Lord Apache

Drumm clapped him on the back. 'Capital, Eggie! You are indeed a coper, one of the best! Here—let me help you!'

While they were working on the shelter, Drumm pausing from time to time to scan the distance for signs of further attack, or possibly rescue, Eggleston came upon a stand of odd-looking plants. He pulled one up and inspected it, roots dripping mud and water.

'That is Indian corn,' Drumm said. 'What the Americans call 'roasting ears.' Do you remember—in the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco they were served boiled, with butter and salt and pepper?'

'I wonder how it came to be here?' Eggleston mused.

'Probably a passing cavalry patrol once stopped to feed and water its mounts, dropping a few grains that later took root.'

'Even with butter and salt and pepper,' the valet said, 'I remember thinking it more suited to the feeding of animals than humans. Nevertheless—' He stripped off an armful of the ears. 'It is a kind of food, I daresay. We can not afford to be too particular!'

Drumm was plastering the roof of the hut with black clinging mud when he heard the faraway sound, a muffled popping. Running to the canvas shelter, where Eggleston was stripping the husks from the ears, he snatched up his spyglass. Focusing, he scanned the horizon. At last he made out, descending the jagged cleft of the canyon where they had first met George Dunaway and the men of B Company, a coach and team traveling at fearful speed.

'It is probably the stage from Phoenix,' he told Eggleston. 'From the sound of gunfire, they have encountered Agustin and his braves in the canyon.'

Indian corn forgotten, they watched the distant speck, hearing the muffled rattle of gunfire borne on the wind. The coach seemed to crawl interminably toward them, though the horses were galloping hard.

'It is difficult,' Drumm muttered, 'to estimate distance in this ridiculous country!'

'But I am glad,' the valet said, 'that there is at least some vehicle on this lonely road, even if it be fleeing from red Indians!'

The coach reached level ground, rocking toward them in a cloud of dust. Moments later it arrived, stopping in the road with a squealing of brakes. The driver reined up the six-horse team so hard that the animals sat back on their haunches; the dusty high-wheeled coach swayed on its thoroughbraces.

'Good Lord!' Eggleston murmured. 'Look at that, Mr. Jack!'

The California and Arizona stage line sign was riddled and splintered with bullet holes. Arrows stuck into the boot, fringed the baggage atop the coach like quills of a hedgehog. A feathered lance was driven halfway through one door.

The driver, a whiskered man in a straw hat, jumped down and opened the door. The leathery ancient in greasy buckskins who sat beside him on the high seat laid aside his rifle and assisted the passengers from the coach. Most were important-looking men in clawhammer coats and uncomfortable-looking paper collars; all were heavily armed with rifles and pistols. There were also two ladies. One of the females was young—tall and angular, narrow-waisted, with a wealth of red hair tied in place by a China silk scarf. The other was middle-aged, gray tresses done up in a bun, and carried a capacious reticule and a parasol. A powerfully built man with a square-cut black beard and gold watch chain shook hands with Jack Drumm. 'Sam Valentine,' he introduced himself, 'from Maricopa County.' He pointed to the others. 'We're all elected to the new session of the Legislature. Traveling to Prescott when some of Agustin's braves jumped us in Centinela Canyon back there.' He looked around at the ruins of Jack Drumm's camp. 'What in hell happened to you?'

'Drumm,' Jack said. 'Jack Drumm. My valet and I were traveling through here when they attacked us also, night before last. The rascals ransacked the camp, destroyed most of our gear, and drove away our animals— except for that one mule.'

The old man in buckskins grinned toothlessly at Drumm. 'At first,' he cackled, 'I didn't recognize you, Mr. Drumm! By God, you surer 'n hell look different from the feller I sold them brutes to Saturday a week!'

It was Coogan, the mule dealer from Phoenix.

'Company hired me to take the stage through so's these gentlemen could make their Legislature session, but we got our butt shot off in the canyon back there.' Coogan shaded his eyes and stared northward. 'And if I ain't mistook, more of them bastards is ahead of us, between here and Prescott, just a-waitin'!' He pointed to a thin pencil of smoke in the distance. At the same time they all saw the wink of the distant mirror.

'What do we do now?' someone asked.

The young lady with the red hair and the sprinkle of freckles spoke up.

'Why, we go on, of course! Mrs. Glore and I have got to reach Prescott. We've got important business there!'

There was an uncomfortable shuffling of feet. An elderly man in a plug hat cleared his throat but said nothing. Another broke open the cylinder of his revolver, shucked out the empty shells, and reloaded. Sam Valentine took out a stogie and put a match to it.

'How does it look to you, Ike?'

The old man leaned on his rifle and spat tobacco juice. 'Hell, I ain't afraid of Indians—never was! I fit 'em ever since me and General Dodge was up to our ass in Comanches on the Brazos back in '58! But I figger that fracas in the canyon was only the curtain raiser.' He nodded toward the distant mountains. 'Agustin and most of his rascals are probably up there gettin' the main show ready.'

There was more shuffling of feet, scratching of heads, uncertain colloquy. One man muttered, 'By God, here we are halfway to Prescott! We can't turn back now!'

'Certainly not!' the red-haired female insisted.

Valentine puffed at the cigar. 'How do the rest of you feel?'

There were conferences. Finally the man in the plug hat said, 'This Territory don't need no dead legislators! Anyway, I doubt half the representatives reach there by the first of the month, anyway, with Agustin running wild!'

'That's right!' said the man who had reloaded his revolver. 'It ain't so much for me, but I got a Mexican wife and six kids back in Tubac. I wasn't elected just to leave Carmencita a widow and the kids orphans!'

Coogan spat a rich gout. 'All right with me.' He shrugged. 'Stage company pays me either way.' He pointed toward the shimmering playa. 'Dassn't go back through Centinela Canyon, that's for sure. But we c'n cross the river and head back along the old County Road. It's longer, and rockier 'n hell—beg your pardon, ladies—but we ain't so likely to get bushwhacked.'

'That makes sense,' the man in the plug hat agreed. 'And we might just run into George Dunaway and his men—telegraph said they was over this way. Maybe George can give us an escort and we can try to get through to Prescott again.'

Valentine seemed to be the recognized leader of the group, the one they all deferred to. 'All right,' he sighed. 'Common sense, I guess.' He turned to John Drumm. 'How about you, sir, and your man? We can make room for you in the coach if you'd like to go to Phoenix.'

Drumm shook his head. 'We're bound for Prescott and are late already. We mean to take the new Atlantic and Pacific Railroad at Bear Spring and reach New York in time to catch a fast packet, before the winter storms. No, I think we'll stay here and chance it. We are well armed, and will give Agustin a rousing welcome if he attempts to attack us again. Besides, we are hoping Lieutenant Dunaway can soon 'put the cork in the bottle and ram it home,' as he says. Then we can take the next stage and resume our journey.'

The red-haired young lady was indignant. 'All this gab about fleeing back to Phoenix!' she cried. 'What are you—men or milksops? I am not afraid to go on!'

'That's the God's truth!' her gray-haired companion agreed, brandishing the parasol. 'I ain't either!'

Valentine's tone was politic as he said, 'Miss Larkin, we couldn't really risk harm to you and Mrs. Glore. The ambush in the canyon was a near thing; if we try to go on, we risk much more.' He smiled. 'I would never forgive myself if anything untoward happened to that glorious titian hair!'

Miss Larkin's milk-white skin flushed. Her blue eyes darkened.

'Then you won't go on?'

'I am afraid we cannot.'

She looked about her. Her bosom heaved, and she clenched her fists tightly.

'Then Beulah and I will just stay here!'