Slocum 394 : Slocum and the Fool's Errand (9781101545980) (14 page)

The Apache leader's eyes narrowed, but not in a way that could be construed as aggressive. Instead, he seemed to be studying Slocum as he said, “You have been hunting Cha'to. So have we. Together, we can find him and his pack before any more blood is spilled.”

Slocum nodded. “Agreed.”

Jack nodded even harder and reached out to pat the closest Apache on the arm. “And who said you fellas were savages?”

The Indian scowled at Jack and then looked down to scowl even harder at Jack's hand.

Retracting his arm as if it had been set on fire, Jack said, “Forget I mentioned that word. Thanks for not killin' us, by the way. Very civilized of you. Honestly.”

“Jack,” Slocum said, “shut the hell up.”

The Apache were camped in a narrow gulley formed by a ridge on one side and the steeper rocky slope of the Potrillos on the other. Slocum had seen plenty of Indian settlements, and this one had the looks of one that was meant to be torn down and moved at a moment's notice. The tents were hastily raised and barely looked large enough for a pair of warm bodies to be sheltered during the night. There was no fire being tended. Even the horses were clustered together with blankets still on their backs as if they would be mounted and ridden at a full gallop at any second.

“Strange,” Jack said as he leaned over to speak in a coarse whisper. “Don't see any women.”

“What were you expecting?” Slocum asked. “Dancing girls?”

“No, but there should be a few women doing chores or whatever squaw women do.” Noticing the stern glare from one of the nearby Apaches, Jack lowered his voice even further and leaned toward Slocum at such an angle that put him in danger of falling from his saddle. “Best not call 'em squaws, I guess.”

Slocum had already gotten used to blocking out the sound of Jack's voice. In the short amount of time he'd known him, it was the only way to keep from adding to the wounded man's list of injuries. Unlike those other times when he was flapping his gums without much of a point, Jack actually made some sense.

There were a few younger Apache filling water skins or preparing a freshly killed bit of game, but all were males. The air was heavy with purpose, and every eye was trained upon the new arrivals.

“There ain't no children either,” Jack pointed out.

“I noticed that.”

“What do you think that means?”

Noticing the head Apache had signaled for the others to stop and was swinging down from his horse, Slocum said, “Looks like we're about to find out.”

Now that he was off his horse, the Apache who'd proved to be the leader of the party that had surrounded Slocum and Jack was taller than Slocum had originally thought. His torso was lean at the waist and widened as it flowed upward into broad shoulders. He wore a tanned leather tunic that Slocum could now see was decorated with elaborate designs of beads as well as colors that had been painted on. It wasn't until now that Slocum had seen the Apache leader straight-on. Before, the other man had either been turning to look at him from an angle or had been too far away for him to get a good look. Also, Slocum had been more concerned with survival to notice details such as clothing.

Now that he was convinced the Apache didn't want them dead just yet, Slocum soaked up as many details as he could. If he had to, he could get from the camp back to the spot where they'd been captured—he could do it with his eyes closed. He'd also become aware that the rest of the ambushers were still shadowing them from higher ground. Every now and then throughout the ride to the camp, he'd spotted figures darting along a ridge or heard the scrape of an errant hoof slipping on some loose gravel. Wherever the Apache archers were, they would know if any false move had been made and would surely put an end to those moves with several well-placed arrows. Slocum was distracted by those thoughts when he heard the sound of horses in the distance breathing heavily as if from a hard ride. He glanced up at a series of ridges looking down at the camp on the mountain side, but the angle of the sun covered those rocks in thick shadow.

“Come,” the Apache leader said. “Join us in a meal. Have some water.”

“We got our own water,” Jack said.

“But,” Slocum added while climbing down from his saddle, “it's neighborly of you to offer us some of yours. Ain't that right, Jack?”

Grudgingly, Jack went through the arduous process of dismounting. “Sure,” he said. “Let's just sit and have a nice long talk while them wolves run to hell and back.”

