Drifter 2 Page 2

  There was a sickening sucking sound as Rios ripped the young man’s scalp from his head bringing forth an even louder wail of pain.

  Stepping back, Rios admired his work and thought about what to do next.

  Rios was a 30-year-old half-Mexican half Chiricahua Apache. He stood 5 feet 10 tall and had a slim frame covered in whipcord muscle. His facial features came from his father’s people, the Apache. From his mother’s Mexican heritage, he got his fiery temper. He wore a sleeveless cotton shirt, a breechcloth, and knee-high moccasins.

  Suddenly, Rios stepped forward and deftly stabbed the young man in the left eye with the point of his knife. Not deep enough to kill but definitely enough to do some serious damage. The eye popped and a clear jelly like substance oozed out of the ruined orb.

  This action brought about more screaming, though the sound was quite ragged as his throat was raw.

  Rios had been lucky over the past two days. First with the stage and now, here in the mountains he’d come across the young trooper.

  Behind him, seven of his renegade band watched on, enjoying the spectacle. But none more so than Rios.

  The smell of hot urine wafted up as the captive’s bladder released its contents and a pool formed, albeit briefly, between his legs.

  Rios wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘You piss yourself like a baby, white-eyes dog. You will go to your maker as a woman in his eyes.’

  The knife flashed in the bright sunlight once more as Rios used it to slice open the front of the trooper’s bloody tunic and the shirt beneath. A thin red line appeared against the young man’s pale torso as a trickle of blood started where the finely honed blade had touched skin.

  Rios looked about and motioned to a renegade who answered to the name Delgado. The bronzed warrior stepped forward and held out a thin cactus spine to the renegade leader who took it and turned back to face the trooper.

  Rios slid the spine into the flesh of the trooper’s middle extracting another cry of intense pain. He turned back and took another two and did the same again. The fourth and fifth spines went into his face while the next went into the trooper’s remaining eye. The spine drew the same outcome on the gelatinous mass as the knife had on the other.

  The torture continued for half an hour more before Rios grew bored and opened the young man’s throat to watch him bleed out. They departed the gruesome scene and left him where he lay for the buzzards and other scavengers to pick his bones clean. Those not carted off would be all that remained along with the uniform that he wore. The uniform of the Confederate States of America.

  Three

  Fort Craig sat on a flat piece of ground not far from the Verde River. Most buildings in the small settlement were of adobe and brick construction. The exception was the main headquarters building, which, was all timber.

  At the center of the hard-packed earthen parade ground stood a flagpole which usually flew a large flag. By the time the patrol arrived back at the fort, Retreat had been blown and the flag had been neatly folded and put away ready for the following morning.

  A glowing red sunset had turned the harsh Arizona landscape a spectacular myriad of colors by the time the patrol thundered into the fort.

  Savage stabled the sorrel with the rest of the cavalry mounts while Porter made his report to his commanding officer, Maxwell Travis.

  Travis looked to be middle-aged with graying hair and a weathered face. He seemed imposing but only stood around six feet tall.

  ‘From what I’ve heard Colonel he could be the answer to our problems.’

  There was a look of concern on Travis’ face, his deep-set green eyes hard to read. ‘You could be right Joel, although I don’t much like the idea of how to accomplish getting him on our side.’

  ‘It may be the only way.’

  Nodding, Travis said, ‘OK, go and get him.’

  Porter found Savage just as he was finishing with his horse.

  ‘The colonel wants to see you.’

  Savage nodded. ‘Let’s go then.’

  Savage followed Porter across to the headquarters building and entered to find Travis waiting patiently.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. Savage,’ Colonel Maxwell Travis greeted him with an outstretched hand.

  ‘You too, Colonel.’ Savage said, taking it firmly.

  Travis motioned to a timber chair. ‘Take a seat.’

  Savage sat down and waited for Travis to do the same.

  The office was quite large and the lamp on Travis’ battered desk kept it well lit. There was a potbellied stove in the corner with a coffeepot simmering on it and a small bucket beside it which held a stock of wood.

