way.
They had me dead to rights. What lay ahead I knew full well, as any man along
the border would know, but what worried me now was what had become of Spanish
and Battles. Had they got clean away? Spanish was more dead than alive, anyway,
and Battles was neither as good as Spanish or me when it came to desert travel.
Nobody had made a move to tie me, but they had taken my knife and my guns, and
there was not much of a chance to run for it. Moreover, I was in mighty bad
shape. I needed a drink, and my stomach was growling at the smell of the meat on
the fire.
We had accounted for a couple of the Apaches, but there’d been at least a dozen
out under the brush before the shooting started, and now they came up to the
fire, and kindled another one close by.
I could see my Winchester lying over yonder beside my Colt, but they were thirty
feet away and I’d have no chance to go after them. Kahtenny was off to one side,
beyond the fire, and he was talking to the others, but I couldn’t make out a
thing they were saying. All I could gather was that some kind of an argument was
going on, and I had an idea it concerned my hide.
While the Apaches ate, at least three of them kept a watch on me all the time,
but seeing I wasn’t going anywhere anyway, I stretched out and, using my hat for
a pillow, I went to sleep.
When I woke up it was maybe two hours later and the fire was down. Most of the
Apaches lay around sleeping, and I still wasn’t tied, which made no sense at all
unless they figured on having some fun when I made a break for it.
Thirst was about to strangle me and the waterhole was right beyond the edge of
camp, so I got up, making no special try at keeping quiet, and I walked over to
the waterhole, lay down and drank. Then I went back and stretched out again.
I knew as well as anything that at least four or five pairs of eyes had been on
me all the while, and had I jumped for a gun or a horse they’d have had me. So I
just stretched out quiet, feeling a whole lot better for the drink.
Presently Kahtenny got up and walked over to me and sat down. He rolled himself
a smoke as easy as any cowpoke you ever did see, and he sat there smoking until
half of it was gone before he spoke. “Somebody want to kill you.”
“Me?” I chuckled. “Maybe a lot of folks.” I sized him up as having something
puzzling on his mind. “You mean your boys?”
“Other man. White man.”
“A white man wants me dead? What makes you think so?”
“He have my squaw. He say, you dead he give her to me. I bring your body, he
gives squaw.”
“So why haven’t you done it?” Kahtenny looked puzzled. “Why he want you dead? I
think somehow it is a trick.”
“How’d you get the news? Did Toclani bring it?” He showed no surprise that I
knew Toclani. “Yes … he bring it. My squaw … she talk to sister at San
Carlo. She go quickly in the night, but when she leave these men take her.”
“Did they hurt her?”
“No. Toclani say no.” He looked at me. “Me fight Toclani, but Toclani good man.
My squaw good woman. Toclani puts Apaches to watch out for my squaw.”
“Who are these white men?” “Their name is Hadden. There are several. Toclani
sees them. Why they want you dead?”
“I shot them up. Rocca … you know Tampico Rocca? They called him greaser and
were going to kill him. We fought Rocca and me, we kill one … maybe two of
them.
He still was not satisfied. “Toclani says you good man. Great warrior.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I kept my mouth shut and waited, but
my mind was working as fast as I could make it. I lay no claims to being a
thinker or a planner. I’m just a mountain boy who grew up to be a free drifting
man, but it didn’t take much figuring to see I had a way out of this if I could
come up with the right ideas. Trouble was, I had to play my cards almighty
careful, because I surely didn’t have any hole card. One thing working for me
was that Kahtenny was suspicious, and feared a trap.
To kill me of his own idea would be simple enough, and likely that’s what he
would have done, after some torture to see what kind of a man I was. But now
somebody else wanted me dead, and he was puzzled.
From what I gathered, Kahtenny’s squaw had slipped back into the reservation to
see her sister and that was when the Hadden boys caught her … waiting until
she started to leave.
It was nothing unusual for a wild Apache to return to the reservation, stay a
while, and then leave. The Army was always trying to get them to return, and
often the squaws would come back first to look over the situation.
Now they had Kahtenny’s squaw and he wanted her back, but he was like a wild
thing that sniffs trouble at every change, and there was a lot about this offer
that he did not like.
He sat smoking and waiting, and finally I said, “I think you can not trust
them.”
He looked at me. “They will kill her?”
“They are bad men. They would have killed Rocca for nothing. I think if you take
my body to them they will kill her and you also … if they can.”
He waited a while, and I poked sticks into the fire. Then I said, “Give me my
guns. I will get your squaw for you.”
For a long time he said nothing, then abruptly he got up and went to the other
fire, where he remained, occasionally in low-voiced conversation. After a while
he came back and sat down on the sand. “You can get my squaw?”
“Kahtenny is a warrior. He knows the ways of war. Much can happen, but this I
promise. I shall get her safely if it can be done.”
After a pause, I added, more quietly, “The Haddens are not Apaches. They are
fierce men, but they are not Apaches. I can get your squaw.”
“She is a good woman. She has been with me for many moons.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“We take you there. It is near the border.” Nobody needed to warn me that my
troubles were only beginning. Kahtenny might use me to get his squaw back, and
then shoot me down in my tracks. It wasn’t that an Apache wasn’t grateful, he
just had different ideas than we folks had. If you were not of the tribe you
were a potential enemy, and killing you was in the cards.
There had been no sign of Spanish or of John J. Nor in the little I could
overhear was there mention of them. It seemed likely that they had gotten clean
off. Well, luck to them.
At daybreak they led my black horse to me and I saddled up, taking my time, but
when I started for my guns, they stopped me and Toclani took my Winchester and
hung my gun belt over his shoulder. They let me fill a canteen, and then we
started out.
All the time we were riding I kept thinking about Neiss, who was one of five men
on a stage near Stein’s Peak when it was hit by Cochise and his band. The driver
and a man named Elder were killed right off, the stage capsized, and the men
were preparing for a fight when Neiss talked them out of it. Cochise, he said,
was an old friend, just let Neiss talk to Cochise and all would be well, so they
tried it. Cochise roped Neiss and dragged him up the canyon over the rocks,
cactus, and brush, while two other warriors did the same for the others. Then
they were tortured to death. That happened in April of 1861.
Thinking of this, I was placing no great faith in my chances with them, and
although they watched me like hawks, I kept a wary eye out for any chance of
escape. There wasn’t any.
My black horse was gaunt and worn by hard travel. To break and run, even if the
chance came, would get me nowhere. I had no weapon and there was no place I had
to go … no place I could reach in time.
The sun glared down on us as we walked our horses across the parched, rocky