Warpath Read online

  The warriors looked at Coyotero, to hear his reply, and he felt their eyes burning into him. There was no way he could ignore the challenge. “I have long waited for this day,” he said. “If you want to die, I will be happy to oblige you.”

  Black Bear turned to him. “Coyotero, we don’t have time for this. The ranch hands may arrive at any moment, and the bluecoats are on the desert. Let us do what we came here to do and get out of here. If you want to fight Lobo, you can do it someplace else.”

  “It will not take long to kill Lobo,” Coyotero said. “If the ranch hands come, we will kill them too, and the bluecoats are far away. Let us go outside. This time no one will stop me from killing Lobo.”

  Nolga aimed his pistol at John Stone. “Drop your guns.”

  Stone hesitated.

  Lobo said to him: “Do as he tells you. I will get us out of this.”

  Stone didn’t want to disarm himself, but if he didn’t, they’d kill him. His Colts went crashing to the floor, and Eagle Claw eagerly picked them up.

  Coyotero turned to Lobo. “Outside! Move!” Coyotero pointed at the door with his rifle. “Bring the women,” he said to his warriors.

  Tacho prodded Juanita with his rifle, and she stepped toward the door. She didn’t know what was going on. Her lips trembled as she recited Hail Marys and Our Fathers one after the other. Two warriors picked up the still unconscious Peggy and carried her outside.

  The sun shone brightly on the yard in front of the house, as the Apaches and their prisoners emerged from the front door. The barrel of Nolga’s rifle touched the small of Stone’s back as he stepped onto the ground.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Stone asked Lobo, who was in front of him.

  “I am going to fight Coyotero. When I beat him, we all go free.”

  Stone was about to ask: What if you don’t beat him? but decided there was no point in planting the seed of defeat in his mind.

  They walked into the front yard on the other side of the hitching posts. Black Bear approached Coyotero, whose facial expression was cold and determined.

  “This is great foolishness,” Black Bear protested. “We should take what we want and get out of here as soon as possible. If you wish to fight Lobo, you can fight him back at the camp.”

  “The time to fight him is now,” Coyotero said with finality.

  Black Bear moved away from Coyotero. Everyone gathered on the open ground between the house and barn. Coyotero faced the hills and waved his hand in the air. A few moments later Apache warriors appeared on the crest of the hill, herding horses toward the ranch house. Stone guessed these were the horses the Apaches had ridden to the ranch. They’d left them in the hills while Coyotero and the others had crept up on the main building.

  The sound of hoofbeats came from the opposite direction. Everyone turned and saw a white man, evidently one of the McIntyre ranch hands, walking toward them, blood streaming from a wound on his scalp, and behind him was a mounted Apache carrying a rifle.

  “Look what I found!” the Apache said.

  “We will take care of him when we are finished here,” Coyotero said. Then Coyotero turned to Lobo. “This is where you will die. How do you want it?”

  “It is up to you,” Lobo said.

  “How about knives, like last time?”

  Lobo unbuttoned his cavalry shirt, as Coyotero drew his knife out of its sheath. The Apaches and their captives formed a wide circle in the yard between the barn and the ranch house. Lobo and Coyotero were in the middle of the circle, and Stone couldn’t help noticing the contrast between the two.

  Lobo was calm, almost casual, whereas Coyotero was a flame of hatred. Lobo’s naked upper body was smoothly muscled, with a few nicks and cuts. He was taller and leaner than Coyotero, and several years younger. He pulled out his knife, and a sunbeam rolled along the blade.

  Coyotero wore only his breechclout and moccasin boots. Muscles were knotted and bunched all over his thick body. His face was a mask of hatred. He held his knife in his fist with the blade pointed straight up in the air.

  “I am waiting,” he said.

  Lobo turned and faced him, holding his knife in his fist also. “I am ready. Let us begin.”

  Coyotero went into a crouch, bending his knees, and appeared tense as the string of a bow pulled taut to fire an arrow.

  Lobo was relaxed and almost casual, and sauntered to the side within the circle. Coyotero followed him on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. To Stone’s eyes, Coyotero looked far deadlier than Lobo. Stone was struck with the sinking feeling that Lobo was going to lose, and if he lost, Stone would be killed.

