name Rake Pierce?”
“I didn’t hear his last name, but, yes, he could have been called Rake.”
Hogg looked at Stryker. “The dead man we found was the lady’s husband. She identified him from the watch he was wearing.”
“I’m sorry,” Stryker said absently, his mind working, trying to drag his body with it.
“Don’t be,” Mary said. “He was a drunken, vicious brute who deserved to die.” Her fingertips strayed to the savage scar on her cheek. “This is a lasting memento of my marriage to Tom McCabe.”
“Ma’am,” Hogg said, “you should have left him.”
“And go where, Mr. Hogg? I didn’t even have a horse. Maybe Kelly and I could have walked to a settlement, but he would have found us and brought us back.” She smiled slightly. “And how could I make a living? Scarred as I am, I couldn’t even become a whore.”
“How did Rake Pierce meet your husband?” Stryker asked.
“Tom often visited the Army posts for whiskey and whores. He could have met Pierce, if that’s who he was, at Fort Merit or Fort Bowie.”
“Why would Pierce want him?”
“My husband knew this country like the back of his hand, Lieutenant. After he got sick of farming, which didn’t take long, he hunted and prospected all over the Chiricahuas and as far south as the Perilla Mountains.”
Hogg nodded. “Ol’ Rake needed a scout, and good ones are mighty hard to find.”
“Mrs. McCabe, when were the wagons here?” Stryker asked.
“Three days ago, I think. When a woman sees only cabin walls she loses track of time.”
“Joe, we didn’t see wagon tracks on the hogback.”
“There’s another way in and out of the basin, Lieutenant. It’s a narrow, rocky canyon to the east of the cabin, but it’s passable, even for freight wagons. I scouted over that way and found wheel tracks. That’s how the wagons came and went, all right.”
“Why didn’t your husband go with them, Mrs. McCabe?”
“Lieutenant, it pleased him to beat me or rape me, depending on his mood. He didn’t take me into his confidence when he was enjoying either activity.”
Hogg’s boots thudded on the hard packed dirt floor. He laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We buried him deep, Mrs. McCabe. He isn’t coming back.”
Mary nodded, looking up at him, but said nothing.
Stryker’s mind was still racing. “Joe, why did McCabe split up from the rest of them?”
“Dunno, Lieutenant. Maybe McCabe left on a scout, agreeing to join up with Rake and the others at a certain place. Trouble is, he ran into traveling Apaches who shot first and asked questions later.”
“Can we track those wagons?”
“We can track them.”
Stryker swung his legs out of the bed and discovered that he was naked except for the bandage that circled his waist and looped over his shoulder. “Mrs. McCabe, could you avert your eyes?” He looked at the little girl who was standing close to her sitting mother’s knee, regarding him with wide, solemn eyes. “And the child, if you please.”
The woman smiled, but she and her daughter suddenly found something to do at the stove.
Stryker got to his feet, calling to Hogg to get his clothes.
Then a wave of pain and weakness hit him and he was falling headlong into a bottomless pit of darkness.
Chapter 13
“Lieutenant Stryker, you’re shot through and through and you’ve lost a lot of blood,” Mary McCabe said. “You’re not fit to go anywhere.”
The woman’s face was an oval blur in the wan lamplight. “How long have I been out?” he asked.
“Not long, ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Is Joe Hogg still here?”
“No. He left.”
“Please tell Lieutenant Birchwood I want to see him.”
When the officer stepped into the cabin, Stryker saw concern etched in the frown that had gathered between the young man’s eyebrows.
“How are you, sir?” he asked.
“Well, I tried to get out of bed and fell down. Does that tell you something?”
Birchwood said nothing, but he shifted his feet uncomfortably.
“Tomorrow morning you will break camp before sunrise and proceed south to the Apache village. Bring Yanisin and his people this far, then send Mr. Hogg to fetch me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. I will leave a squad here to protect the cabin should the Apaches decide to attack again.”
“No, you won’t, Lieutenant. You might need all the men you have and then some.” Stryker was tired and in pain. Looking at the fresh-faced Birchwood he suddenly felt old. “There’s a possibility that the Apaches will turn north and attack Fort Merit. For that reason, you will send half the company back to reinforce the post garrison.”
“I was not aware of that possibility,” Birchwood said.
“I’m guessing, Lieutenant, and I know that trying to outguess Apaches is always a dangerous business. But if I’m right, Major Hanson can’t hold the fort against Geronimo and Nana with just a single understrength company.”
He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. Mary McCabe had put some kind of poultice on his wounds and now they itched.
“Joe Hogg says Yanisin is a tame Indian and he shouldn’t give you any trouble. The big question is: How will his young men react? Listen to Mr. Hogg. He knows Apaches better than most. If you reach the rancheria and the young bucks show signs of a fight, get the hell out of there in a hurry. Do not engage them.”
Stryker’s eyes searched the younger man’s face. “Do you understand your orders, Lieutenant?”
“I do, sir. Perfectly.”
Stryker tried to smile and used the young man’s name for the first time. “Dale, I’m sending you out with half a company of infantry when what you really need is a regiment. Just . . . just be careful.”
“I will, sir, as far as my orders allow.” He saluted smartly. “Sir, with your permission I’ll see to my men.”
“Yes, do that,” Stryker said. God, he was weary. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
Birchwood saluted again, turned smartly and stepped out of the door.
Stryker had the nagging feeling that he was sending the young man to his death.
Still weak and lightheaded, Stryker managed to drag himself out of bed to see the company leave. Mrs. McCabe was asleep in a chair, her daughter lying on a pallet on the floor.
As quietly as he could, he stood in the doorway, the chill desert night not yet giving way to the dawn.
The company moved out silently, marching toward the hogback. Birchwood saw Stryker, grinned and saluted. He then took his place at the head of his men.
Joe Hogg kneed his horse toward Stryker and drew rein opposite the door.
“You look like hell,” he said.
“And I feel worse.” Stryker’s eyes sought the scout’s face in the indigo light. “Bring them back, Joe,” he said. “Every last one of them.” He hesitated, then added, “And bring yourself back.”
Hogg smiled. “Gettin’ shot done you some good, Lieutenant. You’re suddenly full o’ the milk of human kindness, as ol’ Shakespeare says.”
“You saved my life, Joe. Nobody else could have dug that bullet out of my back.”
The scout nodded. “I think maybe yours was a life worth saving. I sure hope so.” He looked beyond the cabin door to the darkness inside. “Take care of Mrs. McCabe, Lieutenant. Two scarred people should look out for each other.”
