Apache Butte

by L. L. Rigsbee

Clay Evans jerked his horse to a two-point halt and stared in disbelief at the scene below.  The only water hole for miles - smack in the middle of the Apache hunting grounds, and some crazy outfit had set up an elaborate encampment.  Tablecloths, fine china - the works.

The Appaloosa came down on all fours and tossed his head, snorting a little indignation of his own.

"Settle down Loose," Evans spoke calmly with a firm hand on the reins. "As soon as I tell them about that Apache hunting party we spotted this morning, they'll clear out quick enough." Under his breath, he added "Of course, there isn't much point in telling them about the posse."

Loose stamped a foot impatiently.  He wasn't the only one in a hurry to get back to the ranch.  Evans only had a small clue as to why the posse had followed him into Apache country - and it still didn't make any sense.  It wasn't as if the drunken kid in that saloon had any influential kin, and a sore jaw was a lot better than a belly full of lead.  Evans had grown accustomed to the fact that a short man was fair game to any drunken cowpoke looking for trouble.   He'd developed a tolerance for insults, and if that failed, a skill with his fists.  The gun resting on his hip was intended for snakes, not smart-mouthed kids.  Never in his 30 years of life had he been forced to use it on a human. So, why had the posse shot at him when he rode out to warn them about the Apache hunting party?  And why was the posse following him so persistently?

He nudged Loose in the sides with his boot heels.  "Come on.  Let's send them on their way."

Loose plunged down the slope, sending a spray of sand flying with every step.  He reached the bottom nearly on his haunches, and then pranced proudly across the remaining distance to the camp.

At first, Evans thought the camp was deserted, and then he saw the girl.  Dressed in riding pants the color of the sand, she blended right in with the territory.  She left her chair beside the wagon and strolled over to greet him.  Green eyes studied him from a round face surrounded by auburn curls.

"Good afternoon, sir," she said with a soft southern drawl.  Her gaze went over him in a swift appraisal, and then to Loose, who stuck out his nose in a friendly quest for her hand.  She touched his nose briefly, and smiled up at Evans.  "He's a beautiful horse."

Evans nodded.  "Thanks, but more important, he has endurance."

"So it seems," she said.  "It looks like you've been traveling hard."

Ignoring the invitation to explain his presence, Evans dismounted and got directly to the point.  "This your camp?"

"No," she said as if something else should have been tacked on the end. 

He lifted a brow.  "Your parents?"

"My boss." she responded curtly.

There wasn't time for small talk.  "Don't your boss know better than to camp beside a water hole?  Doesn't he know he's camped in the middle of Apache hunting grounds?"

A smile touched the corner of her mouth and lingered in her eyes.  "No, SHE doesn't."

Evans stared at her.  "SHE?"

She stuck out a hand.  "Let me introduce myself.  I'm Deli Stafford, handmaid to the Duchess."

He took her hand absently.  "Duchess!  Of all the . . . What's a Duchess doing out here in the middle of the desert."

Deli laughed softly.  "Accompanying her husband.  Right now he's out on a hunt with the rest of the party at the foot of that butte."  She pointed to Apache Butte and then lifted a hand to shield her eyes as she studied it.  "They should be back before nightfall."

"They'll be back before then," Evans said coldly.

Deli glanced up at him sharply.  "Why?"

"Because there's an Apache hunting party headed this way, and they aren't going to take kindly to finding you camping at their water hole."

Deli glanced back the way he had come.  "I heard the Indians here were friendly, and in any case, our party is well armed.

Evans grimaced.  "Up to now the Apaches have been pretty quiet, but there's no such thing as a friendly Apache when you're violating his hunting grounds.  You'd better break camp now.  The rest of your party can catch up."

Deli's eyes were large and round.  "Oh, we couldn't do that without permission from Sir Henry."

Evans shook his head.  "I take it Sir Henry isn't too fond of his wife," he said in a sarcastic tone.

Deli eyed him with contempt.  “Perhaps Sir Henry has a little more skill with a gun - and a lot more faith in his ability to protect his wife.”

Loose tugged on the reins.  He was thirsty and water waited a short distance away.  Evans bit his tongue and turned away, allowing Loose to lead him to the water hole.  What Sir Henry did have was a swollen ego and an empty head.  As a matter of fact, he’d be willing to bet that Sir Henry’s greatest asset was a loyal servant.  All of which was nothing to Evans.  A ranch lay waiting for him less than two day’s ride away.  He had enough trouble already.  He didn’t need to go looking for more. 