  No one else said anything as Coyotero circled Lobo and Lobo strolled around the circle, his head cocked to one side, holding his knife in his fingertips. Coyotero feinted, and Lobo didn’t respond. That concerned Stone, because if it hadn’t been a feint, Lobo would’ve been cut. It seemed to Stone that Lobo wasn’t really keyed up enough for the fight. He appeared much too calm and cool, as if he didn’t care about what was going on.

  Coyotero feinted again, and again Lobo didn’t make a move to defend himself. Coyotero’s legs were spread far apart and his knees were bent, reminding Stone of a crab. He flicked the point of his blade back and forth, and his face was expressionless.

  Stone noticed the solemn expression on the faces of the Apaches. Juanita watched the fight also, and Stone knew what she was thinking. She was hoping Lobo would win, because otherwise she’d be killed, and her manner of dying probably wouldn’t be pleasant.

  Stone looked at Peggy, not far from Juanita. Peggy was conscious, but her face was like snow and she appeared to be in a trance. In a matter of seconds her parents and brother had been killed, and something had snapped in her mind.

  Coyotero continued to circle Lobo, changing direction back and forth, and Lobo watched him calmly, holding his knife in front of him, his skin like bronze in the sunlight. Suddenly Coyotero lunged forward, streaking the point of his blade toward Lobo’s midsection. Lobo darted to the side and made a sudden movement with his knife. Coyotero found himself facing his warriors, and Lobo was several feet away. When Coyotero turned toward Lobo again, Stone could see a deep gash on Coyotero’s left pectoral muscle.

  First blood, Stone thought.

  Coyotero’s face showed no recognition that he’d been wounded as he closed in on Lobo again, and Lobo showed no exultation. The stalking continued as before. Coyotero continued to advance, trying to get closer to Lobo, and Lobo danced out of reach easily. Coyotero clearly was the pursuer, forcing the fight, and Lobo evidently wanted to counter off Coyotero’s attacks.

  “Why do you run away from me?” Coyotero asked mockingly. “Are you afraid?”

  “Come closer,” Lobo replied. “There’s something I want to give you.”

  They stalked each other in the center of the circle, and then in a movement so fast it was a blur, Coyotero pounced again, slashing at Lobo’s throat, but Lobo wasn’t there, and when Coyotero turned around to face Lobo again, Coyotero had a cut on his left shoulder. Blood dribbled down his arm like a thin red ribbon. Lobo had struck, and no one had seen him do it.

  Stone watched carefully, recalling his own knife fight at La Rosita two days ago. He could see now more clearly than ever the importance of speed. If I ever get out of this, he said to himself, I’ve got to practice speed.

  Coyotero jumped again, and Lobo dodged to the side, but this time Coyotero anticipated his move and followed him, slashing wildly with his knife. The point of his knife pierced Lobo’s right cheek and penetrated to the bone, cutting down to the chin. Lobo stepped backward and spun away as blood sprayed through the air. Coyotero charged, driving his knife toward Lobo’s kidney, and Lobo grabbed Coyotero’s wrist, stopping it in midair, while driving his own blade toward Coyotero’s guts.

  Coyotero’s hand clamped onto Lobo’s wrist, and they were locked together tightly, only inches apart, blood oozing out of the slash on Lobo’s face and the two cuts on Coyotero’
s body. They heaved and pushed each other, gritting their teeth, each trying to force his blade into the skin of his opponent, when suddenly Lobo dropped to his back on the ground and arched violently, pushing his foot into Coyotero’s belly and tossing Coyotero behind him.

  Coyotero went flying through the air and landed on his face in the dust, while meanwhile, behind him, Lobo jumped to his feet and charged. Coyotero arose and Lobo ripped his knife across Coyotero’s back, leaving a wide deep cut from Coyotero’s right shoulder to the left side of his waist.

  Coyotero snarled like an animal and jumped around to face Lobo, while Lobo bounced backward out of reach. Coyotero advanced, and Lobo moved to the side again. Lobo’s cheek was covered with blood, while Coyotero bled copiously from his three wounds. The ground beneath them was flecked with blood, and blood covered their knives.

  Fascinated, Stone watched the fight. Now it was clear to him what Lobo’s strategy was. Lobo evidently didn’t want to match strength with Coyotero. He was trying to defeat Coyotero with maneuverability.

