Ambush on the Mesa (3 page)

“Good!”

“The name is Chandler Willis.”

“Hugh Kinzie.”

Willis swung his carbine across his thighs. He shifted his chew and spat. “Looks like a long night,” he said laconically.

“Yes. What kind of officers do you have here?”

“Nettleton lives by the book. Never goes far without looking for some regulation to cover what he’s doing. Ain’t never quite sure of himself for my money.”

“And Clymer?”

Willis grinned. “Fancies himself a real stud with the ladies. Got the morals of an alley cat. Lets Nettleton think he’s runnin’ the shebang. Darrell Phillips ain’t a bad hombre. Got breedin’, he has. Might make a good soldier if he didn’t have to serve under those other two.”

“What kind of an officer was Lieutenant Winston?”

“One of the best. A real man. Wasn’t with us long. Come from Fort Buchanan on special duty, or so I heard tell.”

“What kind of special duty?”

Willis eyed Hugh. “How should I know?” All I know is that Nettleton wouldn’t send Phillips out with them steers,
and Clymer wouldn’t go. So Nettleton orders Winston. He
had
to go.”

Hugh nodded. “Did they find Winston’s body?”

“Yep. Only way we could tell him was by his uniform.”

Hugh looked west. Maybe the drafts had been trampled into the dirt along with the bodies of the troopers. Maybe the Apaches had found them and thrown them away, not knowing their value. There wasn’t a chance now of clearing Ron. He shrugged, then looked up the column. He could see Katy Corse riding beside Marion Nettleton. Now and then she steadied the captain’s wife in the saddle when they hit rough spots on the trail. Hugh wondered if he could finish the second part of his task. Chances looked slim on that too.

Hugh looked back down the dim trail. Below them he could see an eye of fire winking in the darkness. The wind had fanned an ember into life. These greenhorns had left a trail as easy to follow as the Oregon Trail across the plains of Kansas.

Willis looked back. “You think them ‘Paches are back there somewheres?”

“I know it, Willis.”

They went on through the darkness with fear riding close behind them.

C
APTAIN
N
ETTLETON
called a halt just when the false dawn showed over the eastern heights. Hugh spurred forward, leaving Chandler Willis as rear guard. Nettleton was close beside his wife, holding her in her saddle. “We’ll stop here and make a fire,” he said to Hugh.

“No fires,” said Hugh shortly.

Able Clymer stood up in his stirrups. “Captain Nettleton is in command, Kinzie.”

Hugh looked at the belligerent bull moose of a man. “We’ll have cold tack,” he said quietly.

Darrell Phillips rode forward and then turned his horse. “There’s some kind of an old wall here,” he said. “It might serve as a defensive position.”

Clymer spat. “Listen to the soldier,” he said.

Hugh kneed his buckskin past Clymer. He rode up to Phillips. Someone, long ago, had built a wall in front of
a
steep slope of rock. “It’ll do,” said Hugh.

Clymer was arguing with Nettleton about something. His voice was too low for Hugh to hear what he was saying.

Nettleton straightened himself in his saddle. “We’ll do as the scout says, Mr. Clymer. We must trust him.”

Darrell Phillips’s handsome face darkened. “Clymer is a bully,” he said.

Hugh nodded. “He’s still obeying orders though.”

Phillips nodded. “Yes, but for how long? If he had his way we’d all be under his filthy thumb.” He looked at Marion Nettleton. “She’s exhausted,” he said.

“Katy is holding up.”

“There’s a difference. Marion is gentle bred.”

“Out in this country a woman is judged for what she can do rather than from how she was bred.”

Phillips’s dark eyes studied Hugh. “You knew her before?”

“Yes. Last year when I was at Fort Buchanan.”

“Good friends, I take it?”

Hugh looked quickly at the officer. “Yes. She was engaged to Herbert Oglesby, a corporal in the dragoons.”

“I see. She’d make a good wife for an enlisted man.”

Hugh leaned forward. “She’d make a good wife for
any
man, Mr. Phillips.” He spurred his buckskin back toward the party.

Phillips shrugged. He looked at Katy Corse. She was riding astride, like a man. Her shapely legs were exposed from the knees down, and she seemed to be perfectly at home in the saddle. For the first time since he had seen her at Fort Ayres he realized that she was a damned attractive woman.

Hugh sat his buckskin as the enlisted men carried food and weapons behind the low wall. Marion Nettleton was seated on a rock. Her husband bustled about her, pulling her shawl about her shapely shoulders. Hugh eyed her. Her oval face had evidently been protected against the hot suns of the Southwest, for it still had a cameo quality to it. Her eyes were large, almost too large for her face. There was a petulant look about her full lips.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Nettleton.

“Maurice, do stop annoying me,” she said. “I’ll have my coffee here.”

Nettleton looked up at Hugh and then bit his lip. “We’re not to have a fire,” he said.

“Why? I want hot coffee. It’s such a little thing to ask.”

Nettleton looked at Hugh. Hugh shook his head. He kneed his horse down the trail. Behind him he heard her petulant voice. “I’d like to know who is in command here, Maurice.”

