Warpath Read online

  Rodrigo advanced toward Stone, and Stone stepped backward, holding both his fists up, blood spreading down the front of his shirt.

  “I am going to skin you alive,” Rodrigo said to Stone. “I am going to cut off your nose and your ears.”

  Rodrigo feinted once, then charged. Stone dived on his knife arm, grabbed it tightly, spun around, and threw Rodrigo over his shoulder. Rodrigo crashed into the wall and Stone pounced on him, punching him in the mouth, pulping his lips, but Rodrigo swung wildly with his knife, and that made Stone step back.

  Rodrigo got to his feet and wiped the blood off his mouth. “Not a bad move, gringo,” he said. “It was your last one, I think.”

  Stone waited for him in the middle of the floor. He’d have to get past Rodrigo’s knife somehow and knock him out.

  Something flashed in front of Stone, and he looked down to see his Bowie knife land at his feet. Someone had thrown it to him, and without a moment’s hesitation, he bent over and snatched it up.

  Rodrigo’s face clouded with anger when he saw that Stone was armed again. “Who is the filthy bastard who did that?” he shouted.

  Lobo the Apache stepped through the crowd. “Me.”

  “I will kill you next, Indian.”

  “You will kill nobody at all tonight,” Lobo replied.

  Rodrigo snarled like a wild beast and charged Stone, pushing the point of his knife toward Stone’s belly, and Stone dodged out of the way like a matador. Rodrigo stopped in his tracks and turned around.

  “You are afraid of the blade, eh, gringo? Well if I were you, I would be afraid of it too, because it will drink your blood soon.”

  Stone took a deep breath. He’d have to anticipate Rodrigo’s thrusts, and counter before Rodrigo could get set again.

  Rodrigo tossed his knife between his hands, a confident smile on his face. He had a reputation as a fierce fighter. The crowd expected him to win.

  Meanwhile, the few Americans in the saloon urged Stone on. The circle tightened around Stone and Rodrigo. Juanita felt herself being moved forward. She was sure Rodrigo would beat her worse than ever after he killed John Stone.

  Rodrigo darted to the left, darted to the right, and charged Stone, who timed him coming in and kicked him in the chops. Rodrigo saw stars for a moment, and when he regained consciousness he was stumbling backward, dropping to his back on the floor.

  Stone jumped on him and jabbed his knife with all his strength toward Rodrigo’s throat, but Rodrigo spun out at the last moment and Stone’s knife stuck into the floorboards. Rodrigo, on his knees, lashed out at Stone and ripped a six-inch gash along his ribs, while Stone, also on his knees, yanked his knife out of the floorboards and swung at Rodrigo’s face, but Rodrigo leaned back and Stone’s knife whistled harmlessly through the air.

  Stone and Rodrigo jumped to their feet, and Rodrigo looked at the blood dripping out of Stone’s side.

  “Got you again, eh, gringo? How does it feel to bleed like a pig?”

  Stone felt pain all across his upper body. Somehow he had to settle down and kill Rodrigo.

  Someone moved between him and Rodrigo, and it was Juanita, her arms held stiffly down her sides and her hands balled into fists. She faced Rodrigo and said: “Please do not kill him! Do it for me, Rodrigo!”

  “Get out of my way,” Rodrigo replied in an ugly voice from deep in his throat. “I will take care of you later.”

  “He is innocent, and it will be a sin.”

  “Innocent?” Rodrigo asked. “No one is innocent, especially not this gringo.”

  Juanita turned and looked at Stone. “Tell him you are sorry, Señor. Get down on your knees and beg him for your life. That is your only chance, because he is going to kill you.”

  “Do as he says,” Stone said to her. “Get out of the way before you get hurt.”

  “This is my fault,” Juanita said. “I should never have spoken with you, gringo. Your death will be a stain on my soul forever.”

  “Move,” Stone told her softly.

  She stepped back into the crowd, and near her Stone saw Lobo the Apache.

  “Go for his belly,” Lobo said. “Remember who you are.”

  Stone spread his legs and went into his crouch again, holding his knife steady before him as blood dripped down from his shirt onto his jeans.