“As long as they come back, what is the reason to complain?” another Apache asked.

“I think he's got you there,” Slocum said.

Since he wasn't about to spell out his reasons for wanting those wolves as soon as he could find them, Jack muttered to himself and walked over to join Slocum near the ashen pile marking a spot where a cooking fire had been.

The Apache leader squatted down next to the fire pit so he could pull aside a pelt that had been lying on the ground. Beneath it were several strips of lean meat that had shriveled around narrow spits. He picked up one of the spits, pulled off a chunk of meat with his teeth, and began chewing the leathery snack. He then held the pelt up a little higher as an informal invitation for his guests to partake. Slocum took a spit and offered one to Jack. When the wounded man turned his nose up at it, Slocum slapped one against his chest until he took it anyway.

“I am called Snake Catcher,” the Apache leader said. “I know your name is John because this one has mentioned it many times.”

“John Slocum,” he said while extending his hand. It was shaken by Snake Catcher, strongly yet reluctantly. “And this is Jack Halsey.”

“How about you tell my name to everyone you meet?” Jack groused. “There are still men after me, you know.”

“We know.”

Until those two words were spoken, Slocum hadn't realized there were men climbing down from the ridge to enter the camp. Considering they were the same archers that he'd been looking for only a few moments ago, their stealthy appearance was quite a feat. There were only three of them, which meant either that more were hidden and waiting for the white men to slip up or that the group had covered enough ground to seem larger. From what Slocum knew about the Apache warriors, either choice was just as likely to be true.

Not shaken by the archers coming down from the rocks, Jack wheeled around to ask them, “What do you mean you know? What do you know?”

“There were men riding from the same direction you came,” one of the archers said. He was shorter than most of the Apache, had long coal black hair and eyes that were so narrow they looked more like slits that had been cut into the sand-blasted surface of his face. “They stopped to look at the ground, searching for something, then riding after you.”

“Tracking us,” Slocum said.

The short archer nodded once and approached the fire pit to help himself to some of the tough meat.

“Well, that's just great!” Jack said.

Snake Catcher bared his teeth while chewing. “This one talks too loud. Like an impatient child.”

“Speaking of children,” Slocum said. “Where are the ones in your tribe? I don't see any around here.”

“Them or women,” Jack added.

“You are interested in our women?” the short archer asked.

Before Jack could put his foot into his mouth yet again, Slocum said, “No, we're not. Just making an observation.”

“Flying Spear is suspicious of all white men,” Snake Catcher said. “And they have reason to be suspicious of him.”

Driving the end of his longbow into the ground as if he were planting a flag, Flying Spear said, “I have scalped many and still I go where I please. To your people, I am a ghost.”

“Anyone who believes in ghosts ought to be scalped,” Jack replied.

For a moment, the Apache were silent. Then, as Snake Catcher and Flying Spear traded a few glances, they started to laugh. Some of the others in the camp chuckled, but not all were amused. For the moment, however, some of the tension in the air seemed to have been depleted.

“This is not a home,” Snake Catcher said. “This is just a place to rest our horses and our heads until Cha'to is captured.”

Sneering directly into Jack's face, Flying Spear said, “We bring the beasts to us. Perhaps they come when we are sleeping. Or perhaps we draw them here with the scent of freshly spilled blood.”

“If all you needed was bait,” Slocum said, “you could have gutted us and spread us out on open ground.”

While Jack may not have taken any comfort from that observation, Snake Catcher nodded sagely and said, “My words to you are true. If you try to take advantage of our offer at peace, then we will use you for the bait we need.”

“Temporary peace,” Flying Spear added.

“And what happens after the wolves are killed?” Slocum asked.

Snake Catcher gnawed on the leathery meat and then placed his spit into the dirt beside the pelt. “Maybe we take your scalps and sell them. You know that there are plenty of white men looking for such things.”