  Coyotero and Lobo circled each other. Black Bear scanned the horizon nervously, worrying about armed ranch hands and the bluecoats. He wished the fight would end soon. Every passing moment increased the danger to all of them.

  Coyotero grunted and swooped toward Lobo, and Lobo jumped out of the way, but in a sudden move, Coyotero dived toward Lobo’s feet, slashed out with his knife, tumbled over and landed on his feet again, advancing murderously toward Lobo, whose right boot and calf muscle were neatly severed. Blood poured down Lobo’s ankle and filled his boot as he limped away from Coyotero.

  Now Stone understood Coyotero’s counter-strategy. Coyotero realized he had to slow Lobo down, and one way to do it was to cripple him.

  Stone could see that Lobo was slowed seriously. Lobo no longer had any spring in his movements. He wouldn’t be able to get away from Coyotero so easily now, but his face showed no awareness of his predicament. He still seemed calm and unconcerned. Coyotero didn’t acknowledge that he’d just given himself an advantage.

  Coyotero charged Lobo again, and Lobo tried to get out of the way, but this time wasn’t fast enough. Coyotero rammed his knife toward Lobo’s belly, and Lobo grabbed Coyotero’s wrist, stopping its forward movement while making a threatening gesture with his own knife toward Coyotero’s throat. Coyotero raised his free hand to stop the threat, but it was only a feint. In a quick move, Lobo brought his knife down and took a swipe at Coyotero’s belly.

  Coyotero sucked wind and pulled back. There was a two-inch gash on Coyotero’s stomach. Coyotero showed no consciousness of the pain. He circled Lobo as before, and Lobo limped away from him. Coyotero feinted to his left, feinted to his right, let out a cry, and rushed Lobo again, tossing his knife from his left hand to his right hand, and Lobo made a quick motion with his arm. There was a clink sound and Coyotero’s knife flew straight up into the air. Coyotero was unarmed, and Lobo leaned forward, touching the tip of his blade to Coyotero’s throat, pressing firmly, and the blade entered Coyotero’s throat an eighth of an inch.

  “Don’t move,” Lobo said.

  Coyotero froze, as blood dripped out of the hole Lobo’s knife had made.

  “Hear me carefully,” Lobo said. “We fought once before, and you nearly killed me, but you stopped. Now we fight again, and I can kill you, but I’m going to stop. You gave me my life back, and now I shall give you your life back. We’re even, a life for a life, but we’re not finished. I propose that we fight again, tomorrow at noon, and in that fight neither of us will give the other his life back. That fight will be to the death.”

  “It will be as you say,” Coyotero said stiffly, blood trickling down his throat.

  “Furthermore,” Lobo continued, “you and your warriors must agree on your honor not to harm my blood brother here, the Mexican woman, or Peggy McIntyre as long as I am alive. And you must return the weapons you took from my blood brother and me.”

  “It is agreed,” Coyotero said. “You have my word as a warrior on all the points that you mentioned, and the winner of the fight tomorrow can do anything he wants with the prisoners.”

  “It will be as you say,” Lobo told him.

  Lobo pulled his knife out of Coyotero’s throat and took a step backward, wiping his knife against his pant leg, and pushing it into its sheath on his belt. Coyotero bent over and picked up his own knife, wiping it on his thigh. Then he looked up at his men. If he was ashamed of losing the fight, he didn’t show it.

  “Take the horses out of the corral,” he told them. “Load a wagon with booty. Set fire to the buildings.” He pointed at the captured ranch hand, whose name was Morgan. “You know what to do with him.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lobo said. “You promised not to harm any of these people.”

  “I promised not to harm your blood brother, the Mexican woman, or Peggy McIntyre. You didn’t say anything about the ranch hand. I will honor our agreement as you stated it. Take care that you honor your part.”

  Stone spoke: “I want my guns.”

  Lobo turned to Eagle Claw. “Give him his guns.”

  Eagle Claw looked at Coyotero for guidance, and Coyotero scrutinized Stone carefully. Then Coyotero said: “Give the white eyes his guns. Tomorrow, after I kill Lobo, I will kill the white eyes and give you the guns back.”

  Eagle Claw walked toward Stone and held out the guns. Stone took them and felt better immediately.