  “Are you ready to die, gringo?” Rodrigo asked.

  Stone said nothing, but his eyes were fastened on Rodrigo, looking for an opening or a sign of weakness, ready to make the most of any opportunity.

  Rodrigo screamed viciously and rushed toward Stone, punching his knife toward Stone’s belly, and Stone stepped to his left, wielding his knife like his old cavalry saber, slashing Rodrigo’s right bicep almost to the bone. Rodrigo howled and spun around, facing Stone, trying to raise his knife, but the deep tendons in his arm were severed and his knife wouldn’t come up. Stone backswung with his knife and caught Rodrigo on the throat, nearly cutting his head off. Blood gushed out as if from a hose, and Rodrigo’s face suddenly blanched. Rodrigo’s head leaned to the side at a crazy angle, attached to his body only by his spinal cord and a few sinews of flesh. Rodrigo stared at Stone in disbelief, and Stone rammed his blade to the hilt into Rodrigo’s stomach.

  The crowd screamed. Blood welled out of Rodrigo’s mouth, and he swayed from side to side. He looked at Stone and took two drunken tottering steps toward him, then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed onto the floor, where he lay still in a widening pool of blood.

  There was silence in the saloon as everyone stared at Rodrigo’s corpse. Three Mexican men stepped out of the crowd and dropped to their knees around Rodrigo, rolling him onto his back. Rodrigo looked grotesque with his head nearly detached from his body and his clothes drenched with blood. Stone took a step backward, wiped his knife on his pant leg, and dropped it into his boot.

  Juanita moved toward him. “You must leave this town at once! Rodrigo’s men will kill you! They are bandidos!”

  “What about you?” he asked. “What will Rodrigo’s men do to you?”

  “Do not worry about me! Go quickly!”

  A group of Mexicans advanced toward Stone from the other side of the saloon, and their faces showed bad intentions. An expression of terror came over Juanita’s face, and Stone turned to face them.

  There were five of them, and they approached from the front and sides, their hands reaching for their guns. Stone dodged to the left, whipped out his Colts, and triggered as fast as he could.

  The saloon filled with gunsmoke and the roar of gunfire. There was a tremendous boom that shook the coal-oil lamps. Stone felt something rip into his shoulder, but stood his ground and kept firing. Men shrieked and lurched in the smoke in front of him, a bullet whizzed past his ear so closely he could feel its heat, but he continued to whack those triggers.

  There was another boom, and it made Stone’s ears ring. Stone pulled his triggers and held his Colts level, and he was in the war again, riding into the teeth of the enemy at the head of old Troop C.

  No one stood in front of him anymore. He relaxed the fingers on his triggers. The saloon became silent, and he could smell the acrid gunsmoke.

  Five bullet-riddled bodies lay sprawled all over the floor in front of him. Did I get them all?

  Lobo, carrying a shotgun, moved toward him from the left. “We best get out of here.”

  Lobo’s face floated in front of Stone, then began to fade. Stone became dizzy and staggered a few steps. A wave of ferocious pain burst out of his left shoulder and passed like a wave over his body. He staggered a few steps more, trying to stay on his feet, he had to get moving because he knew he was in danger.

  Only his will kept him up. He saw Juanita running toward him out of the fog and heard her scream. She reached for him, and then everything went black.

  Stone’s knees gave out and he went crashing to the floor.

  In a large cave at the base of the Canutillo Mountains, Antonio Vargas slept on a large bed, his arms around Ter
esa Gonzalez, and both of them were naked.

  The bed was in a corner of the cave, hidden by a curtain. Beds and a table and chairs were scattered on the other side of the curtain in the main part of the cave. It was night, and a bird cried far out on the desert.

  Antonio was nineteen years old, with the crude tattoo of a cross on his left shoulder. Dark-skinned, a thin mustache covering his upper lip, he snuggled closer to Teresa, nuzzling his cheek against her breast.

  She had long wavy black hair and was full-bodied, with dark thick eyebrows.

  In the depths of his slumber, Antonio sensed somebody near him. In a flash he was awake, reaching under his pillow for his pistol.

  “It is me, Antonio,” said a voice above him.