Willis was squatted on a rock above the trail. “No signs yet,” he said.

“There will be.”

Willis looked up the canyon. “What’s up there?”

“Damned if I know.”

The trooper shifted his chew. “Jesus! What a mess!”

“I’ll go along with you on that.”

“A man or two could get through, traveling at night, lying low by day.”

Hugh studied the enlisted man. “I think so. But we have two women to take care of.”

“Who? Me? I didn’t enlist to take care of no women.”

“You’re still under orders, Willis.”

“Yeah. But for how long? Clymer hates Nettleton’s guts. Phillips hates Clymer’s guts. Sergeant Hastings hates everybody’s guts.”

“And you?”

The cold pale eyes held Hugh’s. “I’m thinking about my guts.”

Hugh looked down at his Sharps. “You’ll stick,” he said.

Willis shifted a little. “Mebbe. Mebbe not. Don’t threaten me, Kinzie. I don’t scare easy. Besides, there’s others in this outfit as ain’t too happy about herding these officers and women through this hellhole of a country. You’ll find out in time.”

Hugh rode back down the trail. He was a good two miles from the temporary camp when he saw the smoke drifting from a peak. It was closer than it had been yesterday. He rolled a smoke and hooked his left leg about his saddlehorn. He lit up and eyed the distant smoke. The horses were worn thin. They needed at least a day’s rest. There was a hell of
a
trail ahead of them.

Hugh rode back to the camp just as the sun showed up over the eastern heights. The woman were resting on blankets. Isaiah Morton was reading a battered Bible. Corporal Roswell was up the slope with his carbine resting across his thighs. A burly private stepped in front of Hugh. “I’m Dan
Pearce,” he said in a New York accent. “What’s the odds of us getting through, scout?”

Hugh slid from his saddle. “Fair.”

Pearce had a hard face with small green eyes. There was a furtive look about him. “You talk with Willis?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Breaking loose to try for the Rio Grande.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“If he goes, he goes alone. If I see him taking off, I’ll kill him.”

Pearce raised his head. “Hardcase, eh?”

“No. But I’ve got a job to do and I aim to do it.”

Hugh turned his back on Pearce. Pearce stared at Hugh’s broad back for a moment, then he walked down the trail toward Willis. The two of them sat on the rock ledge, talking quietly.

A trooper was busy picketing the horses. Hugh walked over to him. “Put them on separate picket lines,” he said.

The trooper turned a good-humored face toward Hugh. “Can I ask why?”

“If they’re stampeded we can save most of them. On one picket line the whole kit and caboodle would go.”

The trooper nodded. “By God, I’da never thought of that. The name is Jonas Stevens.”

Hugh nodded. “You’re not getting much help,” he said. He uncoiled a picket line and drove the picket deep into the soft soil. He picketed Phillips’s fine chestnut.

Stevens looked back at the camp. “Don’t seem to be any of them who want to work together. When I enlisted at Jefferson Barracks in fifty-nine we got lectures on how the army always works as a team. Looks like I’m the only one around here that remembers it.”

Hugh picketed another horse. “I do,” he said quietly.

They worked together picketing the horses near a patch of grass. Hugh walked over to the pack mules. They were dead beat, for no one had thought of removing their packs. Stevens helped him remove the packs. “Poor jugheads,” he said.

Abel Clymer came toward them. “Take it easy with those packs,” he said.

Hugh turned and shoved one of them at the big officer.

Clymer staggered back until he got his balance. “Damn you!” he said.

Hugh grinned. “Pitch in,” he said.

Clymer threw the pack on the ground at Hugh’s feet. For a moment he eyed him angrily, then he turned on a heel and strode toward his own horse. He took the saddlebags from it and placed them over his arm. He looked back at Hugh and then strode to the camp.

“Nice fella,” said Stevens dryly.

“Bull moose.”

“Yeah, but he ain’t no pushover, Kinzie. Watch yourself.”

“Were you there when Winston and his men were found?”

Stevens shuddered. “Yes. What a mess!”

“Any of Winston’s personal baggage found?”

“None. Everything was stamped into the ground. Men, blankets, food … everything. Why do you ask?”

“I thought someone might have brought his effects along. For his family, you know.”

“Nope. Nothing. Besides, we got enough of a load with Nettleton’s personal property. Silver, liquor, clothing and such like. Practically no food, but all of Nettleton’s stuff. Hell of a note, ain’t it?”

Hugh nodded. He picketed a mule. Stevens studied him as he worked. He rubbed his bristly jaw and then shrugged. “
Personal
effects,” he said dryly. “Jesus Christ!”

Hugh walked back to the camp.

A neat little soldier holding a tin plate came toward Hugh. He held it out. “Embalmed beef and hardtack,” he said quietly. “It isn’t much, I’ll allow, but just about all we have.”

Hugh waved a hand. “Keep it. I’ve got my own supplies.”

The little man nodded. “Thanks. I’m Myron Greer, orderly for the officers.”

“Nice job,” said Hugh.

