35
they’d just be dancin’ around jabbin’ him with their
knives and laughin’.” Fry stopped and looked at the
captain.
Travisin stared at old Solomon without blinking,
his jaw muscles tightening and relaxing, his teeth
grinding against one another. Only once in a while
did Fry see him as the young man with feelings. It
was a strange sight, the man fighting the boy; but
always the man would win and he would go on as
relentlessly as before, but with an added ruthlessness that had been sharpened by the emotional
surge. Travisin never dealt in half measures. He felt
sorrow for the old man cut to the bottom of his
stomach, and he swore to himself a revenge,
silently, though the fury of it pounded in his head.
✯
Chapter Five
They camped at Solomon’s cabin that night, after burying the man and woman, and were up before dawn, in the saddle again on the trail of Pillo.
They rode more anxiously now. Caution was still
there, for that was instinct with Travisin and the
scouts, but every man in the small company could
feel an added eagerness, a gnawing urge to hound
Pillo’s spoor to the end and bring about a violent
revenge.
36
ELMORE LEONARD
De Both sensed it in himself and saw it easily in
the way the Apache scouts clutched their carbines
and fingered the triggers almost nervously. He felt
the tightness rise in him and felt as if he must shriek
to be relieved of the tension. Then he knew that it
was the quickness of action mounting within him,
that charge placed in a man’s breast when he has to
go on to kill or be killed. He watched Travisin for a
sign to follow, a way in which to react; but as before he saw only the impassive, sun-scarred mask,
the almost indolent look of half-closed eyes searching the surroundings for an unfamiliar sign.
By early afternoon, the thrill of the chase was
draining from Second Lieutenant William de Both.
His legs ached from the long hours in the saddle,
and he gazed ahead, welcoming the green valley
stretching as far as the eye could see, twisting
among rocky hills, looking thick and cool. Over the
next rise, they forded the Salt River, shallow and
motionless, just west of Cherry Creek, and continued toward the wild, rugged rock and greenery in
the distance. De Both heard Fry mention that it was
the southern edges of the Tonto Basin, but the
name meant little to him.
Toward sundown they were well into the wildness of the Basin. For de Both, the promise of a
shady relief had turned into an even more tortuous
ride. Through thick, stabbing chapparal and over
steep, craggy mounds of rock they made their way.
Trail of the Apache
37
The trees were there, but they offered no solace;
they only urged a stronger caution. The sun was
falling fast when Travisin stopped the group on the
shoulder of a grassy ridge. Below them the ground
fell gradually to the west, green and smooth, extending for a mile to a tangle of trees and brush
that began to climb another low hill. Behind it,
three or four miles in the distance, the facing sun
painted a last, brilliant yellow streak across the
jagged top of a mountain.
✯ ✯ ✯
Ningun jumped down from his pony as the others dismounted, and stared across the grass valley
for a full minute or more. Then he spoke in English, pointing to the light-streaked mountain of
rock. “There you find Pillo.”
Fry conversed with him in Apache for a while,
shooting an occasional question at one of the other
scouts, and then said to Travisin, “They all agree
that’s most likely where Pillo is. One of ’em says
Pillo used to have a rancheria up there. Pro’bly a
favorite spot of his.” The scout sat down in the
grass and reached for his tobacco chew.
Travisin squatted next to him, Indian fashion,
and poked the ground idly with a short stick. “It’s
still following, Barney,” he said. “He must have
heard of this place and remember it. He purposely
38
ELMORE LEONARD
picked a place we’d be sure to come to, and on top
of that he made it double easy to find.”
“Well, you got to admit he’ll be fair hard to root
out, sittin’ on top of that hill. Maybe he just wanted
a good advantage.”
“He had advantages all along the way. Here’s the
key, Barney. Did he ever once try to get away?”
Travisin sat back and watched the outline of the
mountain in the fading light. “Now why the devil
did he want to bring us here?” He spoke to himself
more than to anyone else.
Fry bit off a chew, packing it into his cheek with
his tongue. He mumbled, “You’ve had more luck
figurin’ the ’Paches than anyone else. You tell me.”
“I can’t tell you anything, Barney, but I guess one
thing’s sure. We’re going to play Pillo’s game just a
little longer.” He looked up over Fry’s shoulder toward the group of scouts. They sat in a semicircle.