  The circle broke apart as the warriors followed Coyotero’s orders. Some ran to the barn, others to the corral, and a third group charged toward the main ranch house. Four Apaches grabbed Morgan by his arms and legs and carried him off as he screamed and fought to break loose.

  The exchanges between Lobo and Coyotero had been in the Apache language, and Stone didn’t understand a word. “What’s going on?” he said to Lobo.

  Lobo explained everything. Juanita walked toward them, her arm around Peggy’s shoulders. Peggy still appeared to be in shock.

  “She cannot talk,” Juanita said, looking sideways at Peggy. “I think she has gone loco in the coco.”

  Stone stood in front of Peggy and looked into her eyes. They were glassy and staring. “Are you all right?” Stone asked her.

  The features of her pretty face sagged, and lines existed where none had been before. She had a vacuous expression, gazing off into space. Her lips didn’t move.

  “She’s lost her mind,” Stone said.

  “That’s what I told you,” Juanita replied.

  Stone turned to Lobo. “That was some fight.”

  “I made mistakes,” Lobo said.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “You will meet my father,” Lobo said. “He is a great chief and a very wise man. Tomorrow I will fight Coyotero again. If I kill him, all of you can leave. If he kills me, you will not leave. He probably will kill you, and the women will be his slaves.”

  “Personally,” Stone said. “I think you should’ve killed him while you had the chance.”

  “I would rather do it this way.”

  “What about the women?”

  “I would rather do it this way.”

  Stone looked at Lobo and realized he didn’t know him at all. Meanwhile, Apaches harnessed horses to a wagon and backed it up to the front door of the main ranch house, where they loaded it with the possessions of the McIntyre family. They chattered excitedly and sang victory songs. Other Apaches herded the horses out of the corral.

  Peggy stared at the horizon mindlessly. Stone rolled a cigarette and passed the tobacco to Lobo, who sat on the ground while Juanita bandaged his leg with a length of material torn from her petticoat. Lobo was in a bad mood, and the side of his face was caked with blood.

  “I should not have let him cut my leg,” he said bitterly. “I should have been ready for him. He will not do it again.”

  The wagon was filled with rifles, ammunition, blankets, clothing, food, harnesses, saddles, and trinkets. Another wagon was rolled into the open area between t
he ranch houses and the barn. The four Indians holding Morgan wrestled him to the ground, turned him upside down, and tied him up to a wagon wheel as he hollered and struggled to break loose.

  “What’re they going to do with him?” Stone asked Lobo.

  “He is going to die,” Lobo replied.

  Juanita looked at Lobo. “You Apaches are savages!”

  “Mexicans have done far worse to us. There was a time when your dirty government offered one hundred dollars for the scalp of every Apache man, fifty dollars for every woman, and twenty-five dollars for every child.”

  The Apaches placed some dry grass, twigs, and sticks of wood underneath Morgan’s head, and Morgan shrieked horribly. Peggy didn’t react; she continued to stare at the horizon. Juanita jammed her fingers in her ears. Stone thumbed fresh cartridges into his Colts as his cigarette dangled out of the corner of his mouth.

  Lobo walked to Peggy and placed his arm around her shoulders. “I am very sorry about what happened to your family,” he said softly. “I will help you as much as I can.”

  She didn’t respond. Lobo removed his arm from her shoulders and looked at Stone, who dropped his Colts into their holsters. The screams of Morgan were unnerving him. He glanced toward him, and the hapless ranch hand writhed upside down on the wagon wheel, as the Apaches set fire to the dry grass and twigs underneath his head.

  Coyotero marched out of the house. “Bring the horses around!”

  The fire caught underneath Morgan’s head, and he screamed desperately, blubbering, praying to God, a flood of mad gibberish bursting out of his mouth. His hair began to burn, and the skin on his head turned red. He kicked and struggled against the ropes, to no avail. Stone looked away and swallowed hard.

  Saddled horses were brought into the courtyard, and an Apache led one to Stone, who climbed onto it. Lobo helped Peggy onto a horse. Apaches ran about with torches, setting fire to the house, barn, and outbuildings.

  Morgan’s screams became whimpers, and then he stopped altogether. Stone turned to him out of morbid curiosity, and Morgan’s head had become a dark purple color nearly submerged completely in the fire blazing beneath him. A terrible stench filled the air.