  ‘The lieutenant told me about the stage you came across,’ Travis stated. ‘Care to tell me about it?’

  Savage relayed the information about what he’d found and when finished, Travis sat silently as he mulled it all over.

  He looked across at Porter who’d remained after showing Savage into the office.

  ‘I think you may be right, Joel,’ Travis conceded.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Travis turned his gaze back to Savage. ‘Mr. Savage, I have a proposition for you. I’ll tell you straight up that you are not going to like it, but it is something that needs to be done. From what I’ve heard about you, we believe that you could be the man to accomplish it.’

  Savage was immediately wary and asked cautiously, ‘What would that be?’

  ‘I would like to commission you to hunt down the killer known as Rios, and his renegades,’ Travis told him.

  ‘You what?’ Savage asked, not sure he’d heard right.

  ‘It is a job for one man,’ Travis went on. He held up a hand when Savage made to protest. ‘I know what you’re going to say. That there are too many of them and that it should be a job for the army. And you are probably right, but if I take or send a troop into the mountains where he usually retreats to, he’ll see them coming from a mile away and run. One man will have a better chance to get close without being detected. The other reason is that if the Apache are out of the mountains causing trouble, as you seem to think due to this Lucifer fellow, then I’ll need every man here at the fort. I will pay you for your troubles Mr. Savage. A sum of two hundred dollars.’

  ‘No, you won’t Travis,’ Savage said with finality. ‘I ain’t goin’.’

  Travis stared at Savage unblinking. ‘Is there any way that you could be persuaded to go, Mr. Savage?’

  ‘No.’

  Travis nodded thoughtfully. ‘I was afraid of that.’

  Savage looked questioningly at Travis who shifted his gaze across to Porter. ‘Bring in the sergeant-major.’

  Porter opened the door and called out an order. The man who approached wasn’t alone. Accompanying the burly sergeant major were three well-armed men.

  Savage was immediately on edge.

  ‘Sergeant-Major Thomas, arrest Mr. Savage and lock him in the guard house,’ Travis ordered. ‘We’ll hold him there until the proper authorities can be notified.’

  Savage bolted from his seat as the four men made for him. He dropped his hand to the Remington at his side and stared wide-eyed at Travis.

  ‘The hell you’re arrestin’ me.’

  ‘I’m sorry Mr. Savage,’ Travis apologized. ‘But when you murder an unarmed man you leave me no choice.’

  ‘What the hell are you talkin’ about?’ Savage asked, flabbergasted. ‘I didn’t shoot no unarmed man.’

  ‘No? What about the man at Concho Springs?’

  ‘He had a …’ Realization dawned on Savage as to what the Fort Craig Commander was up to. ‘Hell, I see what you’re getting’ at. No way. You can’t do it.’

  ‘But I can,’ Travis informed him. ‘I have at least one witness who will attest that is what happened.’

  ‘What about the others that were there?’

  ‘I don’t care about them. I care about all the people who will continue to die if that bastard is not stopped.’

  ‘What if I can’t get him?�
� Savage asked.

  ‘I have a feeling that once you start something, you won’t stop until it is finished,’ Travis noted.

  Savage shook his head. He ‘d been forced to kill before and it looked as though he was about to ride down that trail again. One of death and violence.

  ‘All right, I’ll do it.’

  Travis smiled as though nothing had happened. ‘Good. I knew you would see it our way.’

  ~*~

  Shortly after midnight, Savage was shaken awake by Porter.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come over to headquarters,’ Porter ordered grimly. ‘A rider just came in. Concho Springs is gone.’

  Savage hurried to dress and followed Porter. When he walked into the office he saw one of the men he’d played cards with. Blood stained and torn clothing hung from the man’s wounded body.

  ‘It seems you were right, Mr. Savage,’ Travis informed him. ‘A large bunch of Apaches hit the Concho Springs way station shortly after you all rode out yesterday. Mr. Rivers here is all that is left, albeit injured.’