All wore breechcloths, long moccasins rolled just
below the knees, and red calico bands around jetblack hair. Only their different-colored shirts distinguished them. Ningun wore a blue, cast-off
army shirt. A leather belt studded with cartridges
crossed it over one shoulder. Travisin beckoned to
him. “Hey, Ningun. Aquí! ”
The Apache squatted next to them silently as
Travisin began to draw a map in a bare portion of
ground with his stick. “Here’s where we are and
here’s that mountain yonder,” he indicated, draw-Trail of the Apache
39
ing a circle in the earth. “Now you two get together
and tell me what’s up there and what’s in between.”
He handed the stick to Fry. “And talk fast; it’s getting dark.”
Not more than an hour later the sun was well behind the western rim of the Basin. The plan had
been laid. Travisin and Ningun gave their revolving
pistols a last inspection and strode off casually into
the darkness of the valley. It struck de Both that
they might have been going for an after-dinner
stroll.
They kept to the shadows of the trees and rocks as
much as possible, Travisin a few steps behind the
Apache, who would never walk more than twenty
paces without stopping for what seemed like minutes. And then they would go on after the silence settled and began to sing in their ears. Travisin muttered
under his breath at the full moon that splashed its
soft light on open areas they had to cross. Ningun
would walk slowly to the thinnest reaches of the
shadows and then dart across the strips of moonlight. For a few seconds he would be only a dark blur
in the moonlight and then would disappear into the
next shadow. Travisin was never more than ten paces
behind him. Soon they were out of the valley ascending the pine
-dotted hill. The sand was soft and loose
underfoot, muffling their footsteps, but they went on
slowly, making sure of each step. In the silence, a dislodged stone would be like a trumpet blast.
40
ELMORE LEONARD
On the crest of the hill, Travisin looked back
across the valley. The shadowy bulk of the ridge
they had left earlier showed in the moonlight, but
there was no sign of life on the shoulder. He had
not expected to see any, but there was always the
young officer. It took more than one patrol to learn
about survival in Apache country.
✯ ✯ ✯
They made their way down the side of the slope
into a rugged country of twisting rock formations
and wild clumps of desert growth. The mountain
loomed much closer now, a gigantic patch of soft
gray streaking down from its peak where the
moonlight pressed against it. At first, they progressed much slower than before, for the irregular
ground rose and fell away without warning;
grotesque desert trees and scattered boulders limited their vision to never more than fifty feet ahead.
Though at a slower pace, Ningun went ahead with
an assurance that he knew where he was going.
Soon they reached a level, bare stretch that
seemed to extend into the darkness without end.
good five hundred yards, and then turned back toward the mountain and the bare expanse of desert
leading toward it. He beckoned to Travisin and slid
down the crumbly bank of an arroyo that led out
into the desert. In five months it would be a rush-Trail of the Apache
41
ing stream, carrying the rain that washed down
from the mountain. Now it was a dark path offering a stingy protection up to the door of Pillo’s
stronghold.
They followed the erratic, weaving course of the
arroyo until it turned sharply, as the ground began
to rise, and passed out of sight around the southern
base of the mountain. The top of the mountain still
lay almost a mile above them—up a gradual slope
at first, dotted with small trees, then to rougher
ground. The last few hundred yards climbed tortuously over steep jagged rock to the mesa above.
Ningun scurried out of the arroyo and disappeared into a small clump of brush a dozen yards
away. In a moment his head appeared, and Travisin
followed. They crept more cautiously now from
cover to cover. A low, mournful sound cut the stillness. Both stopped dead. Travisin waited for
Ningun to move, but he remained stone-still for almost five minutes. No sound followed. Ningun
shook his head and whispered, “Night bird.”
✯ ✯ ✯
He led on, not straight up, but almost parallel
with the base of the mountain, climbing gradually
all the time. They had almost reached the steeper
grade when the Apache pointed ahead to a black
slash that cut into the mountain. Going closer,
Travisin made out a narrow canyon that reached
42
ELMORE LEONARD
into the mountain on an upgrade. It was gouged
sharply into the side of the mountain and extended
crookedly down the slight grade to the desert below. Ahead, it made a bend in the darkness and was
lost to sight. They climbed along the rim of the
canyon for a few minutes while Travisin studied its
course and depth, then they doubled back, climbing
steadily up the mountain. A hundred yards further
on, the Apache gave Travisin a sign and disappeared into the darkness. He waited for almost
twenty minutes, toward the end beginning to wonder about the Indian, and then he looked to the side
and saw Ningun approaching only a few feet away.
