Doc undertook the job of filling all of the bottles and skins for the group, going to remove some of them from the packs carried by Judas, the mule.
“Come on, boy,” he said, sidling up nervously to the animal.
Judas turned its long, demonic skull in the direction of the old man, one bloodshot eye rolling in its deep socket. A pendulous lip curled back off ferocious teeth, and it suddenly snapped out at Doc.
There was the ripping of material and Doc showed remarkable reflexes in hopping out of the way of the savage bite. A shred of broadcloth, torn from the shoulder of his frock coat, dangled from the mule’s jaws.
“By the Three Kennedys!” He looked around in the dusk, seeing that everyone else in the party had observed the incident. Most were laughing. “It is not a matter for humor,” he snorted. “The brute needs a lesson.”
“Punch it, Doc,” Jak called, his teeth white in a broad grin. “Good left hook.”
“I shall not demean myself to sink to the level of this vicious and cunning animal,” Doc replied, struggling to repair his tattered dignity.
“Try befriending it,” Mildred suggested, trying and failing to check her own amusement. “Sure you two must have a lot in common you could talk about.”
“Were I not a gentleman and you most certainly no lady, then I would be delighted to call you out, madam.”
The black woman threw back her head and hooted with merriment. “Pistols for two at dawn and breakfast for one. You silly old fool, Doc. I could put a bullet through your third waistcoat button and still have time to take a leak.”
“Not if Doc used the Le Mat,” Ryan said, busily unrolling his blanket for the night. “The scattergun barrel would make a mess of the best shootist in Deathlands.”
Mildred nodded. Doc carried on trying to remove the water bags from the mule, and the camp was established.
“THERE ANY HUNTING farther south?” J.B. asked, picking at his teeth with a saguaro spine, trying to get rid of a stubborn shred of gristle lodged between two of his front teeth. “This jerky won’t last forever.”
“Come to some low hills soon.” Jak was already wrapped in his bedroll, eager to get to sleep in order to make an even earlier start the next morning.
“I seem to recall that there was a biggish forest in these parts. When we passed through here with Trader.” Ryan looked toward the darker shape in the night that he knew was J.B. “You remember it?”
“Can’t be certain. Fact is, the older I get, the more one tree starts to look just like the one before it. And like all the other trees.”
“Yeah. Trees. Came out week’s hunting. Before Jenny was birthed. Lotsa deer. Mainly pines. Scrub oaks. Long ridge, with Grandee other side.”
“Think we’re closing in on them, lover?” Krysty was also inside her bedroll, just alongside Ryan.
“Tracks show it. I figure that we’re probably traveling for a lot longer hours. The wags’ll have the edge over the horsemen, providing they got plenty of gas.”
“Reckon they’ll know that they’re being followed, Dad? By the Indians?”
“Likely. From what Michael told us, it seems certain that they took off from the homestead as soon as they saw riders’ dust coming their way. So the Navaho’ll be pushing them as hard as they can, without blowing their ponies. And the General’s trying to keep a distance and still save fuel.”
“Just like Trader would’ve done,” J.B. added.
Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”
Doc yawned, very audibly. “I confess that this outdoor life might well be manna for the poor soul, but I have aches where I didn’t even know I had muscles to ache. I shall be retiring now and bid a fond farewell to all my friends. And goodnight to Mrs. Calabash, wherever she may be.”
RYAN WOKE INSTANTLY, his hand going for the butt of the SIG-Sauer under his rolled-up jacket. He was immediately aware that J.B. was also awake.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Gunfire,” the Armorer replied. “There’s some handmades and some semiauto.”
The rest of the group slept on, undisturbed by the faint crackle of shooting, far, far off in the arid wasteland to the south of their camp.
The noise was barely audible, muted and muffled by distance, but it had been sufficient to jerk both men from sleep.
There came a booming sound, louder than the others. Krysty stirred and muttered something, but didn’t wake.
“Mortar,” Ryan said quietly. “Has to be the General and his men.”
“Attacking or being attacked?” J.B. considered his own question. “Probably being attacked. Navaho could mebbe have come up on them in the darkness.”
“Worth us going to take a look?”
His eye had become accustomed to the night, and Ryan could actually see his oldest friend, sitting straight up, his glasses glinting in the sliver of moonlight that lurked behind some high cloud.
“No. Must be fifteen or so miles away. Wind’s from the south. Firefight could be even farther off. Make a good start in the morning. Should find out what’s going on in the first couple of hours. Around full dawn.” As was generally the case when it came to anything to do with blasters, J.B. had an ace on the line.
Chapter Fifteen
They told the others about the distant firefight as they broke their fast with some of the remaining jerky, washed down with the cool, muddy water from under the highway.
“South?” Jak queried.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Fifteen or twenty miles was about our guess.”
J.B. nodded. “Automatic blasters and some single shots. Could likely have been a gren launcher being fired as well. Has to be the General.”
“We’re getting closer,” Dean said excitedly.
“Right,” his father agreed.
“Then we need to get started.”
“Sure, Jak. But we aren’t just going to gallop in and ask the General to suck on our blasters.” Ryan glanced to the east, where there was just the faintest hint of a watery glow. “Saddle up and we can move on out. Getting closer.”
AS J.B. HAD PREDICTED, they came across the scene of the previous night’s battle a little after full dawn.
Ryan had chosen to ride at point, pushing the gray stallion on at a brisk walk. The ground was still damp from the cool night’s dew, and it was safe to ride fast with no risk of columns of swirling dust betraying their presence.
Also, the sun was still below the horizon to their left so they would throw no shadows for any watchers to pick up.
After just over an hour’s ride, Ryan held up a hand, stopping the others, calling quietly for J.B. and Jak to join him.
“There’s a pair of low mesas about a half mile ahead, and a ravine running between them. Be a good place to try and stage an ambush. There’s an arroyo across the trail a hundred yards in front. Leave the horses there and the three of us can go and recce on foot. Find what we can find.”
J.B. PICKED HIS WAY around the site of the firefight, sniffling the air like a hound dog, frequently stopping to examine the trampled dirt. Gradually he pieced together a picture of what had happened here in the early hours of the morning.
Ryan and Jak kept to the edges of the battle scene, trying to work out their own interpretations. After about a half hour, the Armorer rejoined them.
“Clear enough,” he said.
The two wags had been parked on top of the right-hand mesa, around fifty feet high. It was a sound defensive position, with a good view on all sides. The General had placed four sentries, obviously aware of the proximity of the pursuing Navaho. The dead man had been one of those guards.
“Indians came up blind side. Circled right around and into the ravine.”
“How many?”
“Dozen or so. If we looked, we’d likely find a place over to the west where they left their ponies. Came up the steep rocky wall and took the guard from behind. Knocked him out and rolled him down the slope onto the trail. They must’ve collected him on their way out after the attack failed.”
“The graves are their dead?” Jak asked.
“Certainly. No other possibility.” J.B. shook his head. “Can’t really have had much chance of success. Looks as if the General made his people sleep inside the wags. Navaho wouldn’t have had a real chance, even if they took out all the tires.”
One of the other sentries must have heard the scuffle and raised the alarm.
“From that moment the Navaho lost it. Light was poor last night, otherwise they’d have been totally wiped away. Took three fatalities.”
It seemed that the wags had collected the surviving sentries and rolled away, still heading south, leaving the shattered war party to bury their dead.