He gave his name in broken English as Little Horse, then he pointed to seven young warriors standing behind him, introducing one as Dreamer, another as Sees Far, then the others, all names Jessie quickly forgot. He didn’t care what these Apaches called themselves.
“Can they shoot straight?” Jessie asked Little Horse.
Little Horse nodded once. “Many time kill white-eyes,” he said, balancing a badly worn Spencer carbine in one hand. “We kill more if you pay us money.” He carried a rusted Colt in a sash around his waist, along with a gleaming Bowie knife. This Indian in particular was always in trouble with the soldiers at Fort Stanton for running off from the reservation to steal horses and cattle, scalping white settlers in the process. Litde Horse had just gotten out of jail at the fort, along with the seven men who came with him, when no witnesses could identify them as the killers of six white farmers in the Penasco Valley last year.
“Get the ammunition you need from that store over yonder,” he told the Apache. “Then get mounted an’ follow us.” He gave Jimmy Dolan a sideways look. “That makes eight more. Ten just showed up last night from Mexico, all good
Dolan frowned. “I hope they’re better than Ignacio Valdez,” he muttered. “You told me Valdez was really good.”
“That Jensen feller probably ambushed him from hidin’ some place or another. It sure as hell wasn’t no fair fight if he got Ignacio.”
“Just make damn sure you get Jensen at all costs,” Dolan said quietly, standing in the road where Jessie and more than thirty mounted men waited, all heavily armed. Townspeople were staring at the gang from all over Lincoln’s main street.
“You can bank on it,” Jessie replied.
Dolan’s expression hardened. “Jensen is a cocksure son of a bitch. He acted like he owned Lincoln County. I wasn’t carrying a gun, and yet he stuck his pistol right in my face when he came barging in the store. I want him dead. Nobody sticks a gun in my face like that.”
“I’ll bring you his head in a tow sack,” Jessie promised as the Apaches went inside the store to get cartridges. “I’ll have forty men with me, includin’ those redskins. There ain’t but seven or eight with that herd, includin’ Jensen. It’ll be over before it gets started.”
“Kill them all,” Dolan whispered, so that citizens of Lincoln standing nearby wouldn’t hear. “Don’t leave a goddamn one of them alive to tell what happened.”
“It’s as good as done,” Jessie said, resting a palm on the butt of his Colt, He grinned and aimed a thumb at Bill Pickett. “I’ve done promised Pickett he can make sure every last one of ’em is dead. He gets a kick out of killin’ with that shotgun of his. I’m sure as hell glad he’s on our payroll.”
“Just get the job done this time,” Dolan snapped. “I’m paying good money to get results, not a bunch of empty promises like the last time.”
“That was on account of Billy Barlow warned ’em. Soon as we get back, I’ll find Barlow an’ kill him myself.”
“Do whatever it takes,” Dolan said, walking away with his hands shoved in his pants pockets.
Jessie mounted his horse, waiting between Pickett and Tom Hill for the Apaches to come out of the store.
“Goddamn Injuns can’t shoot,” Pickett said with heat in his voice. “None of ’em can.”
“Maybe they’ll get lucky,” Jessie replied. “Little Horse, the one who speaks some English, is tough, an’ a dead shot when he’s up close, accordin’ to Colonel Dudley. They’ve been tryin’ to find something to pin on him so they can hang him, only he’s smart. He don’t get caught very often. They had to let him go this time because nobody would testify it was him murdered them farmers.”
“I hate Injuns,” Pickett declared. “After we get done with this Jensen feller, I’ll do the army a favor by blowin’ off that damn Apache’s skullbone.”
Jessie shrugged. “When we’re finished with Jensen, I don’t give a damn what you do. You can kill all those Apaches for all I care. That way, Dolan don’t have to pay ’em.”
“Sounds good to me,” Pickett said.
Jessie noticed Tom Hill’s color wasn’t quite right after he heard what Pickett meant to do to the Indians. Glancing over his shoulder, Jessie took another look at the ten Mexicans who’d ridden in at Bosque Redondo the night before. All were bearded, hard-faced men with crisscrossed cartridge bandoliers over each shoulder. The
Jessie thought about Smoke Jensen. For a man he’d never met, this Colorado rancher was sure as hell causing a lot of trouble in New Mexico Territory, a condition that was about to end tonight, or whenever they caught up to him and his cow herd. With the odds being over four to one against Jensen, he would be dead by the time the sun went down tomorrow. Jessie was certain of it, as Little Horse and his Apaches came out of the store to climb aboard their scrawny ponies.
“Let’s ride,” he said to the men around him, wheeling his horse to the east.
“We can’t get there soon enough to suit me,” Pickett said as they struck a trot out of Lincoln.
Forty-three gunmen followed Jessie into the hills east of Lincoln Township. The rattle of curb chains, spur rowels, and armament accompanied their departure. Dust curled away from their horses’ heels.
Jessie noticed Jimmy Dolan standing on the porch of his store watching them ride off. Jessie promised himself Mr. Dolan wouldn’t be disappointed this time when he heard what had happened somewhere along the Pecos River.Thirty-three
Bob and Cletus and Johnny rode slow circles around the herd as the cattle bedded down for the night. The day had passed uneventfully, but when Smoke scouted for a place to hold the herd for the night, he selected it carefully, with defense from an all-out attack in mind, deciding upon the middle of a flat, grassy prairie with no trees or brush nearby where a rifleman would be in range. He knew, once the shooting started, the longhorns would scatter in every direction, making for a difficult time rounding them up, even in daylight. Under the present circumstances, it
