Taggart (1959) (15 page)

Taggart lit his cigarette and stuck the match into the sand.

He got out several cartridges and placed them in a neat row on a flat rock. The
y
looked good there, ready for business. He put the Winchester down and sat back, watchin
g
the Indians moving about the fire, near the spring.

Thoughts of the women went through his mind. That Consuelo was a fine figure of
a
woman. Give a man a time in bed, but for staying quality, day in and day out living
,
she wouldn't hold a candle to Miriam Stark.

He thought of the strange feeling that had risen within him when he sat his hors
e
in the darkness outside the canyon, knowing there was someone near, even knowin
g
that someone was a woman and desirable. It made no sense, but there it was. He ha
d
known.

One of the Apaches was looking up the slope. He had a feeling, that warrior did ...
h
e had him a hunch. Maybe Taggart's attention had drawn their attention. He waited
,
watching without looking directly at them.

The Apache had stepped out from the rest now and was looking up the mountain. Taggar
t
knew he could not be seen ... the broken slabs of rock, the clusters of prickly pear
,
these were a perfect cover. Even if they caught a glimpse of him they might thin
k
it was just part of the prickly pear or the rock. But the attention of the India
n
worried him.

Suddenly the Apache stepped out from the others and started up the slope, walkin
g
slowly, studying the ground occasionally, but coming right on. Taggart drew dee
p
on his cigarette and squinted at the Indian. The wind was from the Indians and towar
d
him, so he had not been worried about them smelling the smoke.

"You, anyway," he said, to himself, "you keep coming and I'll nail your hide to th
e
mast. You I'll take with me."

He was thinking his bullet home, knowing where he would put it, how he would inhale
,
exhale slowly and then squeeze off his shot ... and there would be a dead India
n
at the end of that shot. At that distance and with that target he would not, coul
d
not miss.

The Apache drew nearer. He was no more than eighty yards away now and he had paused.

He was short and stocky, and Taggart could see his face clearly ... broad at th
e
cheekbones.

Taggart rubbed his cigarette out in the sand. He took up the rifle and balanced i
t
in his hands, sighting briefly down the barrel at the middle of the Indian's chest.

Then he lowered the Winchester and waited.

The Apache was looking up the slope and Taggart could see the glint of his eyes.

And then there was a call from down the slope, and the warrior turned and went bac
k
down the hill. Taggart lowered his rifle and leaned it against the rock nearest hi
s
hand.

It was very hot.

Within the canyon there was no sound. The bare rock walls left narrow strips of shado
w
at their foot, and the rivulet of water had long ceased to run. The noon held stil
l
under the Arizona sun, breathless with the moment. Cicadas sang, a shrill accompanimen
t
to the heat.

Miriam came to the door and brushed the hair back from her eyes. She looked dow
n
the canyon toward the mouth, but there was no sound. Adam and Pete Shoyer had gon
e
there, and they would be waiting in the rocks near the canyon's opening, while accordin
g
to Adam, Swante Taggart was somewhere on the mountainside above the canyon's rim.

"No need to worry," Adam had said. "There's a man who'll get along if anyone will."

Yet she did worry. He was up there alone, beyond their sight, and by now he woul
d
be growing hungry. That he had visited Adam earlier Miriam guessed, but Adam ha
d
made no comment.

An hour dragged slowly by, and then another. The Apaches seemed in no hurry to leave.

Most of them rested in the sparse shade of brush or rocks near Mud Spring, whil
e
a few prowled restlessly among the hills, mostly toward Rockinstraw and Redmond Mountain.

Pete Shoyer came back to the house, a heavy, unwashe
d
man as seen by daylight. He grinned widely at Miriam. "Hot down there," he said.

"Will they find us?"

Consuelo came to hear his reply, and Shoyer looked past Miriam at the Mexican girl.

"You never know about 'Paches. The way I figure, they know I'm somewhere around."

He stood at the door and ate the plate of beans and chia that Consuelo brought him
,
his eyes continually straying down canyon.

Suddenly he chuckled. "That there Taggart ... he sure won't try runnin', with thos
e
'Paches out there. They'd have him tied to a cactus in no time."

"Mr. Taggart," Miriam replied quietly, "sees no reason why he should run. I doub
t
if you need worry about it. When this is over, if any of us are alive, he will b
e
here."

Shoyer grinned insinuatingly. "You set store by him, looks to me. It sure looks t
o
me."

"Not particularly," Miriam replied stiffly, "only I'm sure Mr. Taggart is a goo
d
man. He is not a criminal. He is not a murderer. Those men were encroaching on hi
s
land and they began the fight."