He filled his canteen and mounted.  Giving Deli a stern look, he tipped his hat.  “I’ll talk to your royalty on my way out.  In the mean time, keep a sharp eye out.  Do you have a gun?”

“Yes,” came the terse response.

“Know how to use it?”

“Yes.”  She met his stern gaze defiantly.  “Only I won’t need to use it.”

Evans snorted.  “You’re absolutely right.  You don’t need to use it.  All you need to do is get out of this valley.”  He hesitated as she stared up at him stubbornly.  “I don’t suppose it matters to you that you’re starting needless bloodshed.”

She frowned.  “How do you figure that?”

Evans leaned forward.  “What do you think is going to happen when your people get their royal selves killed?  White people will be outraged, and demand retaliation.  Apache women and children will die . . . if that concerns you.  After that, it'll be all out war.  And it will all come about just so some strutting peacock can get a trophy for his wall.”

Deli stared at him, her expression unreadable.  Was it possible that none of them had considered the consequences of their actions?

Evans swung his horse around.  "Start taking down the camp," he threw over his shoulder gruffly as he kicked Loose into a trot.  With any luck, he might find Sir Henry and his party before the Apaches reached the water hole.  Not that he had any hope of convincing the idiot to leave the valley.  Already he had no use for Sir Henry, and he hadn’t even met him yet.

It didn't take long to find the trail of the party.  Either they weren't trying to hide their tracks, or they didn't know how to hide them.  Whatever the case, they left a trail he could have followed blindfolded. 

As he approached Apache butte, two shots rang out, one immediately following the other.  Evans kicked Loose into a run and raced down the dry gulch.  The fools! 

He could hear the men laughing and talking before Loose lurched out of the wash.  He brought the horse to a halt, and the men stared at him in surprise.  Evans took advantage of their silence.

"Do you boys know you're hunting on Apache land?"

The tall skinny one with the braids on his shoulders and handlebar mustache gave Evans a hard look and responded with a thick British accent.  "I have permission from the United States government to hunt in this area."

"Yeah," Evans shot back, "you can tell that to the Apache hunters I ran across this morning.  I'm sure they'd be real impressed."

The other two men glanced nervously at the skinny one.  "Maybe we ought to get back to the women, Sir Henry," the fat one said.  

The other man kneeled beside the freshly shot antelope.  "Let's get this head off, Richards.  I can tie it on behind my saddle.  We'll leave the rest of it here for the natives.  They'll forget all about this when they see we've saved them some time."

“Forget?” Evans flared.  “Seeing you waste food will only enrage them."

The man stood and glared at him.  “We won’t be wasting food.  If they refuse to accept our offer, then they will be the ones wasting food.  If they don't appreciate our generosity, then they can just let it rot."

Evans met those cold yellow eyes with equal indignation.  “Would you consider it a generous offer if I came on your land, shot up some of your livestock and then left the meat for you?”

Sir Henry had been quietly observing, but he finally broke his silence.  “Johnson, load that antelope on the mule.  We’ll discuss this back at the wagons.”  He turned to Evans.  “I appreciate the fact that you came to warn us, but we have the latest weaponry, and I’ve fought in many a campaign against better armed foes than your Apache.  I had the opportunity to visit with some of your local aborigines while I was at the fort.  My opinion is that we can hold our own.”

“The latest weapons won’t do you a bit of good against an enemy you can’t see,” Evans said as he gathered the reins to turn.  “As for the Indians at the fort, I don’t know what tribe they were, but you can bet they weren’t seasoned Apache warriors.”  He straightened in the saddle and gave Sir Henry a hard look.  “I’m sure you’ve heard lots of stories about what Indians do to their captives.  Don’t think they’re exaggerations.”

Sir Henry didn’t even flinch.  “I’m not a stranger to the punishment delt to prisoners of war.”  He glanced back over his shoulder toward the wagons.  If Evans was any judge in character, Sir Henry was thinking about the women right now.  There was something about the man that commanded respect.

Evans swung Loose around.  They’d been warned.  One more gun wasn’t going to make any difference.  Besides, that posse would be catching up to them before long.  That would make ten extra guns - enough to turn the tide, if they handled themselves well.  If anyone could shape them all together, it would be Sir Henry.

