Ambush (18 page)

As his breath slowly stilled he listened. A lizard, in the wash of silence now, came out from under a rock in front of him, did its febrile pushups, and then moved off to a spot known only to itself and began to dig, first with one front foot, then with the other, raising the faintest smoke of dust. Suddenly, it halted, turned its head to listen, then wheeled and scuttled back to its rock.

Ward picked up his pistol and cocked it, and only later heard the soft, rhythmical whisper of the running of moccasined feet.
Halt him?
Certainly, so that Loring, confronted with him, would learn his lesson. Ward rose now, trying to judge the closing distance, knowing if he were too soon his quarry would vanish in this forest of rock.

When he judged it was time, he pushed away from his shelter, onto the trail, facing down it—and he had the swift shocking realization that he had miscalculated. Tana was almost on him, and in that part of an instant it took for recognition, Tana's hand plunged into his shirt and came out with a knife. He lunged desperately, leaping, the knife coming out of his shirt in a side-arm slash.

Ward pivoted on his heel away from him and shot, and he heard the grunt of driven breath as it left the Apache.

Tana fell past him, the bullet turning him in midair, so that he landed on his back and a great sigh of air whistled from his lungs. He rolled over on his knees in the same motion, so that his back was to Ward, and now he tried to rise and wheel at the same time, knife in hand. But half raised, his knees buckled, so that he fell again, this time on his face, this time facing Ward. His knife raised again, and Ward stepped quickly back, and the knife fell in his moccasin track, buried to the hilt in the rocky ground. Carefully, almost as if he were choosing the spot, Tana's face sank into the dust, and the blood, bitter-bright, and mottled with the dust, pooled out from it.

Ward holstered his gun and sank on his heels, looking at the Apache. He had made his try and almost won, which was the way any warrior would choose to die. If he had won and reached Diablito, the band would have scattered in the night, and Loring would have returned to Gamble with his ammunition intact.

There was the problem now of Tana's body. Diablito's scouts, even if they did not travel the trail, would be attracted to it by buzzards tomorrow. If any warning were needed, that would be enough.

Ward rose, and left the trail, not bothering to cover his tracks. The troopers who would pack the body in tonight would leave tracks that must be erased along with his own in the morning.

He found his horse, and mounted and turned back to the camp. He had the idle thought that his shot might have been heard, but he judged the distance was too great. The welcome shadows of evening were stretching out blackly to the east of the mesas, and the camp was astir when he rode in and tied his horse at the picket line.

Approaching the rock where he had left Loring asleep he saw Linus and Storrow and Loring in earnest discussion. When he came closer their talk ceased, and he could tell by the expression on their faces that their tempers were high.

“Settle an argument for us, Ward,” Linus called. His mouth was straight with suppressed anger, and there was a glint of wrath in his blue eyes.

“There's no argument, Linus,” Loring said calmly. He handed Ward a piece of paper from Storrow's notebook, saying “That's Wolverton's last message for the day.”

Ward accepted it and read, “Band still headed Cardinal Springs. Have pushed hard but am unable to make contact. Wolverton.”

“What do you make of that?” Linus demanded.

“He's on the run for fair,” Ward said.

Storrow asked, “Will he bypass us when he discovers us?”

“If he won't fight Wolverton, he won't fight us.”

Linus looked at Loring in wicked triumph. “There's the advice of the man you pay for it, sir.”

“I haven't heard any advice,” Loring said quietly, and an edge of malice came into his voice as he added, “The only advice I've received from Kinsman is that since the Apaches are ferocious fighters I should respect them.” He made a grimace of disgust.
“The
great, fierce Apaches. How can you respect rabbits who
won't fight?”

Ward smiled faintly. “They'll fight. All they want is a ground of their own choosing and fewer numbers than they are.”

Storrow said, “Like a small immigrant train.”

“Or a lonely little detail,” Ward agreed.

“There you are, sir,” Linus said quickly, flatly, triumphantly. “He said it. I didn't.”

