Jack mounted Pokey and nudged the gelding up next to Tige and Jordy, who were astride their horses and engaged in conversation next to the front wagon. “Mitch isn’t sparing the horse much this morning,” he said to the two men.
“No, Jack,” Tige said, “a man rides like that, he’s either carrying good news or bad news. Ain’t likely the good kind.”
Jack sighed. “Not likely.”
The three men waited pensively until they saw the outline of an ant-sized horse and rider emerge from the dust and grow as their forms drew nearer to the wagons. Shortly, Eagle Eyes reined up in front of them. Jack waited for the scout to speak.
“Don’t like what I’m seeing, Boss.”
“And what are you seeing, Mitch?”
“Apaches. One anyhow. But he ain’t likely a loner. About missed him. He was laying face-down in the grass fifty feet off the trail. He looked dead, but if I’d veered off to check him out, I’d be the dead man. I turned my horse around and beelined it back here.”
Jack said, “Probably the same one that’s been checking on us the past few nights. How far to Castle Gap? Can’t be long.”
“I didn’t get that far, but in the distance, I saw the rises you call mountains. We’re less than three hours away I’d guess.”
“If they want to take us down,” Jack said, “that’s where it will be. The devil himself designed that place for ambush. We need to talk about this.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jack could see no sign of Apaches as they approached the so-called mountains that rose above Castle Gap, a stark split in the plateau on which they journeyed that led them to the Pecos River. The uprisings of earth along each side of the gap seemed more like giant mesas than mountains, he thought, with their flat tops and steep sloping walls.
Regardless, from his visit years back, he knew the walls would be an impressive sight when they took the trail that cut between them. But this was not a scenic vacation to West Texas. If an Apache war party were waiting, their trek to Lookout Canyon could be in jeopardy. Much of the threat would depend upon numbers. Rudy had suggested any war or hunting party this far east in their ranging territory would likely not consist of more than a dozen to fifteen warriors. Jack tended to agree.
Tige and his three buffalo soldiers had split off soon after Eagle Eyes reported in, two headed for Castle Mountain on the north side of the gap and two riding south toward King Mountain. Swede and Possum were driving the Studebakers now, and Bram was handling the chuckwagon. Rudy sat beside Bram on the seat, a Sharps rifle cradled in his arms and his double-barreled shotgun with Thor on the deck behind him.
Irish brought up the procession’s rear with the string of spare mules. Mitch Eagle Eyes and Jordy rode some distance ahead of the mules with Jack and Sierra lagging back beside Swede and the front wagon.
Jack looked over at Sierra who appeared surprisingly calm as they approached the entrance to the gap. “You said you can handle that Winchester. Have you ever killed a man?”
She looked at him with her hazel eyes appearing almost grass-green in the sun’s glare. “No, and I’m not wanting to, but I can do it if I have to. You can count on my gun.”
“I will. I’m hoping any Apaches are looking for easier prey, but they might be lured by the mules and horses. A passel of mules would feed a band for quite a spell.”
“They would eat the mules?”
Jack said, “The mules would be a delicacy to them, and the critters are food they could herd back to their village, which is likely along the border between New Mexico Territory and Mexico. Makes sense. They would not have pack animals to haul that many deer or buffalo carcasses, let alone preserve them for that amount of time. They need food on the hoof, cattle or mules. Hunting parties are changing their targets these days. If they saw our trade goods, they might like to take a wagon with them, but that would slow them down a lot and leave a distinctive trail.”
Sierra said, “I am just hoping they had second thoughts.”
Jack nodded ahead to the opening of the gap. “We’ll know soon enough. Keep your eyes open and let me know if you see anything. Remember, we’re not going to try to outrun the Apaches. The drivers will pull up the wagons at first sight. When the fighting starts, we will drop off our horses and take cover under the wagon. I’m guessing they will hit us about halfway through the gap, if they strike. They will want all our animals in the trap and then they will plug the ends if they’ve got enough warriors.”
They headed into the gap and Jack looked up at the bluffs towering over them. The rim of the south wall was lined with limestone, but cedars cloaked much of the lower slope below the rim, offering cover for any would-be ambushers. The north slope was mostly stone and shale-covered, broken up with clusters of huge boulders and intermittent stands of sagebrush, yucca, and mesquite, also providing ample hiding places for ambushers who were near invisible anyway.
The sides of the trail were strewn with cattle and horse bones and skulls, as were the lower slopes. He had heard of thirsty cow herds dying in the canyon just before reaching the Pecos waters, sometimes swallowed up by stampeding herd companions. Charlie Goodnight had told him once of a drive by himself and his partner, Oliver Loving, of some two thousand steers and cows to Fort Sumner in New Mexico Territory some ten years back. It would have been on much of the trail Jack’s party had taken, and there would not