The Apache pressed one finger to his lips, then
whispered to the captain. Travisin nodded and followed him, creeping slowly up the rocky incline
above. They reached a wide ledge, Ningun leading
along it to the left before climbing again over a
shoulder-high hump that stretched into a long, flat
piece of ground. Two hundred yards to the right,
the mountain rose higher to a craggy peak, sharp
and jagged. Nothing would be up there. Travisin
and Ningun were on the mesa. Not far away they
heard a pony sneeze.
On this part of the mesa the grass was tall. They
crawled along, a foot at a time, toward the sound of
the pony. The grass made a slight, stirring noise as
they crawled through it, but at that height it could
easily be the wind. Every few feet they would sink
Trail of the Apache
43
to their stomachs and lie flat in the grass for a matter of minutes, and then go on, extending a hand
slowly to a firm portion of ground before dragging
up the legs just as slowly. In this way they covered a
portion of the mesa that extended to a scattered
line of small boulders. The occasional snort of a
pony seemed to come from less than a stone’s
throw away.
Travisin raised his head gradually an inch at a
time until he could look between two of the rocks.
From there the ground dipped slightly into a shallow pocket, descending from four sides to form a
natural barricade. As he peered over the rocks, the
moon passed behind a cloud and he could make
out only the dying embers of a cook fire in the
middle of the area. As the cloud moved on, the
moon began to reappear gradually, the soft light
crawling over slowly from the right, first illuminating the pony herd and then extending toward the
center of the pocket. In a few seconds the entire
camp area was bathed in the light. Travisin felt a
weight drop through his breast as he counted
sixty-three Chiricahuas.
The amazement of it held his gaze between the
two rocks for a longer time than he realized. He
jerked his head back quickly and looked at Ningun
who had been spying the camp from a similar concealment. As he looked at Ningun he realized that
the Apache understood now, just as he did, why
44
ELMORE LEONARD
Pillo had left such an obvious trail. But this was not
the place to discuss it.
Making their way back to the outer edge of the
mesa seemed to take even longer, though actually
they snaked through the tall grass at a faster pace
than before. They were seasoned enough to retain
their calm caution, but now time was even more
important, if they were to cope with Pillo. In less
than two hours the sun would be present to create
new problems. At the edge of the mesa Travisin,
still crouched, peered cautiously to the ledge below,
and then past it, determining the quickest route that
would lead them to their planned rendezvous with
Fry and the others.
Without speaking, he nudged Ningun and
pointed a direction diagonally down the mountainside. The scout rose to his feet silently and placed
himself in position to jump to the ledge below.
Travisin turned his head for a last look in the direction of th
e hostile camp. As he did so, he heard a
dull thud and an agonizing grunt escape from the
scout. He wheeled, instinctively drawing his pistol,
and saw Ningun go backward over the edge, an arrow shaft protruding from his chest.
✯ ✯ ✯
Travisin was up and hurling himself at the ledge in
one motion. It happened so fast that the Apache
aiming his bow on the ledge below was just a blur,
Trail of the Apache
45
but he heard the arrow whine overhead as he
landed on the sprawled form of Ningun and was
projected off balance toward the Apache a few feet
away. The Apache hurled his bow aside with a
piercing shriek and went for a knife at his waist just
as Travisin brought his pistol up. In the closeness,
the front sight caught in the Apache’s waistband on
the upward swing, and the barrel was pressing into
his stomach when he pulled the trigger. The Indian
screamed again and staggered back off the ledge.
Travisin hesitated a second, searching the mountainside for the best escape, but it was too late. He
heard the yelp at the same time he felt the heavy
blow at the back of his skull. He heard the wind
rush through his ears and saw the orange flash sear
across his eyes, and then nothing.
✯
Chapter Six
Pillo waited until the officer opened his eyes and
started to prop himself up on his elbows. Then he
kicked Travisin in the temple with the side of his
moccasined foot. The Indians howled with laughter
as Travisin sprawled on his back, shook his head
and attempted to rise again. Pillo caught him on the
shoulder this time, but still with enough force to
slam the officer back against the ground. The other
46
ELMORE LEONARD
Apaches closed in, a few of them catching Travisin
about the head and shoulders with vicious kicks,
before Pillo stepped close to Travisin and held his
hands in the air. He chattered for some time in
Apache, raising and lowering his voice, and at the
end they all stepped back; Pillo was still chief,
though wizened and scarred with age. Travisin
knew enough of the tongue to know that he was being saved for something else. He thought of old
Solomon.