Loring's dark gaze regarded Linus calmly, passed fleetingly over Storrow, and settled on Ward. “Linus has a scheme to bring on a fight. Storrow likes it, and I'm reserving judgment. It's this—but first a question. Do you think Diablito's band would fight a small detail if it were put in his way?”

Promptly Ward answered, “Yes, in a second. He's probably having hell's own time with his young warriors. The only fight they've had was in the skirmish this morning, and he collected them with the promise of fighting, not running. If they saw anything they could take easily, they'd go at it, and he'd let them because he wouldn't be able to stop them.”

Loring considered this under Linus' uncompromising regard and then he said, “Linus proposed we break camp tonight under cover of darkness and move up the trail toward Diablito. The troop will pull off the trail around midnight and send a detail a half-mile or so ahead. Let the detail build a fire, make camp, and put out guards, just as if it had been traveling all day and had made a dry camp. When Diablito's scouts run into it in the night and see its size, they'll report it back and the band will attack the detail at dawn. When it does, the rest of the troop moves into support of the detail and we have his whole band engaged.” He paused, and Linus' glance shifted to Ward. “Would it work?”

“I think it would,” Ward said.

There was a moment of silence, in which Linus wisely held his tongue.

“What did you propose instead?” Ward asked curiously.

“To wait here, barring them from water. With Wolverton behind them and us before them, they'll be forced to fight.”

He looked challengingly at Ward, who said nothing. Linus and Storrow were silent too, and now Holly's words
book soldier
flashed through Ward's mind.

Loring shrugged, then, and said calmly, “However, there's always more than one road to town. All I want is to engage that band. If your way will do it, Linus, let's try it.” He looked at Linus now and smiled, and Linus, whose temperament never let him hold a grudge of more than five seconds' duration, smiled too.

“Thanks for that, sir.”

Ward had the sudden feeling that he had seen this before, and then remembered. It was on the day of the paymaster's escort to Craig, which he and Holly had discussed. With the solidness of final belief, it came to him than that he had the real reason now for his caution of Loring. The man had no trust in himself, no thoughts of his own that ever reached conviction, no belief in his Tightness that ever bred tenacity, no toughness of mind that in other men made their lives a sober, stubborn gamble on the strength within them.
Why, he's hollow
, Ward though in mild astonishment, and lest his face show his thought he bent down now and picked up the canteen at Loring's feet and drank from it.

It hadn't been generosity that had let Loring send Linus on the scout up Calendar Canyon, and it wasn't fair-mindedness that was prompting him now; it was indecision, a great silent cry for help that no schooling, no breeding, no set of rules had ever supplied him or ever would, Ward knew.

Loring took off his hat now and mopped his awry black hair with his neckerchief. He said, looking at Ward, “Well, it looks as if it's up to you and Tana to pick a spot for the fight, Kinsman. You both know the country. Agree on the place and describe it to Linus. He'll have the detail.”

Ward put the canteen on the ground, saying, “Tana won't be back.”

Loring had started to turn away, but now he halted and regarded Ward. “Still suspicious? Want to make a bet?”

Linus put his quick startled glance on him, and for a moment the three officers stared at him.

Ward said, “His story about the dust of a party sighted to the south of us sounded fine this noon. The only trouble was, I had taken a look too, and there was no dust. So when he asked to have another look later, I wondered about it. When he left to have his look, I cut north and waited by the trail. He came by on his way to Diablito.”

“And you killed him?” Loring asked slowly.

For five long seconds, Loring looked at him, and then Ward saw the temper edging into the shock in his eyes. Loring said to Linus, “Will you and Mr. Storrow excuse us, Mr. Delaney?”

Linus and Storrow looked at each other. Linus rose, and without a word, he and Storrow walked off toward the spring together.

Loring said levelly, “You've been waiting for a chance to prove me wrong, haven't you, Kinsman?”

Ward thought about this and then said, “Yes, I guess I have.”

“Do you recall the reason for the thrashing I gave you in Hance's barn?”

“I'm not likely to forget it.”

