said.
His wife, Caroline, smiled and patted his arm. “When was the last time you sat a saddle for weeks at a time, love?”
Morgan laughed. “The same time I did, Caroline. And it was a few years back.”
Megan turned to her husband. “Hitch up the buggy for me, Jim. I’m going out to spend the night with Marie. She’s had time to do her crying and get done with it. Go on, now.” She turned to face the group. “The rest of you can go on home. There is nothing we can accomplish by standing around with long faces. Besides, we’d better get used to Falcon riding off. You all know he’s just like Pa when it comes to that.”
She had no way of knowing it, but her statement would prove to be prophetic.
* * *
The Apaches had carried off their dead during the rainy night and then vanished. They had tested the four men and found them worthy opponents.
“They’ve cleared out,” Jamie said, after spending some time scouting around the area on foot.
“Which way did they go?” Red asked.
“West.”
“Then lets us head north for a spell,” Logan suggested.
“That just might be a right good idea,” Red agreed. “I allow as to how we’ve pressed our luck pretty hard this go-around.”
The men started packing up and were gone within the hour, heading north and slightly east. Days later, they rode into Socorro, on the Rio Grande. At the same time, Falcon was checking into a hotel in Santa Fe. Asa Pike and his band of kin and cutthroats were riding into The Meadows, better known as Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory.
One of the strangest and wildest shoot-outs in New Mexico history was only days away from exploding.
* * *
Seated in a small cafe on a side street in Socorro, Jamie felt eyes on him and turned his head. A young cowboy was staring at him, but not in an unfriendly way. The cowboy rose from the counter stool and walked over, his big Spanish spurs jingling. He squatted down beside Jamie’s chair.
“You’re Mr. MacCallister, ain’t you?”
“That’s right.”
Red, Logan, and Canby had stopped eating, listening.
“I got some news that might interest you, sir. I just rode in from the northeast. Been up to Kansas lookin’ around. I didn’t care for the place; wind blows all the damn time. You know a man name of Asa Pike?”
“I’ve met him.”
“Well . . . he’s put together a band of his kin, and they strutted around up yonder for a time, talkin’ ’bout what all they was gonna do to you if they ever caught up with you. And none of it was what I’d call right pleasant.”
“That is interesting.” Jamie studied the young man’s face for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“Rick. Rick Hanes. My grandma used to talk about you, Mr. MacCallister.”
Jamie moved his chair over a bit and said, “Pull up a chair and sit down. Do I know your grandmother?”
“You probably don’t remember her, sir,” Rick said, sitting down. “But she knew you when you was little, back in Kentucky. She was married to a man named Caney. Her daughter, my ma, married a man name of Hanes.”
“Caney,”Jamie mused. “Sure. I remember Mr. Caney. He was one of the few men who stood up for me when I was living with Sam and Sarah Montgomery, after Hannah and me escaped from the Shawnee village.”
“That’s him.”
Jamie let his eyes drift over the young man’s attire. Down on his luck, Jamie thought. “You eaten today, Rick?”
“Ah . . . well . . . no, sir, I ain’t. I just come in here ’cause it smelled good.”
Jamie smiled and waved the waiter over. “Bring this young man some supper.” He turned to Rick. “Now, let’s talk about Asa Pike . . .”