Evans eyed the horizon as he rode.  That posse couldn't be far behind now.  Only there was no dust.  Maybe they'd cut sign of the Apache hunting party, as he had, and were riding carefully.  Or, maybe they'd even turned back by now.   He pulled Loose to a stop.  In that case, leaving Sir Henry behind with his small group would be like throwing chickens to the coyotes.   They knew little of this land, and even less about the Apaches. 

Evans turned his horse reluctantly.  This was a situation where one gun and a little knowledge might make a big difference.  He re-joined the riders and Sir Henry lifted a quizzical brow.

Evans shrugged.  “I’ll ride with you for a while.”

Sir Henry nodded.  “It would be safer for you that way.”

Evans gave him a sharp look.  “I wasn’t thinking about my safety.  I was thinking you had too little help and too much ego."

Sir Henry gave him a sidelong look, and shook his head.

They met the wagons before they had covered half the distance.   Deli was riding out ahead of the wagons and swung her horse in beside Evans’.  "I figured you'd be out of the country by now."

"Well," Evans shot back dryly. "You figured right.  I would have been, only I wasn't keen on seeing that red hair hanging from an Apache war lance."

Sir Henry gave her a stern look.  "Mr. Evans has offered to help us.  Let's show a little gratitude."

Sir Henry rode back to the wagons, which had now stopped, and dismounted.  He helped a tall slender woman in a white lace gown down from the wagon, and they talked for a few minutes.  The Duchess, no doubt. They glanced back along their trail several times -- likely discussing the possibility of attack.   Finally Sir Henry helped her back into the wagon, mounted and rode back to Evans and the others.

“You seem to know a lot about these aborigines,” he said.  “do you think they’ll follow us?”

Evans nodded.  “You can count on it.”

“Beyond the border of their hunting grounds?” Sir Henry persisted.  He didn’t appear to be frightened, merely concerned and curious.  Maybe he was too naive to be afraid, but Evans had a hunch that Sir Henry’s greatest concern was his wife. 

Evans met those hard blue eyes solemnly.  “The Apaches won’t stop at a specific point.  They’ll stop when they grow tired of the game, or when they feel the odds are no longer in their favor - whichever comes first.”

Sir Henry stared at him for a moment, and then his gaze shifted to Apache Butte.  “We found a trail leading to the top of that Butte.  It could easily be blocked.”

Evans turned and followed his gaze.  “There’s no water up there, and they’d have you trapped.”  He pulled his hat off and wiped the inside with his bandanna.  “My ranch is about a day and a half to the southwest of here.  I’ve reached a sort of agreement with the Apaches.  I look the other way when they butcher my cattle, and they let my ranch alone.”

Sir Henry frowned.  “Insurance?”

Evans replaced his hat and met Sir Henry’s gaze directly.  “Payment.” 

A light twinkled in Sir Henry’s eyes, and for a moment, Evans thought he was going to smile. Instead, he turned and kicked his horse into a walk, waving for the wagons to follow.  “I have left their water hole," he said calmly, "and I will leave their hunting grounds.  To back up any further would be showing them fear, not compromise.”  He lifted a hand when Evans started to speak.  “We have water and food.  If you wish to ride on to your ranch, no one will blame you.”

There it was again, a challenge to his courage.  What he wanted to say was that Sir Henry had a point.  If he turned and ran, the Apaches would stay at his heals like a coyote after a wounded rabbit.  Sir Henry might not know much about Apaches, but he obviously knew a lot about the nature of a hunter.  Still, making a stand on that butte purely for the sake of pride wasn’t his idea of a smart way to die.  Neither was hanging from a tree if that posse was still out there.

"I'll scout your back trail some," Evans said.  "I'll see you to the butte, anyway."

"It isn't necessary," Sir Henry responded.  "We know the way."

Evans gave him a long hard look.  Sir Henry was confident and proud, but he wasn't stupid.  Was he testing Evans, or was he unwilling to risk one more life?  Evans wasn't ready to leave.  He was beginning to like the man.

Without responding to Sir Henry, he kicked Loose into a trot and rode around the wagons.  He aimed for a small hill and rode almost to the top.  Taking his field glasses from the saddlebags, he crawled up to the top.  There he focused on a plume of dust in the distance.  The posse. 

He turned to go back down the hill, and saw something that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.  A lone Apache watching the riders.  Was he part of the hunting party, or were there more Apaches over that rim?  As he watched, the Apache turned his horse and disappeared over the hill.

The posse continued their pace.  Apparently, they hadn't seen the Indian.  They'd be riding into a trap.