  Antonio looked up and saw Miguel, and behind him were other members of the band, including some of the women.

  “What happened?” asked Antonio.

  “A terrible thing,” Miguel said. “Rodrigo has been killed.”

  Antonio sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly wide awake. “What do you mean?”

  “He got in a fight and was killed.”

  Antonio took a deep breath. “You are sure of this?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, and so did the others.”

  Antonio looked at them, and they stood silently before him as if in church. Antonio felt as if he were dreaming.

  “Where is he now?” Antonio asked, and his voice sounded as if someone else were talking.

  “On the porch.”

  “Get out of here and let me put my pants on.”

  They left his small enclosed area, and he and Teresa got out of bed. She dropped her shift over her head, and he pulled on his pants. They came out from behind the curtain and were led out of the cave and into the moonlight.

  A vast landscape of buttes and spires stretched before him, glowing faintly. Stars blazed across the sky and the moon was a huge effulgent globe. Lying on the rock shelf in front of the cave was the body of Rodrigo, covered with blood and gore. Bodies of the other five dead bandits were sprawled nearby.

  Antonio gazed down at Rodrigo, and tears filled his eyes.

  “Who did this thing?” he asked.

  “A stranger,” said Miguel.

  “Why did you let him get away?”

  “We were not with him. We were in another cantina.” Miguel explained how they split up after they arrived in town. Rodrigo and some of them went to La Rosita, and Miguel, with the rest, stopped by La Paloma. Later some of the women who’d gone with Rodrigo ran back with news of the fight.

  “Who saw the fight?” Antonio asked.

  Clara stepped forward, another full-bodied woman, around thirty years old. “It was over Juanita,” she said. “Juanita was flirting with the stranger, and Rodrigo catch them together.”

  “What was this stranger’s name?”

  Miguel cleared his throat, and nervously turned the brim of the hat in his hands. “We ask around, but nobody know. He was a stranger like I said.”

  Antonio looked at Clara. “What did he look like?”

  “He was a big hombre, like this.” Clara held her hand in the air, and Antonio realized the stranger was taller than he. “He was very big this way too.” She held out her hands to show the size of Stone’s wide shoulders. “His hair was light. He kill Rodrigo, and an Indian help him kill the other men. The Indian, he have a shotgun. His name is Lobo and he worked for the Army. He took the stranger with him and they ran away. Nobody knows where they went.”

  “Where is Juanita?”

  “She went with them.”

  Antonio knelt on one knee beside Rodrigo’s stiffening corpse. It was unbelievable to think that someone had killed Rodrigo with a knife. Rodrigo had been a great fighter and had killed many men, but now he himself had been killed. The stranger who killed him must have been an even greater fighter, and that was hard to imagine.

  Tenderly Antonio touched his hand to Rodrigo’s head, and it moved away from Rodrigo’s body. Antonio’s eyes widened with horror when he realized that Rodrigo’s head had nearly been cut off!

  Antonio withdrew his hand quickly. He stood, clenched his teeth. “Saddle up the horses,” he said. “We’re going after them.”

  Chapter Three

  The bugler blew reveille as dawn broke on Fort Kimball. Lieutenant Lowell opened his eyes and groaned. Samantha, his wife, stirred beside him.

  “Stay in bed with me,” she murmured. “Tell them you’re sick.”

  “I have an appointment with the colonel at nine.”

  “Who’s more important to you, the colonel or me?”

  “The colonel.”

  Lieutenant Lowell rolled out of bed and lit a thin cigar from the private stock his father sent him regularly from Boston. Then he stood and pulled on his pants. He walked to the window, separating the drapes.

  The horizon in the east was orange and red, and before him lay the parade ground, a few scattered soldiers running across it. On the other side of the parade ground were more adobe buildings similar to the one Lieutenant Lowell and Samantha lived in. Enlisted men were billeted at the north end of the fort, with married personnel to the south.

  Samantha washed her face in the basin. “Every day I hate this place more. Even when I sleep at night, I get that damned alkali on me.”

  ‘‘It’s your imagination,” he said, puffing his cigar, thrusting his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. “There’s no alkali in here.”