“It was for interfering in affairs which were none of your business, which were Army business.”

Ward said thinly, “Aren't you forgetting something, Captain?”

“Am I?”

“Tana was on his way to Diablito. I'd intended bringing him back here so you could see what he had to say for himself. But I misjudged my surprising of him, and he attacked me and I killed him.”

Loring took a deep breath and lowered his head a little. “Kinsman, I have uncovered you in two lies in the past—once when you lied about what Riordan called Linus, and once when you lied to Mr. Tremaine about your reason for wanting to see Riordan in the hospital. I don't value your word highly.”

“Then saddle up and I'll show you where Tana is,” Ward countered.

“I'll take your word for that. But your reasons for killing him, even the necessity, I will continue to doubt. But I am even more concerned about something else”—his voice grew rough—“your damned meddling in Army affairs. And I propose to stop it.” He paused so as to give weight to what followed, “You will guide us to our position tonight, and then you will leave us. Your services will be terminated.”

“You're wrong,” Ward said. “They are terminated now.”

He wheeled, and started for the picket line, and he had gone only five steps when he slowed and then halted. He was motionless a moment, then he turned and regarded Loring who was standing, hands on hips, watching him.

“Let's make it midnight,” Ward said.

Martha Riordan put the plate of oatmeal cookies in the small basket, covered it with a towel, and taking the basket let herself out of the house into the twilit evening.

Coming into the parade ground past the officers' quarters, she noted again how strange an air the post had about it, an air of both waiting and desertion, as if all activity were suspended until the troops returned. It baked in the vast emptiness, waiting.

She took the walk past Brierly's house and went on, cutting behind G's barracks and taking the gravel path to the hospital. At the door to the ward, she started to draw the pass out of her pocket, but the lounging guard waved her in and returned to his newspaper. The lamp at the foot of Tom's bed was lighted, and he lay there staring at the ceiling, turning his head only when she came up to him.

“Tom, I baked some cookies today. I got the last of Hance's oatmeal, too.” She lifted out the plate and uncovered it and laid it on the bed. Riordan picked one out, and took a bite from it.

“Like it?” Martha asked.

“I'm eatin' it,” Riordan growled.

Martha pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and sat down, saying, “It's the strangest feeling around the post, Tom, almost as if it had been abandoned. Crossing the parade, I saw some red ants starting to build their mound. In another—”

“Be quiet,” Riordan growled. “Pull your chair closer and listen.”

Martha obediently hunched her chair forward as Riordan glanced past her at the inattentive guard.

Riordan said softly, “You know Jim Hartford that packed supplies in here last spring?” At Martha's puzzled nod, he said, “Well, he's come in with the quartermaster train and he's over at Hance's. I want you to get hold of him and remind him of the money he owes me. Tell him I'll call it square if he'll help me now. I want him to get a horse tomorrow, a good one, and a big canteen and some grub. You give him a sack of my clothes. Tomorrow night after dark, he's to tie the horse with all my gear in a sack down at the rifle butts and leave. That's all.”

Martha felt a cold finger of apprehension. “Tom, what are you planning?”

“I'm going to break out of here,” Riordan said grimly.

A dozen urgent protests welled up in Martha now, but she singled out only one. “But your leg, Tom! You can't.”

“A scratch,” Riordan scoffed. “I been limping around the place, groaning like a kicked hound, because this is better than the guardhouse. Come closer.”

Martha gazed apprehensively over her shoulder at the guard, but he was still reading his paper. She hunched her chair against the bed.

“Don't you see,” Riordan said softly, fiercely, “I got to get out of here before I'm tried. This is the time to break. The post is undermanned. I've been listening to the sentry calls, and I could put a team and wagon through the lines with no trouble.”

“But where'll you go?”

“Silver City first. They haven't got a tracker on the post or the men to trail me now. By the time they have, my trail will be cold. I'll wait for you there, maybe take a job in the mines, and then we'll go on to California.”

“You'll be a deserter,” Martha pointed out.