20 Western Novels You Should Read

Chapter 14

Chapter 11 A

RED HERODAWN was breaking as the last of the renegades crept past the

camp of the enemy, where the troopers, already astir an hour, stood

to horse. It was known that the camp of the renegades lay just

below them, surrounded. A sudden, surprise sortie at dawn would

either overwhelm them or send them scattering into the arms of

other troops stationed to cut off their retreat in any direction.

It began to look as though Geronimo and his band were to be wiped

out or captured at last. Two scouts had gone down toward the camp

of the Apaches to investigate. The commanding officer was

impatiently awaiting their return. Presently it would be too light

for a surprise attack.

The officers were congratulating their commander and themselves

upon the nice work that had brought old Geronimo into a trap at

last — a trap from which he could not conceivably escape. They were

also talking about the pinto stallion that had wandered up to their

picket line during the night.

"I know that pony, sir," said Lieutenant King to the commanding

officer, "and I know the Indian who owns him — he saved my life

once. If it is possible, sir, I should like very much to take the

pony back to Arizona with me. There is a rancher there whom I

believe would be very glad to have him and take care of him."

"Well, it's not exactly regular, Mr. King, but perhaps the pony

was stolen from this rancher — eh?" the C. 0. grinned.

"Perhaps," agreed King.

"Very well, you may return it to its owner."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Here are the scouts," said the C. 0. "Return to your troops,

and be ready to move out at once!"

Two Apaches approached the commanding officer. They wore the red

head-bands of government scouts.

"Well?" demanded the officer. "Did you find Geronimo?"

"Him gone," said one of rhe scouts.

"Gone! Where in hell has he gone?"

"Mebby so there," he pointed to the canyon behind them.

"Hell! He couldn't have gone there. What do you suppose we been

doing here?"

"Me no sabe," replied the Apache. "Him gone — there!"

"How do you know?"

"Me follow tracks."

"You sure?"

"Sure!"

"How long?"

"Mebby so half hour."

The officer turned to his chief of scouts. "Did you hear that?

Slipped through our fingers again. The old devil! Get after him at

once. Pick up the trail. Keep after him. We'll follow. If you get

in touch with him don't attack. Just keep in touch with him until

we come up."

"Yes, sir!"

Two scouts preceded Geronimo's little band up the canyon that

would take them to the summit and over into Chihuahua. Precipitous

walls hemmed them in on both sides, effectually keeping them to the

bottom of the canyon. Here the going was good; but, also, it would

be good going for horses and no escape for the fleeing renegades

should they be overtaken. They were marching rapidly, needing no

urging, for each of them knew the life and death necessity for

speed.

Behind the two scouts came the women and the two boys. All the

fighting men except the two scouts were in the rear. A little

behind the others came Gian-nah-tah and three fellows. These would

be the first to sight the enemy and give the word that would permit

the main body to take a position from which they might best offer a

defense. But half a mile remained of level going; then the canyon

proper terminated in tumbled, terraced ledges leading upward among

great boulders and tortured strata toward the summit that was their

goal. Once they reached these ledges no cavalry could pursue.

The commanding officer of the pursuing —th knew this and sent

one troop ahead with orders to overtake the renegades at all costs

before they reached the sanctuary of those rock strewn ledges. With

clanking accouterments and the clash of iron shod hoofs on rocky

ground "B" Troop galloped up the canyon, close upon the heels of

the Apache scouts.

Just beyond a turn the canyon narrowed, "the beetling cliffs

approaching close and the rubble at their base leaving a level path

scarce ten feet wide. It was at this point that Gian-nah-tah

sighted the leading scout. A half mile more and the renegades would

have been safe — just a few minutes and the women and the main body

could all be hidden among the boulders at the top of the first

terrace, where a thousand cavalrymen could not dislodge them.

Gian-nah-tah turned and fired at the first red banded scout.

Beyond the scout Gian-nah-tah now saw the leading horsemen of "B"

Troop rounding the turn in the canyon.

He called to one of his fellows. "Go to Geronimo," he said.

"Tell him to hurry. Gian-nah-tah can hold them off until all are

among the rocks."

He knelt upon the red blanket he had thrown off when battle

seemed imminent and took careful aim. His shot brought down the

horse of a cavalryman. With loud yells "B" Troop came tearing on.

Those who rode in front fired as they charged. A bullet passed

through Gian-nah-tah's shoulder. The Apache fired rapidly, but he

could not stem that avalanche of plunging horses and yelling

men.

Another bullet passed through his chest; but still he knelt

there, firing; holding the pass while his people fled to safety.

The leading troopers were almost upon him. In an instant he would

be ridden down! But he had not held them yet! If they passed him

now they would overtake the little band before it won to

safety.

He dropped his rifle and seizing the red blanket in both hands

arose and waved it in the faces of the oncoming horses. They

swerved — they turned, stumbling and plunging among the loose rock

of the rubble heaps. Two fell and others piled upon them. For

minutes — precious minutes — all was confusion; then they came on

again.And again Gian-nah-tah flourished the red blanket in the

faces of the horses, almost from beneath their feet. Again the

frightened animals wheeled and fought to escape. Once again there

was delay.