  “Yes, there is. I can feel it. It’s everywhere, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  She walked to the kitchen to light the stove for breakfast. Lieutenant Lowell sat on the bed and pulled on his cavalry boots, thinking about his meeting with Colonel Braddock. He had to present the report on his patrol, and Colonel Braddock always asked difficult questions that Lieutenant Lowell tried to anticipate in advance.

  Standing, he strapped on his saber. Most officers on the frontier didn’t wear them, but Lieutenant Lowell considered his saber the ultimate symbol of the cavalry. He’d been a member of the West Point Fencing Team.

  Samantha dropped something in the kitchen. “Damn!” she said. “Son of a bitch!”

  Lieutenant Lowell walked into the kitchen. “You swear worse than my troopers. I wish you’d cut it out. Somebody’s liable to hear you.”

  “I don’t care if they do hear me,” she said. “I want the whole world to hear me. I hate this place. I want to get out of here. I know we’ve been over this a million times, but I’m sorry, I don’t see why you don’t ask your uncle to get us a transfer back east.”

  “First of all, please lower your voice, because they probably can hear you all the way to Santa Maria del Pueblo. Second, I’ve told you numerous times that I don’t want any special favors from my uncle.”

  He came up behind her and hugged her, cupping her breasts in his hands. She closed her eyes and placed her hands on his arms. “I love you, Josh, but you’re never home and I’m here all alone most of the time in this terrible place.”

  “It’s not Beacon Hill, but I thought you’d get used to it.”

  “I’m not getting used to it. I hate it. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m losing my mind.”

  “The other officers’ wives find things to do.”

  “I never met a duller group of women in my life. Most of them have never heard a concert or seen a play. Most of them don’t even read. All they can talk about is their children.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Samantha turned around in Lieutenant Lowell’s arms. “Who’s that?”

  Lieutenant Lowell released her and walked toward the door. He opened it and saw a sergeant with a red beard standing in front of him. The sergeant wasn’t in his troop, but Lieutenant Lowell had seen him around the fort and had formed an overall good impression of him.

  The sergeant stood at attention and saluted smartly. “Sergeant Gerald McFeeley reporting, sir. I hate to bother you so early in the morning, sir, but there’s something important that I have to talk w
ith you about.”

  Lieutenant Lowell was mystified. What could a sergeant from another troop possibly have to talk with him about?

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about Cap’n Stone, sir.”

  “Who?”

  “The gennelman you met up with yesterday when you was on patrol, sir. I understand you and he became friendly, is that right, sir?”

  “What’s on your mind, Sergeant?”

  “Cap’n Stone is in trouble, sir. I heard from some of my men that he killed a Mexican outlaw named Rodrigo Vargas last night in La Rosita, and the Mexican’s friends are after Cap’n Stone to kill him. Cap’n Stone was wounded bad, and I was wonderin’ if there was some way you could help.”

  Lieutenant Lowell remembered Stone. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take a patrol out and look for him. Maybe you can get to him before the Mexicans, because you know what they’ll do if they find him.”

  “We don’t have any jurisdiction over civilians, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Cap’n Stone was my commanding officer during the war, and a finer soldier there never was. Do you think you could do somethin’, sir?”

  “I’d have to speak with Colonel Braddock.”

  “Would you try?”

  Lieutenant Lowell puffed his cigar as he looked at the tall lanky sergeant standing in front of him. He recalled meeting Stone yesterday and had liked him instantly. Stone had seemed a little jaded by his experiences in the war, but that was understandable. He’d gone to West Point.

  “Of course I’ll speak with the colonel,” Lieutenant Lowell told Sergeant McFeeley. “I’ll see him this morning and bring it up.”

  A smile came over Sergeant McFeeley’s face. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it. One more thing, sir. If you take out a patrol, do you think I could go along.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but tell me something, Sergeant. If Stone was wounded so badly, how did he get away?”

  “One of the Apache scouts helped him, sir. He had a Mexican woman with him too, my men told me.”

  Lieutenant Lowell returned to the kitchen, where Samantha was placing two platters of eggs and sausages on the table. “What was that all about?”