Ambush (5 page)

Ward saw Holly's chestnut immediately; it was off by itself, walking cautiously, yet restively, in a small circle whose circumference never touched the other horses. They, in turn, eyed the chestnut warily, and at sight of them Ward smiled. The Apache pony, with an aura of strange and frightening Indian smells about him, had not been welcomed by the Army horses.

He looked for his bay, and not seeing him, turned toward A Stable. A pair of troopers were hauling and heaving at an ambulance they were maneuvering out of the runway; a third trooper, whom Ward recognized, was squatted against the stable, hat on his knee, a stubby clay pipe in his mouth. His hair was curly, red, and close-cropped, and the heavy bones of his big arms seemed inadequately covered by lean and stringy muscle. Above the roll of his shirt sleeve, Ward saw the darker blue patch on the sun-faded shirt that had once held chevrons. The man's eyes were bloodshot, and they held a bland indifference as Ward approached.

“Holly been around, Riordan?” Ward asked.

“Not this morning.” The trooper's voice was musical, soft.

“Then he didn't take my horse?”

Riordan looked carefully at his pipe. “No.”

“Have you been here?”

“Yes.”

Ward looked at him thoughtfully, and then said pleasantly enough, “All I'm trying to find out is where they put my horse.”

“A troublemaker he was,” Riordan said softly, and glanced up at him. “He doesn't belong to the Army, does he?”

“He's mine.”

Riordan said blandly, “He was stirring up trouble in the corral, so I turned him out. You're not working for us, are you, Mr. Kinsman?”

“No.”

“I turned him out.”

Ward regarded him for several long seconds, recalling what he knew of the man. At the close of last summer's campaign, Riordan had been promoted to a vacant sergeancy. The fact that he was married and presumed steady, coupled with his good record in the field, had recommended him. But looking at him now, Ward thought
Boozehead
, and he pondered this. When summoned by the commanding officer, a civilian was always offered quarters, mess, and stable for his horse as a common courtesy. In this case, the most arbitrary of quartermasters would not, considering the risks involved in answering Brierly's summons, rule otherwise. Ward knew with swift perception, that Riordan, broken to the ranks, had turned into a drunken, surly soldier, a barracks lawyer, who could quote regulations in defense of his rights or his conduct.

He knew, too, that a word to the stable sergeant, or to an officer of Troop G, would bring him his horse and Riordan reprimand and punishment, but a long association with the Army had taught him to shun this way, or even the threat of it. He said gently, “I am leaving this evening, Riordan. I will come to this corral for my horse.”

Riordan only regarded him blandly. “Will you, now?”

Ward turned away and passed the length of A Stable, heading toward the bakery and post office, which shared a building off the parade ground. Beyond B Stable, he heard the sharp commands of an officer conducting mounted drill, and far off at the rifle butts the ragged practice firing of replacements came to him. They were the familiar sounds of a functioning post, the sounds of an Army striving for the perfection it never reached.

Passing the big quartermaster storehouse, he heard his name called and looked over. Lieutenant Delaney, at the open door of one of the sheds, waved to him, beckoning him over.

As Ward tramped toward the long loading platform, Lieutenant Delaney left his companion and came over. His walk was jaunty, careless; he slapped at his legs with his gauntlets, and there was a look of repressed merriment in his eyes.

As Ward came close, Linus knelt on the edge of the platform and said, “For a man who's got to watch things or get an arrow in his back, you're stone-blind.”

Ward halted, waiting, and Linus said, “I have figured out a route from the orderly room to C Stables, and I'm in shade all but thirty yards of the way. Why haven't you?”

“If I hated the sun that much, I'd carry a parasol. Why don't you?”

“I'd never thought of it,” Linus said solemnly. “I'll suggest it to the Major.” He grinned fleetingly and then said seriously, “Is it true you've refused Government pay?”

“Who told you?” Ward asked slowly.

“Loring's my roommate.” Linus laughed suddenly. “It's no secret. If it were, Loring could quote the regulations
and
the punishment for violation thereof.”

Ward nodded. “It's true, I did.”

