over. Levering the Winchester, he swung the muzzle toward the warrior, who had leaped agilely back to his feet.
Flame stabbed into the darkness as the Winchester blasted. The Kid saw the Apache jerk and stumble, but the would-be killer kept coming at him.
He wasn’t alone, either. With howls meant to strike fear into an enemy’s heart, more of the warriors leaped from the bank into the camp.
The Kid’s shot had alerted Kelly and the other men, however, and like him, the perilous lives they led had given them to ability to wake up instantly and be dangerous right away. Kelly came up out of his bedroll with a revolver in each hand. Colt flame bloomed in the night as both guns roared their deadly song.
Chess had his rifle. It barked wickedly as he cranked off several shots in less than two heartbeats. A few yards away, Valdez employed a machete he had pulled from somewhere in his gear. He hacked left and right as he waded into the attacking Apaches. Blood flew in the air like rain.
Mateo fought the invaders on their own terms, gliding through the shadows like a phantom. The knife in his hand flicked out, snake-quick, and cut a throat or pierced a heart.
The Kid was still in the fight, too. He whirled and fired the Winchester again, cutting down another warrior about to leap off the bank.
There were more Apaches up on the bank, and they stopped trying to engage their foes in close combat. They opened fire with their rifles, pouring lead down into the wash heedless of hitting their own men.
The Kid dived behind a rock as bullets whined around him. He came up on a knee and brought the Winchester to his shoulder as he returned the fire. His aim was deadly accurate, even in the dark, as he used the muzzle flashes as targets.
Kelly’s revolvers and Chess’s rifle blasted from where they had taken cover in the thick brush. As The Kid reloaded, he glanced around to see where Valdez and Mateo were, but he couldn’t account for them. It was possible they were among the sprawled shapes lying motionless on the ground in death.
Then, suddenly, the men on the bank began shrieking in pain, cries that were abruptly cut off. Someone roared curses in Spanish. It was Valdez.
“Hold your fire!” Kelly shouted. “Lupe and Mateo are up there among them!”
It was true. Several of the Apaches came hurtling off the bank to land on the floor of the wash in limp sprawls. No more shots rang out, but The Kid heard some ugly, wet sounds that had to be Valdez’s machete chopping into human flesh.
A few moments later, Valdez called, “They are all dead.”
“Mateo?” Kelly asked.
“Si,” the Yaqui replied in a flat voice. The Kid didn’t know whether Mateo was agreeing with Valdez’s assessment or just acknowledging that he was still alive. It didn’t really matter.
“Chess?”
“I’m all right, Kelly. A scratch or two, that’s all.”
“Morgan?”
“Right here,” The Kid said. “I’m fine.”
Valdez and Mateo slid down the bank.
“I need a light,” Valdez said. “One of the bastards stuck a knife in my arm.”
“Chess, stir up the fire and see if there are any embers left,” Kelly ordered. “Don’t worry, Lupe, we’ll patch you up.”
“The only thing I worry about is if this arm stiffens up. This is my scalping arm!”
Within a few minutes, Chess had a little fire burning again. By its light, he examined the deep gash in Valdez’s arm.
“You got any of that tequila left?” Chess asked.
“Si, of course.”
“I can put it to good use.”
In the flickering light, Valdez looked horrified. “You mean to use perfectly good tequila to clean this knife wound?” he demanded. “I would sooner have my whole arm rot off than waste it that way!”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” Kelly said. “You’re the best man with a knife we have.” He paused. “Well, when it comes to taking an Apache’s hair, anyway. I reckon Mateo’s got you beat when it comes to pure killing.”
The Yaqui grunted.
“All right,” Valdez said with a sigh. “Chess, do what you have to do.”
Chess fetched the bottle from Valdez’s saddlebags and poured the raw liquor over the wound, washing away the blood and hopefully anything else that might cause it to fester. “A sawbones would probably stitch that up, but I’ve never been much of one for sewing.”
Mateo put a hand on Chess’s shoulder and made a motion with his head to indicate that Chess should step aside.
Valdez’s eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t let that loco Indian near me!”
“He just wants to help you,” Kelly said.
“Si ... by torturing me!”
Mateo’s lips moved a fraction of an inch in what passed for a smile.
In the end, after Valdez had downed several healthy slugs of the tequila, Mateo stitched up the ugly gash and wrapped clean strips of cloth around it, knotting them tightly in place. Valdez moved his arm around and winced at the pain that caused.
“It hurts, but I can use it.” As if to prove it, he drew his knife from its sheath. “Lemme at those scalps.”
Mateo went with him and stood guard while Valdez went about his grisly work, stuffing scalp after scalp into the canvas bag.
While that was going on, The Kid, Kelly, and Chess hunkered by the fire.
“You reckon there are any more traps like that waiting for us up ahead?” Chess asked.
“Not much chance of it,” Kelly answered without hesitation. “I’m not surprised some of those varmints were laying for us down here, but there were at least ... what? Ten of them?”
“At least,” Chess agreed. “I’m sure Valdez is keeping an accurate tally.”
“The rest of those Apaches probably think that was plenty to deal with any threat,” Kelly went on. “They sure as hell won’t be expecting any trouble now. This plays right into our hands.”
The Kid had already figured out how Kelly approached things. No matter what happened, Kelly was going to claim that was what he expected, and not only that, it was going to work out to their advantage. He was an eternal optimist and a man who couldn’t admit even the possibility that he’d been wrong about something.
The Kid didn’t care. Kelly could think whatever he wanted to. The only thing that mattered was that they stay alive long enough to get those prisoners away from the Apaches.
Valdez and Mateo came back to the fire. Valdez tossed the sack onto the ground. It made a squishy sound when it landed.
“Twelve more scalps, amigos,” he said. “We have collected an even twenty. A good day’s work.”
“We can do better,” Kelly said. “I’d like to get every one in that war party.”
“That would be a small fortune,” Chess observed.
“Damn right it would.” Kelly jerked his head in a nod. “And who deserves it more than we do?”
Valdez grinned, Chess smiled, and even Mateo nodded his head in agreement.
“You’ve been good luck for us since you came along, Kid,” Kelly said. “If those Apaches had cut your throat and jumped the rest of us without any warning, they probably would have wiped us out.”
“You’re saying that I saved your lives?” The Kid asked.
Kelly’s face hardened slightly in the firelight. “I’m saying that you’re earning your share, nothing more than that. Don’t go getting a big head. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
“And by a lot of work, you mean a lot of killing,” The Kid said.
“Well, sure.” Kelly looked around. “Any of that tequila left?”
They rode away early in the morning, leaving the Apaches’ bodies for the buzzards, the coyotes, and the ants.