"Lady," Shoyer protested, "I ain't the judge. I only hunt him down and make an arrest."

"Or kill him ... and all for money!"

Shoyer was not disturbed. "Don't give me that. I've had all that stuff shoved a
t
me before this, an' it's just the way I make a livin'. Some folks work at one thing
,
some work at another. I work at what I'm best at."

"Why don't you forget Mr. Taggart?" Miriam asked. "When this is over, just ride on?".

He chuckled. "Lady, you really do go for that gent. You really do. Now, the way I'
d
figured," he glanced at Consuelo, "it was this other lady who went for him. Seeme
d
to me that was a goin' thing."

"You're being rude."

Shoyer was not disturbed. "Maybe ... that's the way I see it. How about it, Mex?"

Consuelo drew herself up. "I am married woman."

Shoyer shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first. Good-lookin' man, that Taggart. Now me ...
w
omen folks never made no fuss about me. On'y when I had money. So I pull Taggar
t
in, I have money. "

He finished his plate and licked his lips off carefully, then rubbed his palms o
n
the front of his trousers and accepted the coffee. He had taken the first swallo
w
when they heard the shot.

It came from down canyon. It was sharp and clear, and left an echoing report tha
t
racketed against the rock walls.

Pete Shoyer threw down the cup and, rifle in hand, sprinted for the canyon mouth.

Miriam reached inside the door and took up her rifle.

Chapter
Nine.

S wante Taggart had seen it coming. He had seen it happen. It was the same Apach
e
who had started up the slope. H
e
had been called from the spring by a beckoning Indian, and had started back whe
n
something arrested his attention in the direction of the canyon mouth. Taggart sa
w
the warrior stop, and for several minutes the Indian stood very still. Then, eve
r
so carefully, he began to move toward the spot where the canyon emerged upon th
e
desert.

Taggart, sure the Apache had seen some movement there and was stalking whoever wa
s
on guard there, lifted his rifle. He took careful aim, took up the slack on his trigger
,
then held his slack and waited. If that Apache started to lift his rifle Taggar
t
would fire. The distance was now well over two hundred yards, but Taggart had n
o
doubt of his shot.

Another shot came first.

The Apache made the slightest move upward with the rifle, then even as Taggart wa
s
about to squeeze off his shot the Indian buckled at the knees and pitched forwar
d
on his face, the echo hanging in the still air.

For an instant, Taggart believed he himself had shot. The dust-brown body of th
e
Apache lay in plain sight, sprawled on a clump of prickly pear, the sun gleamin
g
redly on the bloodsplashed leaves.

Nothing else moved.

Taggart shifted his attention to the group around Mud Springs ... but there was n
o
group! There was nobody at all. There were only the horses and the slow, thin spira
l
of the rising smoke from the campfire.

Sweat trickled down his cheek. Taggart eased his tension on the trigger and, keepin
g
his eyes on the slope, dug out the makings. The sun glinted from a rifle barrel .

. . something was moving down there, but Taggart held his fire. No use to let the
m
know what happened until necessary.

The dead Indian lay where he had fallen, nailed with the first shot.

Overhead a buzzard sailed in the blue-brassy sky, and in the far distance over th
e
Four Peaks a few white clouds hung still in the sky. His foot was cramped and h
e
shifted position.

No chance to avoid the fight now ... they were in for it. Only there was nothin
g
to shoot at. Nothing to do but wait. Down below they would be ready. Stark and Shoye
r
would be at the canyon mouth, the girls at the house, and he was here, high on th
e
slope of the mountain with the canyon falling off on his right hand.

Whatever the dead Indian had seen or believed he saw had not been communicated t
o
the others. The Apaches did not know what had happened, and right now they woul
d
be starting to move, to investigate.

The trouble was, the visibility was not good enough. The air was sharp and clear
,
but the slope was dotted with brush, and there was brush in the hollow near the canyo
n
mouth. Swante Taggart turned slowly and studied the mountain above and around him.

A man never took anything for granted in this country if he wanted to keep his hair.

Suddenly he realized he was holding an unlit cigarette in his teeth, and he struc
k
a match with his left hand and lifted it to the cigarette. Just then an Apache cam
e
out of the juniper below him and started across the slope. He had worked his wa
y
up the slope and was not over fifty yards away, and if he reached the canyon at tha
t
level he could look down upon the buildings.

Taggart fired the rifle with one hand, lifting it and squeezing off the shot.

The Indian stumbled, but he did not go down. Like a wounded cat the Apache wheeled
,
and when he started to lift his rifl
e
Taggart shot into his body, aiming from the shoulder this time. The Indian took
a
short quick step up the slope, and then went down to his hands and knees.