“For your own good reasons?”

“Ask Loring.”

Linus grinned. “I did. He thinks they aren't good enough. Still, he's prejudiced, as all loyal prospective husbands should be.”

Ward thought,
That's why Brierly let him stay
, and now he asked curiously, “Does Miss Dunnifon feel that way?”

Linus shrugged. “Couldn't say. But she's a sensible girl, and I wouldn't think so.” He smiled faintly. “Loring escorted her from Pueblo down here. He was so busy shinin' up to her, I doubt if he knows what she thinks, what kind of pie she likes, or if she's going to make him shave his mustaches.”

The officer standing in the doorway of the warehouse called out now, “Are you drawing these rations, Linus, or do I give you moldy bacon?”

Linus rose, and Ward asked, “Where to?”

“Paymaster's escort to Craig—and a scout on the way back.”

“Around the Peak?” Ward asked, a faint alarm in his voice.

“Lord no,” Linus replied. “Major Brierly wants to keep the rest of Sal Juan's band pushed south, so they won't join Diablito before the ball opens.”

“When do you leave?”

“After supper, when it's cooled off. Come along?”

Ward hesitated a moment. His business was finished here, and nothing was keeping him. Craig was someplace different, and there was the prospect of pleasant company on the trail. “As far as Craig, yes.”

“But not the scout?”

“Not the scout.”

Linus rose. “Good, see you later, then.”

Ward went on, and he wondered at the vague feeling of guilt within him, now that he had made up his mind to leave.

At the small post office, Ward got his mail from a corporal behind the wicket, and then headed for the sutler's post again. Passing the row of humble, single-room adobes which were the married enlisted men's quarters, he heard the crying of a baby fretting in the heat.

At the sutler's post, he saw the veranda was deserted. Troopers were all on post, waiting for the paymaster, he supposed. He passed the store, traveled the picket fence beyond, and turned into the gate of the adjoining house. It was a small frame house, and was run as hotel and boardinghouse by Mrs. Hance, the wife of the sutler.

A big cottonwood shaded the dusty yard, and tall lilacs, so dark a green in foliage they seemed almost black, screened the front porch.

Ward silently mounted the porch steps, and was entering the door when he heard a movement on the porch and wheeled. Ann Dunnifon rose slowly from the bench she had been sitting on, and now Ward removed his hat.

“I was afraid you'd gone, Mr. Kinsman,” Ana Dunnifon said.

“Not until tonight.” Ward saw the wash of surprise still in the girl's face as she regarded him, and then a faint smile replaced it. “I wasn't even sure it was you.”

“I have more face showing than yesterday.”

Ann smiled, and now she sat down again and placed her hand on the bench. “Would you—could you talk with me a moment?”

Ward moved silently toward the bench, thinking,
She'll try to change my mind
, and he sat down, looking obliquely at the girl. She had leaned back against the wall, and her hands were folded in her lap. Her face was flushed with the heat, and watching her, Ward thought her seeming tranquillity was spurious. She was holding herself in.

She said then in a quiet voice, “I spent the most of last night thinking over what you said to Major Brierly.” She looked directly at him. “You're so very sure you are right. Why are you?”

“Why did Major Brierly call me? Did he tell you?”

“He said you knew Diablito and these Apaches better than any man alive.”

“And you don't believe him?” Ward suggested.

She hesitated, and then said, “I don't think Major Brierly ever told an intentional lie in his life.”

The qualifying “intentional” did not escape Ward, and he smiled faintly and said nothing.

Ann Dunnifon went on then, “You haven't answered my question. Why are you so sure Diablito would kill Mary if he knew she was the daughter of an Army man? How could he dare to? He can't run wild forever, and the day of reckoning would come, wouldn't it?”

“No.” Ward's voice was dry. “There will be no reckoning, Miss Dunnifon. There never has been. He'll break from the Peak with the Army after him, and he'll kill, burn and steal until he's cornered. Then he'll make his bargain.”

“What bargain?” she challenged.

“He'll promise to be a good Indian and go back to the reservation with his band if they are not punished and he's not punished.”

“That's happened before?”