  Rivers turned to Savage. ‘It was bad. Everyone was killed by them, men and women. I was only left alive so I could carry a message here to the fort.’

  ‘What message?’ Savage asked.

  It was Travis who spoke again. ‘They want the man who killed some of their own and took their scalps. They will continue to make war until he is given to them.’

  Rivers’ grubby face screwed up into a mask of hatred. ‘That damn son of a bitch, Lucifer did this. He caused it all. I hope them Apache catch up to him and kill him slow. It’s all the bastard deserves.’

  ‘It seems you’ll have your hands full with the Yavapai-Apache for a while,’ Savage pointed out.

  Rivers shook his head vigorously. ‘No. It weren’t Yavapai that done it. They was Chiricahua.

  Travis nodded grimly. ‘Thank you, Mr. Rivers. If you would care to wait out in the other room, once we finish here I’ll have lieutenant Porter find you somewhere to sleep.

  Rivers nodded his thanks and left the room.

  ‘It looks as though the situation has become more complex than we first thought,’ Travis observed.

  Savage shook his head in disbelief. ‘This just keeps on getting better. Next thing you’ll be wantin’ me to round up them Chiricahuas for you.’

  Travis let the sarcasm pass. ‘I will have patrols sent out to see if we can find them.’

  Savage turned and started to walk out.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Travis asked.

  ‘Back to bed,’ Savage informed him without turning around. ‘With all this work I have to do for the U.S. Cavalry, I’m goin’ to need my sleep.’

  Four

  After two days, Savage hadn’t made it very far, with most of his time taken up trying to stay alive by avoiding Apaches. He was in mountainous desert country, a wilderness of saguaro, prickly pear, and other cacti. Of cholla, ocotillo, and acacia along the washes.

  And while it was desert, there were still creeks along the deeper canyons. The previous evening, as the setting sun cast its magical purple pall over the surrounding desert, Savage heard a mountain lion’s roar echo from the surrounding craggy peaks. Beautiful and deadly at the same time.

  He now bent down to fill his canteen in the stream. When it was full he stood and replaced the cap. He felt like a lost soul with no direction. Wandering the mountains trying to locate a man who didn’t want to be found and he had no idea where he was holed up.

  Suddenly the sorrel stopped drinking and lifted its head. Its ears pricked and it looked back towards a rock and cactus covered slope. Savage dropped his hand to the butt of the Remington and casually walked over and looped the canteen’s leather strap about the saddle horn.

  While he did this, his eyes roved constantly over the slope and he scanned the ridgeline. It seemed to be clear, however, anyone could be hiding out there amongst the rocks.

  Savage fidgeted some more with his saddle, careful to keep the horse between himself and the ridge, and he continued to search out the source of his angst. Still nothing. There were at least two more hours before dark so Savage climbed back into the saddle and kept on with his blind search.

  ~*~

  Lucifer lay motionless in silence as he watched Savage disappear. For a brief moment he thought his presence had been detected but when Savage had mounted and ridden off, he breathed a sigh of relief that all was good.

  ‘Now what would you be doin’ out here?’ he wondered aloud.

  Then he thought back to the incident at the way station and how Savage had made him look a fool. Anger surged through him as the scene played out in his mind.

  ‘I think we just might have to find out what it is,’ he muttered again.

  ~*~

  By luck, Savage cut the trail of Rios and his renegades in a wash the next morning. At least he hoped it was them but wouldn’t be able to tell until he got close enough to see. It took several more hours of careful tracking before he could confirm that he was finally on their tail.

  They were stopped in a canyon with a small stream flowing through it. Savage heard them well before he laid eyes on them. Or rather he heard the blood-curdling screams of the man they were having fun with.

  Savage eased the sorrel off what passed as a trail and hid it out of sight in a dry wash. Next, he took the Yellow boy from its saddle scabbard and circled around to climb a low hill to get a better view.

  He lay belly down between two rocks so he had a clear field of vision the 150 yards to where the group of renegades worked on their captive. What he saw made his stomach turn.