Another bullet pierced Gian-nah-tah's body. Weak from loss of

blood and from the shock of wounds he could no longer stand,

kneeling, he held the pass against fifty men. A fourth bullet

passed through him — through his right lung — and, coughing blood,

he turned them back again. Through the yelling and the chaos of the

fight the troop commander had been trying to extricate himself from

the melee and call his men back. Finally he succeeded. The troop

was drawn off a few yards.

"Sergeant," said the captain, "dismount and use your carbine on

that fellow. Don't miss!"

Gian-nah-tah, kneeling, saw what they were doing. but he did not

care. — He had held them. His people were safe!

The sergeant knelt and took careful aim.

"Usen has remembered his people at last,"whispered Gian-

nah-tah.

The sergeant pressed his trigger; and Gian-nah-tah fell forward

on his face, a bullet through his brain. When Captain Cullis led

his troop through that narrow pass a moment later he saluted as he

passed the dead body of a courageous enemy.

That night Geronimo camped beyond the summit, in the State of

Chihuahua. Shoz-Dijiji sat in silence, his head bowed. No one

mentioned the name of Gian-nah-tah. None of them had seen him die,

but they knew that he was dead. He alone was missing. A girl, lying

upon her blanket, sobbed quietly through the night.

In the morning the band separated into small parties and,

scattering, led the pursuing troops upon many wild and fruitless

chases. Geronimo, with six men and four women, started north toward

the United States. Shoz-Dijiji, silent, morose, was one of the

party.

Even these small bands often broke up for a day or two into

other, smaller parties. Often the men hunted alone, but always

there were meeting places designated ahead. Thus Geronimo and his

companions ranged slowly northward through Chihuahua.

Cutting wood in the mountains near Casa Grande in Sonora had

become too hazardous an occupation since Geronimo had been ranging

the country; and so Luis Mariel, the son of Pedro Mariel, the

woodchopper of Casa Grande, had come over into Chihuahua to look

for other work.

He had never cared to be a woodchopper, but longed, as a youth

will, for the picturesque and romantic life of a vaquero; and at

last, here in Chihuahua, his ambition had been gratified and today,

with three other vaqueros, he was helping guard a grazing herd upon

the lower slopes of the Sierra Madre.

The four were youths, starting their careers with the prosaic

duties of day herding and whiling away the hours with cigarettes

and stories. Luis was quite a hero to the others, for he alone had

participated in a real battle with Apaches. Chihuahua seemed a very

dull and humdrum country after listening to the tales that Luis

told of Apache raids and battles in wild Sonora. He told them of

the Apache Devil and boasted that he was an old friend of the

family.

Above the edge of a nearby arroyo unblinking eyes watched them.

The eyes appraised the four cow ponies and sized up the grazing

herd. They were stern eyes, narrowed by much exposure to the

pitiless sunlight of the southwest. They were set in a band of

white that crossed a blue face from temple to temple. They

scrutinized Luis Mariel and recognized him, but their expression

did not change.

The Apache saw before him horses that he and his friends needed;

he saw food on the hoof, and Usen knew that they needed food; he

saw the enemies of his people, anyone of whom would shoot him down

on sight, had they the opportunity.But it was he who had the

opportunity!

He levelled his rifle and fired. A vaquero cried out and fell

from his saddle. The others looked about, drawing their pistols.

Shoz-Dijiji fired again and another vaquero fell. Now the two

remaining had located the smoke of his rifle and returned his

fire.

Shoz-Dijiji dropped below the edge of the arroyo and ran quickly

to a new position. When his eyes again peered above the edge of his

defense he saw the two galloping toward his former position. He

appreciated their bravery and realized their foolhardiness as he

dropped his rifle quickly on one of them and pressed the trigger;

then he quickly tied a white rag to the muzzle of his smoking rifle

and waved it above the edge of the arroyo, though he was careful

not to expose any more of his person than was necessary.

Luis Mariel looked in astonishment. What could it mean ? A

voice called him by name.

"Who are you ?" demanded Luis, whose better judgment

prompted him to put spurs to his horse and leave the victors in

possession of the field.

"I am a friend," replied Shoz-Dijiji. "We shall not harm you if

you will throw down your pistol. If you do not we can shoot you

before you can get away."

Luis appreciated the truth of this statement. Further, he

thought that his enemies must number several men; also — he did not

know that he who addressed him was not a Mexican, for the Spanish

was quite as good as Luis' own. So he threw down his pistol, being

assured by this time that they had been attacked by bandits who

wished only to steal the herd. Perhaps they would invite him to

join the band, and when was there ever a red-blooded youth who did

not at some time in his career aspire to be a brigand or a

pirate?

A painted face appeared above the arroyo's edge. "Mother of

God!" cried Luis, "protect me."

The Apache sprang quickly to level ground and came toward the

youth.

"The Apache Devil!" exclaimed Luis.

"Yes," said Shoz-Dijiji, stooping and picking up Luis' pistol.

"I shall not harm you, if you will do as I tell you."

Won't the others kill me?" asked the youth.

"There are no others," replied Shoz-Dijiji.

"But you said 'we,'" explained Luis.

"I am alone."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Round up those three horses and then help me drive this herd to

my camp."

"You will not harm me, nor let your friends harm me?"