Evans slid back down the hill and swung up in the saddle.  He was tempted to let them fend for themselves after the way they'd done him, but Sir Henry could use the extra help.  Without giving himself time to think the matter over, he gave Loose his head, and they galloped toward the posse.

It was a dangerous way to ride, Apaches or not.  Loose could step in a gopher hole and break his leg.  All the same, every second counted.  The Apaches could bust over that rim any minute now.

Loose leaped a wash and started up the other side, barely breathing hard.  Evans leaned forward to help him climb the hill - the only thing that saved his hide from an Apache arrow.  The Apache wasn’t so lucky.  Evans whipped his gun out and fired a quick shot before the Apache could reload his bow.  The Apache slumped over and then fell from his horse.

The first posse member topped the hill and Evans turned his gun on the man.   “Stop right there.  I have some bad news for you and I don’t want to get shot delivering it.”

The man froze. “Mr., you better talk fast, cause the rest aren’t far behind.”

Evans nodded.  “I don’t know why you’ve been chasing me, but you’d better continue - and don’t lag far behind.  There’s an Apache hunting party right on your heels.” He turned Loose around, keeping the man in his sights.  “There’s a couple of wagons and some men headed for that butte ahead.  I’ll lead you there.”

The man eyed him suspiciously.  “How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

Evans glanced at where the Apache had fallen, but the Indian was gone.  He shrugged.  “You don’t.  Why don’t you and your boys sit around considering it?  I’m sure that would fit right into the Apache’s plans.   Meanwhile, I’m getting out of here while I still have my scalp.” 

With that, Evans holstered his gun and gave Loose his head.  Loose didn’t need encouraging.  He bucked once, kicking his heels at the posse member, and then lit out at a gallop.  Loose was always ready to run.

Once Evans stopped and looked back.  The posse was hot on his tail.  Loose tossed his head.  He had plenty of wind left and he was rearing to go.  Evans let him.

Evans caught up with the wagons at the base of the butte.  They’d made good time, but they’d still never get those wagons up the trail.  Sir Henry was calmly giving orders, and the men were loading supplies on their horses.  Once loaded, they began walking them up the trail. 

A quick glance over his shoulder assured Evans that the posse would soon join them.  He hesitated only a moment.  He could ride on, or he could stay and help these people.  One more load of supplies might make the difference.  He dismounted and pulled his horse over to the wagon. 

He might as well join that posse right here.  It wasn’t likely that they’d shoot him while the Apaches were out there.  They’d all be trapped on that butte, with no choice but to listen.

The posse joined them in a cloud of dust.  A heavyset man with a star on his vest took in the scene and rubbed his jaw.  He eyed Evans skeptically.  “I reckon I should thank you for warning us, and sticking around, but I figure it was in your best interest.”

Sir Henry stepped around the wagon.  “It would have been in his best interest to ride on to his ranch, but he chose to stay and help.”  He stuck out his hand.  “I’m Sir Henry.”

Some people are impressed by royalty, some are annoyed, and some don’t care one way or another.  The marshal was impressed.  Evans could see it in the way he offered his hand.  “Marshal Bennett,” he supplied smoothly.  “This here is my posse.”  He glanced at Evans. “We’ve been after this man all day.”

“What for?”  Sir Henry asked, eyeing Evans.

“Murder,” the marshal responded.  “Shot a man in the street and then rode off like it was nothing.”

It was possible that they had made up the story, but Evans figured they had merely jumped to conclusions about the circumstances under which he left town.  They could easily be misinterpreted, but there wasn't time to explain right now.

Sir Henry was watching Evans, probably wondering if it was true.  When he spoke, he surprised them all.  “I find that hard to believe.”  His gaze shifted back to the Marshal.  “Let’s get this wagon up the trail as far as possible.

Evans wasn’t fool enough to believe that Sir Henry could convince the posse of his innocence, but having someone in his corner couldn’t hurt.  He couldn't blame the posse.  He'd jumped to some incorrect conclusions of his own before he met Sir Henry.  The fact was, they'd all spent some time today cluttering up the lives of others.   They'd each be making their own stand in a while.  Only now they were a group, and they would be forced to listen to each other.  Their lives depended on it.  

Evans had no doubt that they would all leave this place with better understanding of a lot of things.  Oh, the Apaches would still attack, all right, like the last snarl of a wolf when the coyote had already surrendered the kill.  Then they’d leave the intruders to count their blessings . . . and maybe even appreciate each other a little.