Ambush (22 page)

Linus saw Ward first and he trotted toward him. Storrow came up from another direction.

“Where's Captain Loring?” Ward asked.

Linus pointed toward the east slope, and, then, because he was utterly without breath, he said nothing, dragging in great gusts of already hot air. Ward wheeled and started for the east slope and Linus called, “Wait a minute.”

Sergeant Mack fell in beside him now and Linus guided them across the rocky valley floor to Loring's last position. They first came across the mutilated body of a trooper, and beyond it were three more, their bodies stacked like cordwood. Beyond them was another trooper, his face half shot away.

Loring lay beside a rock; his chest resembled a pincushion, with the five arrows protruding from it. Beyond him was another trooper, face down in the dust.

Standing there, Linus felt the new sun touch his wet shirt, and he shivered involuntarily. He noticed now that all insignia had been cut from Loring's shirt, a souvenir that some Apache must surrender.

He glanced up at Ward, now, who was watching him, and said slowly, “We were doing all right until they crossed the ridge and filtered in behind him.”

“They didn't cross the ridge,” Ward said. “It was a new band, Sal Juan's, that came in behind him.”

“Then he wasn't flanked?”

Linus heard Sergeant Mack say from beside him, “Lieutenant, sir, Captain Loring—”

“All right, Mack,” Ward cut in quietly.

Sergeant Mack ceased talking, and Linus saw him and Ward regard each other a long moment, and then Mack's tough face turned secretive and bland.

“What were you going to say, Sergeant?” Linus asked.

“I was about to say,” Mack said blandly, “that Captain Loring was a fine pistol shot, sir. Isn't it queer that there are no dirty Apaches dead around him?”

Linus studied Mack and knew he was lying, that what he had intended to say before Ward interrupted him was not this. He knew further that he would never know, and at the moment he was too tired to care. Oddly, there were more important things to be done now than the contemplation of his dead commanding officer. Linus searched his own feelings briefly; he was sorry about Loring, but he was sorrier for the death of Trooper Ennis, who lay beyond Loring. Meanwhile, a messenger must be sent to Wolverton to bring Doctor Horton for the wounded. It was the living who counted now, Linus thought, as he turned away.

Troop I arrived in midmorning. Captain Wolverton, upon Loring's death, was in command, and he made his prompt decision to push on for Gamble immediately with Mary Carlyle, the seriously wounded, and the bodies of the dead, who could not remain above ground long in this country. Troop G would wait over a day to rest its slightly wounded, round up the Apache mounts for its captives, and meet the pack train with provisions to feed the Apaches.

On the third day after, Troop G, Ward at its head, Linus and Storrow and Horton behind him, its motley band of captured Apaches and its trailing pack train, moved in through the east sentry gate and halted on the parade in the dusk. Ward saw the troopers from I waiting for G's dismissal before joining them.

Captain Wolverton received Linus' salute and said, “I'll take over, Linus. The major wants to see you and Storrow and Kinsman. Your report is to him.”

“How is he?” Linus asked, swinging stiffly out of his saddle.

Wolverton looked at Horton. “Fine. All we had to do was move Horton away from him. Do you want to see him first, Horton?”

Doctor Horton shook his head. “I wouldn't pet a dog until I've cleaned up. Go ahead, Linus.”

Wolverton dismissed the troop, and Ward, with Linus and Storrow on either side of him, tramped across the parade toward Brierly's house. Little rivers of dust filtered down from his hat brim as he bent down to slap his trousers; he wondered, looking at the dirty smear of beard stubble on Storrow's face, if he looked as ragged and beat, and knew he did.

A hospital orderly let them into Brierly's house, and Linus asked immediately of him, “Where's Miss Dunnifon?”

“She and Mrs. Carlyle are moved to Mr. Storrow's quarters sir. Captain Wolverton said Mr. Storrow will share quarters with you, sir.”

“Just so it's got a bed,” Storrow murmured.

Major Brierly was half propped up in his bed, a lighted lamp on his side table. He received their salutes, reported his health excellent, and then asked for their reports. Watching him as he listened, Ward saw a faint wash of excitement in his pale eyes as Linus described the fight. He nodded with approval at Storrow's account of the seizure of the Apache camp. His questions were few, but one was a request for all the details of Loring's death.