Greer shrugged. “I was company clerk at Ay res. Mr. Clymer told me to take over as orderly to relieve Willis. He said Willis was a man, not a frightened worm.”

Greer spoke in cultured tones. The man had been educated. He didn’t look like the type who would make a hard-riding, hell-for-leather dragoon.

Hugh rolled a smoke. “How is it an educated man like yourself ended up as a company clerk in the dragoons, Greer?”

Greer smiled sadly. “Liquor.”

“I’ve heard that one before. My old squadron commander used to say that when he got a clerk worth anything the man was a drunkard.”

Greer looked up. “Kinzie, if it weren’t for whisky there wouldn’t
be
any clerks in the army. You wouldn’t happen to have a drink, would you?”

Hugh shook his head. There was a bottle of mezcal in one of his saddlebags, but he knew damned well Greer wouldn’t settle for one drink. He’d need the whole bottle.

Nettleton came over to them. “Greer!” he said pettishly. “Mrs. Nettleton wants some cold clear water.”

Greer held out his free hand. “The canteens are full, sir.”

“Find a spring.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hugh shook his head. “He’ll have to stay here.”

“Afraid he’ll run off?” snapped Nettleton. “Greer? He’s scared to death right now.”

Hugh looked south. There was still a wisp of smoke against the sky. “So am I,” he said.

Greer shambled off toward the camp. Nettleton took out a silver cigar case, selected a cigar, clipped the end with a silver clipper which depended from a silver chain. He put the cigar into his mouth and lit it. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked.

“Rest here. I doubt if they can get past us to attack from the west, east or north. Willis is on guard. I’m going to scout up the canyon.”

“There are no Apaches there.”

“We don’t know the country. From now on we’ll have to find a trail. It’d be too damned easy to end up in a box canyon and have to backtrack. We’d lose hours, if not days.”

“I see. What do you think our chances are?”

Hugh took out his tobacco pouch. “You’re the third or fourth person who has asked me that today.”

Nettleton jerked his cigar from his mouth. “I don’t want you talking too much to these enlisted men. Keep your counsel for the officers.”

Hugh rolled a smoke. “The enlisted men are in this too,” he said quietly.

Nettleton’s face tightened. He looked down at the green-striped trousers Hugh wore tucked into his boots. “You were an enlisted man yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Mounted Rifles?”

Hugh nodded as he lit up.

“They never did have much respect for an officer.”

Hugh looked at the angry officer. “I didn’t find it so. I do recall one of our surgeons saying that the officers of the Mounted Rifles were all gentlemen, brave and generous to a fault — but the most cantankerous lot he had ever met. There wasn’t much chance for an enlisted man to be disrespectful to an officer in
my
regiment, Captain Nettleton.”

Nettleton looked away. “Well, get on with your job.” He strode back toward the camp.

Hugh walked to his horse and got his canteen and Sharps. Katy Corse came up and placed her hand on the buckskin’s nose. “You’re not taking him, are you?” she asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think you would. He’s tired.”

“He’s got more bottom in him than any other mount here.”

“I believe it.”

Katy brushed back her dark hair. “You’ve never forgiven me, have you, Hugh?”

“You made your choice.”

“You never gave me much hope.”

“I didn’t fall all over you like Herbert Oglesby did.”

“Herbert was a fine man.”

Hugh hooked his canteen to his belt. “You would have ended up being a corporal’s wife, perhaps a sergeant’s wife, Katy.”

“So? You were just a sergeant.”

“I’ll get my commission.”

She leaned against the horse. “
If
we get out of here.”

“We’ve got to.”

She studied him. “I used to think you were different from your brother, but now I think differently.”

“How so?”

“He was all business. Is it true he joined the Confederates?”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

“And you?”

He looked up quickly. “You know I’ll stay with the Union.”

“This war will split a lot of families.”

“Ron and I were never very close.”

“Maybe that’s why you want a commission, to prove to yourself you’re as good a man as he is.”

“Katy, sometimes you talk too much.”

She smiled. “You haven’t changed.”

“I’m too old to change, Katy.” He unsaddled the buckskin and dropped the saddle on the ground. “Did you know Lieutenant Winston?”

“Yes. I rode with him from Fort Buchanan to Fort Ayres, He practically ordered me to.”

“I can’t imagine anyone giving
you
orders,” he said dryly.

“Why do you ask about him?”

“Just curious.”

She shook her head. “There’s more to it than that. It’s about those government drafts, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She looked toward the camp. “I think he had them with him. They were part of your brother’s responsibility, weren’t they?”

Hugh nodded.

“I stayed at Fort Ayres when he went on with the beef cattle. He was sent to his death. The cattle weren’t worth the loss of all those men and especially of a man like him.”

“What about the drafts?”

“I’m not sure he had them, Hugh, but he was always so careful to sleep with his head on his saddlebags. He protested against having to take charge of the beef herd but Nettleton insisted. Nettleton really wanted Abel Clymer to lead the herd — just to get rid of him — but Clymer has Nettleton under his control. At least he did until you got here.”