Ward nodded. “The Army'll be sick of him, the churches will be howling, the newspapers will be scolding, and the Indian Bureau will be quaking.” He shrugged. “All any of them want is to turn him into a peaceful reservation Indian.”

“And forgive his crimes?”

“Yes.” He looked obliquely at her and said mildly, “You can confirm that by talking with men who bathe regularly, Miss Dunnifon.”

The flush that crept into her cheeks was unmistakable, yet the glance she turned on him was strangely unashamed, as if she must search out the meaning of his every word and intonation and gesture.

She said then, “I—guess I did come over here to quarrel.” She hesitated, and then went on, “You see, I was raised on western posts. When Major Brierly said you were a guide, I remembered the ones I used to know—dirty, strange-smelling men in buckskin who'd tell us gorgeous lies and were always unreliable. Yesterday, you seemed like one of them.”

She looked down at her folded hands now, and murmured, “Now, I'm not so sure.”

Ward didn't comment. He was looking out across the flats, and now saw the first of the troopers break from the eastern sentry gate, and he thought,
The paymaster's in
.

Ann Dunnifon's voice roused him, “Is this your business—or profession? What do you call it?”

“I never called it anything,” Ward said, his indifference plain.

“You take Army pay for guiding it on campaigns?”

“I have.”

“Then you must know the country, and if you know it, you've spent time in it.” Here she smiled, and it was a friendly smile. “So if you've spent time in it, it must have been for a reason—which is none of my business at all; and we'll both pretend I'm not curious—which is also a lie.”

Ward looked at her in mild astonishment; she shook her head as if to herself; and looked away and said quietly, “I guess that's not the way.”

Then she turned abruptly to face him and they regarded each other warily. Ward was thinking,
Now it'll come
, when the girl said with a sudden passion, “Don't you see what I'm trying to say? You've condemned my sister to death in your own mind. Nobody else has. But why do I believe you're right? Why should I?”

“Start with Diablito,” Ward said gently. “What do you know of him?”

“Start with you,” Ann Dunnifon countered. “What do I know about you?”

Ward leaned his elbows on his knees and, not looking at her, said, “I have a bank account, Miss Dunnifon, I own majority interest in a very profitable freight line running from Silver City to the mines. I could, with a couple of weeks' reading, be admitted to the Territorial Bar. I—”

“I don't mean that, and you know it,” Ann Dunnifon said tartly.

Still Ward did not look at her. He went on in the same tone of voice. “All right. I like solitude. I am curious about the other side of every hill I see. I like physical work—which is a luxury only the poor can afford. I like the way Apaches live, and I think it's the way a man is meant to live. I like a pine forest better than any room I've been in. I like my people singly, and not in packages, and it's a matter of complete indifference to me what anyone thinks of me”—he looked up at her—“you included.”

Ann held his glance, and said, unperturbed, “Now you can start with Diablito.”

The racket from the sutler's bar was just barely audible. A line of troopers, in pairs and trios, were struggling toward the bar, Ward saw, and then Ann asked, “Is he really small? His name suggests it.”

Ward nodded. “He's undersize.”

“Is he frail, or sick?”

“Only in his mind,” Ward replied slowly. “You see, Apaches are a cruel people to their enemies by tradition, but Diablito's cruelty shocks even them. They despise and fear him. He's a born leader, gone crazy bad.”

“Leader?” Ann asked, puzzled.

“Of scum like himself. He's a good fighter, wily and stubborn, without any mercy at all.”

“For Mary,” Ann mused in a soft sad voice. She shivered involuntarily. “What will they do to her?”

“They will work her. The women may strike her, but she will not be harmed otherwise.”

Ann gave him a long, searching look. “As long as they think we don't want her.”

Ward nodded assent, and frowned faintly. “Diablito will watch for that. If he has her, he will have hold of something he doesn't quite understand. He's killed white women in raids, lots of them, but taking one as a slave is something different.” He paused, and added even more quietly, “
If
he has her.”

“If he hasn't, where is she?”

“Dead. In Mexico, here, anywhere along a hundred trails.”