“Well, now that ain’t true. I was just trying to save you some bother.”
“No bother. Jordy, I need the whiskey bottle and one of your rags.”
Rudy sighed and closed his eyes. “Ouch, oh,” he groaned as she gently cleaned his scalp with the whiskey.
“Worse than I thought,” she said. “It might take an extra stitch or two, but you’ll be running blood if we don’t deal with it.”
Rudy scowled. “Do what you got to. You’re bound and determined to stick that knife in my head. I’m guessing that ‘Uncle Rudy’ business was just sweet talk to get your way with me.”
“No. Like it or not, you are my Uncle Rudy from here on.”
She stuck the needle into the swollen flesh, and Rudy howled like a wounded wolf, catching the attention of everyone in the vicinity of the wagons. Thor headed under the wagon, and Bram got slowly to his feet. “Got to find a place to water the grass,” he said, disappearing behind the wagon.
Jack had more sympathy for Rudy than he showed. That was one darn big needle, and he was glad that thing wasn’t poking into his scalp. It was not a Bowie, but it wasn’t a dress-making needle either. He decided he did not want to watch any more of the surgery. Hearing it would be a big plenty.
Most of the other men were engaged in unharnessing and dragging the dead mules off the road. He was glad Tige had insisted on plenty of spares, but they were down to a single extra mule now. He could not take the deaths of the critters casually, and it saddened him to leave the dead animals to the buzzards and coyotes. In a few days, they would be reduced to skulls and bones to litter the Castle Gap along with those of seemingly hundreds of horse, mule, and cattle remains that rested there. Jack figured it would be easy enough to locate human bones and skulls if a man were inclined to look. He was not.
Strange how little he worried about his own death as he got nearer to the end of the last chapter of his life. But as he grew older, he seemed to be bothered more by the deaths of others, even animals, than he had as a younger man. The dead Apaches on the hill engendered a certain remorse regardless of the fact they had died trying to kill him and his friends.
He encountered Roper Hawley lugging harnesses back to the storage pile. He waved the ex-soldier over. “Hi, Roper, you and Tige showed up just in time today. You did yourselves proud. The Apaches weren’t expecting an attack from upslope.”
“It was a good plan, Boss, circling around behind both sides of the mesa and coming in behind. Abel and Nick felt left out, though, with all the Apaches on the north.”
“We didn’t know where they would be, and we had to cover both sides.”
“Anyway, I’m glad you come up with the idea.”
“I didn’t,” Jack said. “It was Tige’s plan. He’s too quick to give credit to somebody else.”
The tall man grinned and nodded, “That’s Tige, all right. Don’t care who gets the credit. That’s why men follow him. I might not live to see it, but someday colored men like Tige Marshall will be generals.”
“I have no doubt. There is a colored man by the name of Henry Ossian Flipper who is a cadet at West Point right now and seems to be on track to graduate. I’ve read about him in newspapers from back east. Maybe he will be that general.”
Roper shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. The best we can do is grab our chances, Boss, learn all we can and work like hell to get wherever we’re trying to go. And I ain’t unmindful, Boss—none of us is—that you gave us that chance.”
“I just hire the best men for the job, Roper, but thanks. Now I would ask a favor of you.”
“Name it, Boss.”
“After you drop that harness someplace, I would like for you to pick up your rifle and follow Sierra and Jordy over to the wounded Apaches she’s going to tend to. I don’t think they’ve got much fight left in them, but a man never knows. She won’t be able to explain what she’s trying to do, and that might spook them.”
“Glad to do that, Boss. I can sign with Comanches. Should be about the same with Apaches. I’ll see if I can help out some.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Horsehead Crossing lay a dozen miles southwest of the exit from Castle Gap. Jordy Jackson, astride a sorrel gelding that had temporarily replaced his injured buckskin stallion, had paused on the high ground beyond the gap and looked at the barren land that stretched out below him. He turned his head when he heard the rattle of hooves on loose rock behind him. It was Sierra.
“Have you got the trail sighted?” she asked, nudging the roan mare up beside him.
“Oh, yeah. It’s a wide trail, if you even call it a trail. Jack says Goodnight and Loving have been running herds through the crossing for years, and Comanches have used it coming off the war trail for raids in Mexico. It is said the early Spaniard conquistadores crossed here and, of course, wagon trains, stages. Army—about anyone who wants to cross the Pecos in these parts. There are only a few decent crossings in West Texas, not so much because of the river but the high, steep banks.”
“Is the river deep? We can swim it with the horses, but I wonder about the wagons,” Sierra said.
“Jack crossed at Horsehead some years back, and he has talked to other ranchers that have used it. He doesn’t seem worried about the crossing. Of course, you can’t usually tell what’s going on in Jack’s head. But if he sees a problem ahead, I guarantee he’s got a plan for it. He