“And since there are men with guns looking for you already,” Flying Spear added, “we know where to go to sell them.”

“Not a very good way to forge a partnership,” Slocum said.

Sitting with his legs bent and his arms propped on his knees, Snake Catcher said, “If you prove to be good partners, we will treat you as allies. Try to cheat us or take what we have . . .”

“You found us, remember? We're not out to cheat anyone and we don't know what you have. This ain't even your main camp.” When the Apache nodded in agreement, Slocum continued. “My friend here could use some medicine. Do you have anything to help with that?”

“His hand?”

“That's right. Show him, Jack.”

Always anxious to get attention for his impressive wounds, Jack unwound the bandages and peeled away the blood-soaked cloths beneath them. His hand and the tips of his fingers looked as if they'd been dipped into dark red clay that had turned into a flaky crust. Even though his arm and elbow seemed fine, he grunted dramatically when he extended his arm so the Apache could get a better look.

The Indians took an interest in the wounds, but a minimum of emotion could be seen on their dark, stoic faces. “This was done by Cha'to?” Snake Catcher asked.

“Damn right,” Jack replied. “Chewed 'em right off faster than you ate that damn meat on a stick you all seem to like so much.”

“You are lucky. You should see what was left of our people that were attacked.”

“We're all lucky to have joined up this way,” Slocum said. “And we'd be even luckier if you could help out my friend here with his wounds.”

“There is a healer among our tribe. He is an old man who must stay with the women and children, but if you prove worthy of his medicine, we will take you to him.”

“Don't you got anything for pain?” Jack asked. “What would happen if one of you broke an arm or got bit yourselves?”

Flying Spear had cleaned all of the meat from one of the spits and tossed it toward the pelt with a flick of his wrist. It stuck in the ground with enough force to have pinned the tanned skin into place if that had been his intention. “We wear our scars proudly and use our pain like fire in our souls.”

“Real goddamn poetic.”

Thankfully, Snake Catcher found some amusement in Jack's never-ending bellyaching. “You have made it this far with your pain. You can ride a little farther. If not, you're of no use to us.”

That put an end to Jack's whining for the moment. Glad for the respite, Slocum said, “So you've got our help. When do you want to start the hunt?”

“As long as those beasts are alive, the hunt will never stop,” Flying Spear said.

“He is one who lost someone to Cha'to,” Snake Catcher explained. “One of many. He is anxious to spill the blood of that one and the entire pack onto the ground.”

“Him and me both!” Jack said while flapping his mangled hand for emphasis.

Looking at Slocum, the Apache leader said, “It is dark. If Cha'to is near, we will hear his cry. Sometimes, he is even louder than your friend.”

“Hard to believe,” Slocum muttered.

“Some of our warriors are watching for Cha'to, listening for his cry. If he shows himself this night, we will find him and the beasts that follow him. Until then, we rest and prepare for the battle.”

Slocum turned to look behind him where the horses were kept. Since his stallion and Jack's gelding were being fed and watered along with the rest of them, he let them be. For the moment, none of the Apaches seemed interested in going through their saddlebags. That wasn't much of a surprise. If they were interested in looting, there would be plenty of time for that after the bodies hit the dirt.

 

Slocum dozed for an hour or two, but did so with one eye open. It allowed him to put some wind back into his sails, but was far from what he might consider restful. When he awoke, he checked the watch in his pocket to find he'd actually slept a bit longer than he'd thought. The camp was the same as when he'd left it, which meant his open eye hadn't missed much of anything after all. He sat up, got to his feet, and took a few steps toward the perimeter of the camp. There were a few Apache sitting in the shadows, sharpening knives or preparing arrows, but none of them did anything more than watch him go by. At one edge of the camp, the walls enclosing the site opened to the top of a drop-off that was no less than twenty or thirty feet above the desert floor. He still had yet to hear so much as a word of warning from the Apache, but Slocum decided to stay put rather than push his luck with what might be mistaken for an escape attempt.