Presently, he said. “That's all, gentlemen. Thank you for coming to me. Ward, will you remain, please?”

Linus and Storrow saluted and went out, and now Brierly waved to a chair, saying, “Before you sit down, light up one of my cigars.” He indicated the closed box on his side table. “I never thought I'd enjoy watching another man smoke if I couldn't, but I find I'm wrong.”

Ward lighted a cigar, and, seating himself tiredly, asked, “How is Mrs. Carlyle?”

“Better than I expected. Ann reports that she found a soft bed so uncomfortable she moved to the floor last night.” Brierly shook his head in wonder. “Women are tough when they have to be.”

This observed, he began to ask questions about the engagement. He asked for a minute description of the country, and listened attentively. His questions were probing ones, and a pleasant five minutes passed before Ward sensed the way this was shaping up, and he dreaded it. Brierly's questioning moved to Ward's scout and the reason for it, and Ward gave him an indirect answer, not mentioning his dismissal by Loring. As he told it, it seemed a routine affair. And then Brierly asked for a description of the Apache camp and its size and how Ward had arrived at his judgment of the numbers, and Ward told him.

“And then you reported back to Captain Loring?”

Ward nodded. Brierly was too shrewd to commit himself yet, but Ward knew what the rest of it would be.

“Reporting, naturally, the number of warriors you had counted?”

At Ward's nod, Brierly looked at him searchingly. “Since your count didn't jibe with Wolverton's message, did you speculate on the whereabouts of the remainder of the band?”

“Of course.”

“To Loring directly? And in what words?”

Ward told him, neglecting to mention Loring's contemptuous dismissal of his warning.

Brierly heard him out and then, after a moment's hesitation, he said, “As I understand it, Captain Loring was aware that the band was split, was warned that he should be on the alert for its absent half, and did nothing about it. He was not flanked by Diablito's band, he was surprised by the band he had ignored. Is that it?”

Ward nodded, and Brierly looked at him a long moment. Then he sighed. “Well, the man's dead. Privately, I consider it a blessing. Publicly, I think there's nothing gained by discussing his mistake. Do you agree?”

“I do.”

Brierly shifted faintly under the covers; this was settled in his mind, and Ward knew that never again would Brierly speak of it, hint of it, or permit any speculation about it among his officers in his presence.

Brierly said now, “Wolverton tells me you found Diablito with a spear through his back.”

Ward nodded. “I think the young warriors got word that the horseherd was stampeded and their women captured, and they wanted to surrender right there rather than fight to the finish. I think they were fed up with his advice and a little crazy with the fighting anyway, so they killed him. They won't talk about it.”

Brierly observed, “It sort of marks the end of something for you, doesn't it? With him gone, we're apt to have a fairly docile bunch on the reservation again.”

“Yes, I'm through,” Ward said slowly.

Brierly regarded him curiously, and asked a blunt “Why?”

Ward looked at his cigar and stretched his legs and slowly crossed them. “You've just said it,” he murmured. “It's the end of something, now Diablito's dead. He was the only real warrior left. He had brains and he had hatred, and a man could put all he had into outguessing him and beating him.”

“That's true,” Brierly agreed. “There'll be other breaks. A tiswin drunk will start at some dance, and all the half-baked youngsters who believe their fathers' lies will break the reservation. But it won't be like Diablito's breaks. The memory of their names will never be used to scare children or set a quiet man cursing.” He paused. “I see what you mean. What'll you do, though?”

“Ranch, freight, find me a mine and work it.”

“And quit running the brush?” Brierly asked, a faint smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“I've worn that out of me,” Ward said quietly, and then he smiled too, looking at Brierly. “It's one too many nights alone that did it. One dry hill that doesn't seem worth the climbing, one too few drinks of water left in the canteen, maybe one too many rocks in the beans. I don't know, but there it is.”

“You haven't—” Brierly ceased speaking as he heard the orderly's voice at the front door. Then there was the heavy tramp of booted feet across the floor and then Linus appeared in the bedroom doorway. He was still dusty, unwashed, and unshaven.