  Rios and his men had a lone figure strapped down on the only large flat-topped rock for miles. The man’s clothes were torn to shreds and they were busy working on him with knives that glinted in the bright sunlight.

  Savage ground his teeth absentmindedly as he watched, his anger boiling just below the surface. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across his face as he restrained himself from acting rashly, but he could virtually feel the tortured man’s pain.

  ‘Enough is enough you sons of bitches,’ Savage cursed and slid the Yellow Boy forward.

  Another howl of pain filled the air which was followed by shouts of excitement. One of the renegades held up something above his head and Savage realized that it was the man’s scalp.

  Savage sighted down the barrel of the Yellow Boy and squeezed the trigger. The report of the rifle cracked in the air and the renegade who held the grisly prize aloft died as his head seemed to explode when the .44 caliber slug smashed into it.

  Levering in a new round, Savage shifted his aim and brought down another renegade. This time the bullet punched into the killer’s chest and blew out his back in a bright spray of crimson.

  Cries of alarm sounded as a wave of panic swept through the survivors. Savage’s gun spat once more and yet another went down, gut-shot.

  The remaining renegades, Rios included, scattered amongst the brush and rocks and began to return fire. Bullets started to pepper the two rocks beside him so Savage slid back down the slope to change position.

  More shots peppered where he’d been and the telltale sign of gun smoke gave Savage an accurate location for each of the remaining renegades. Savage fired at a flash of color amongst some acacia and saw the slug snap off a branch then whine harmlessly away off an unseen rock.

  One of the renegades broke cover and Savage fired two fast shots in his direction. Both missed and his target dropped behind a clump of brush. Another broke cover and this time, Savage’s accuracy knocked the attacker sprawling in the dirt.

  Four down.

  Things started to change with an almost rehearsed precision as the remaining renegades started moving from cover to cover in short bursts giving Savage almost no chance of a sure shot. With every shot that he missed, the closer they got to him.

  He reloaded and fired off three more rounds at the fast-moving targets, almost certain that he’d hit at least one more of the renegades. It
wasn’t good enough. There were still five more out there amongst the rocks and brush.

  Suddenly, from out of nowhere another rifle opened up on the right. There were cries of alarm from the renegades and Savage watched as they started to scatter.

  Standing up, he worked the lever of his rifle and kept up a steady rate of fire. Before the renegades could reach their horses, three more were down. The two remaining ones leaped upon the backs of the closest mounts and kicked them brutally into motion.

  Two more shots rang out from the unknown shooter and one of the remaining renegades fell from a fast-moving horse. One rider remained, however, no amount of shots could bring him down and he got away.

  ‘Damn it,’ Savage cursed. He hoped that the rider who’d managed to flee wasn’t Rios.

  He moved down the slope towards the scene of the carnage. The first two renegades he encountered were dead. He moved on and a flicker of movement caught his eye.

  Savage palmed up the Remington with blinding speed. By the time it came level the hammer was thumbed all the way back and ready to fire.

  ‘Whoa, hold on there,’ Lucifer announced, causing Savage to stop short of pulling the trigger. ‘I ain’t tryin’ to kill you. If anythin’ I saved your hair.’

  ‘What the hell are you doin’ here,’ Savage snapped, noting how the killer held his Henry rifle at the ready.

  ‘Is that any way to speak to a man who just pulled your chestnuts out of the fire?’ he asked icily.

  Savage said nothing. A wounded renegade moaned from the ground between them and attracted his attention. Before he could move, Lucifer had raised his rifle and shot the man dead.

  Savage’s gaze snapped back to Lucifer who lowered the Henry as a thin stream of gun smoke rose from the barrel. He shrugged his shoulders. “What? He’s safer that way.’

  ‘What’s next?’ Savage snarled. ‘Are you goin’ to take their scalps?’

  Lucifer smiled. ‘I didn’t think of that. Thanks.’

  ‘You touch any one of them and I’ll kill you,’ the menace in Savage’s voice was unmistakable.