“Excuse me, sir,” Linus said. “I'd like to speak to you.”

Ward made a move to rise, but Linus said, “You can stay, Ward. I'd like you to hear this, too.”

A mild surprise was in Brierly's face; he said, “What is it, Mr. Delaney?”

“Sir, were you told of the death of the prisoner who was killed while trying to escape the other night?”

“Of course,” Brierly said. “Trooper Riordan, the man who attacked me.”

Ward came alert now, watching Linus.

“Sir,” Linus said simply, “I have been in love with Mrs. Riordan for months, and she loves me. So long as her husband was alive, she was loyal to him. Now that he is dead, we wish to marry.”

Brierly's mouth was open to speak; he closed it, and said gently, “Go on, Mr. Delaney.”

“I'm aware of what I'm asking, sir. Mrs. Riordan is the widow of an enlisted man, a drunken brute who was no soldier and no man. Even if we waited a suitable time and we married, there would be talk on the post of an officer marrying the window of an enlisted man. I—would like your advice sir.”

“About marrying her?” Brierly asked sharply.

“No sir, we are marrying,” Linus said flatly. “I would like to stay in the Army, sir. But if I have to resign my commission in order to marry her, I will do so.”

Linus ceased talking and looked at Brierly's respectfully, but there was an iron pride and determination in his eyes, and Ward, seeing it, thought,
You've done it, Linus. You've paid up
.

Brierly said, “That's a curious notion. Where did you get it?”

“Get what, sir?”

“The notion of resigning.” Brierly smiled faintly. “I can appreciate that it would be awkward for you and Mrs. Delaney, considering the circumstances, to remain here. However, this is a sizeable regiment, Mr. Delaney, and it's fairly well scattered. You have a furlough coming next month, haven't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I would suggest that you meet Mrs. Riordan at her home—Ohio, I think she told me it was—and be married. Then I would write a letter to the Colonel respectfully requesting a transfer to another post, since the climate at Gamble does not agree with your wife's health. In view of the report I shall submit on your conduct in the field, I think your letter will receive consideration.

“I shall approve the request for transfer very reluctantly when it comes to me—but I will approve nevertheless. You and your bride will be stationed at some very dismal post which is apt to be a thousand miles from here, but I have no doubt you will enjoy it. Will you step up beside me, Mr. Delaney?”

Linus, his face a mixture of wild joy and stiff self-control, moved over to Brierly's bed. Brierly put out his hand and Linus accepted it.

“Congratulations, Mr. Delaney. If I weren't afraid of starting a hell of a row among the womenfolk, I would tell you that Mrs. Riordan has been my favorite nurse.”

Linus smiled and said huskily, “Thank you, sir. Thank you for everything.” He saluted, and almost ran out of the room.

Ward rose now, noting the weariness on Brierly's face, and said good night.

Shaved and cleaned up, Ward left his room in the sutler's house and stepped out onto the veranda and paused in the warm night. There was a racket of talk in the sutler's bar where the troopers, quenching their long thirst, were refining their stories of the battle.

He made a pretense now of believing the night was open to any whim, and yet he thought,
There's only one place I'll go
. He knew that he would go to Ann now and that nothing on earth could prevent it, because he had to know. Yet still he lingered, feeling the return of the deep shame as he remembered his parting with Ann.

What if he had been wrong in his judgment of Ann's feeling for Ben Loring? He tried to recall any hint of her grief dropped by Major Brierly, and he could not. Was she in the intolerable position of grieving for a lover at the same time she was welcoming a beloved sister? He thought of her now, remembering that it was on this very spot that he had first talked alone with her. And Loring had come for her.
Loring
, he thought quietly.
It was always Loring between us when he was alive. Will he be there now he's dead?

He stepped off the veranda, heading out the gate toward the post. He tried to imagine his life if the memory of Loring was still between them, and he could not. His old life was used up and over, and there was a good chance that he had closed the door on a new one by his rough mocking of Ann when he had left her. Walking quietly in the night, he cursed himself aloud, and then smiled at his childishness and cursed himself privately.