William MacDonald - The Battle At Three-Cross

Lance had to face the facts. He knew Katherine spoke the truth and that there was nothing else to do except as she pointed out. Reluctantly he conceded the point. “Right.” He nodded tersely, though his heart warmed to the girl’s courage. “It’s decided then that there’s to be no question of surrendering?”

“No-o-o!” the room roared collectively. “We fight!”

Lance smiled thinly and gave a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven you folks settled the question for me. I sure didn’t want that responsibility.” His manner stiffened. “All right, we fight. Get all the guns and ammunition together and see what we have.”

“By the way,” Lanky said, “when I was hunting a burlap sack to put that snake in I found a whole pile of sacks in that shed beyond the corral. Suppose we fill ’em with sand and stack ’em along the outside edge of the gallery. It would make a dang good shelter to fire from.”

“That’s an idea,” Lance said enthusiastically. “Lanky, you got a head on you. Get some picks and shovels, and we’ll get busy. The yard out in front of the house is sandy, gravelly stuff. Take it from there. Dig in the shape of a wide trench. We won’t have time to make it deep, but any obstruction should slow up the Fletcher gang when they come raiding. Maybe we’re not so bad off after all. The walls of this old house are fully two feet thick. We can do our fighting from the gallery; that will leave us the house to retreat to if things get tough. All the doors are stout, and we can bar them. We want to be sure and bring plenty of water into the house to night and stack our food where it will be handy. We might be in for considerable siege.”

It was dark now. Oil lamps were lighted. Katherine started to prepare supper. Blankets were hung at the windows around the house. Guards were set to be on the watch for the first hostile move. Lanterns were lighted, and the men toiled to fill sandbags which were placed in the form of a breastwork around the edge of the long gallery. By twos and threes they dropped in to eat the food and drink the coffee Katherine had prepared. They all worked like beavers to get ready for the coming fight. The professor proved he could work with the best of them. For the present he seemed to forget his beloved cactus.

By midnight practically all was done that could be done. The two wagons of the expedition, in addition to a couple of Mexican carretas that were found on the place, had been placed at strategic points about the house to furnish further barriers against the raiders. Lance had had the horses brought from the corral and tethered along the back of the house near the doors. Not that they’d help a great deal, but every possible obstacle against a charging army was considered good tactics.

By this time all but the guards Lance had posted were in the big main room of the house oiling guns and in other ways preparing for the fight. Back of the house the earth had been cleared for some distance. It was probably from the front the attack would come, Lance decided. Not more than seventy-five feet from the gallery grew thick brush and trees, except for the opening that pointed the road to Muletero. “And it’s a cinch,” Lance mused, “Fletcher won’t be fool enough to come riding along that road. No, he’ll have his Yaquentes scattered through the brush, I’m betting.”

Katherine was seated at a long table tearing into strips a bolt of cotton she had found in the house. She smiled at Lance.

Lance said, “Bandages?” The girl nodded. Lance forced a smile in return. He didn’t say anything. The door to the gallery opened suddenly and Trunk-Strap Kelly entered. Kelly and Lanky were standing guard at the front of the house. Trunk-Strap said, “Lance, Lanky wants to see you. There’s a Yaquente outside making some sort of palaver. This Injun’s got the skin of a freshly killed rattler for a hatband on his sombrero—and the skin’s got feathers on it.”

Lance hurried outside. In the dim starlight beyond the sandbag barricade he saw Lanky conversing with Huareztjio. Lance leaped the barricade and approached. “What is it, Lanky? Howdy, Horatio.”

Huareztjio’s white teeth showed in a grin. “I’m t’ink fight weeth you, señor. Fletcher, him malo . How you say—bad, no?”

“Fletcher is damned bad,” Lance said grimly.

“Here’s the setup, Lance,” Lanky explained. “We’re getting a break. Huareztjio and his gang confronted Fletcher with that phony snake and asked questions. Fletcher tried to talk himself out of the fix but he didn’t convince all the Yaquentes by a long shot. Huareztjio and some of his buddies have come to fight for us if we’ll let ’em. They’re spoiling for a fight, anyhow——”

“This isn’t some sort of trick?” Lance asked sharply.

“I don’t reckon so. You saved Huareztjio from a beating one time and you showed him how Fletcher was pulling the wool over the eyes of the tribe. He and the cooler heads from his village want to show their gratitude. They’ve brought their guns and ca’tridges. Lance, we’re in luck. They’re fighting fools.”

“How many men can Horatio produce?”

“He claims to have seventy-five, but I ain’t seen one yet. Didn’t see Huareztjio until he was almost on top of me.”

“Ask him if he knows how big a force Fletcher has.”

Lanky put the question to Huareztjio. The Yaquente made quick reply. Lanky turned back to Lance. “He says Fletcher has gathered around a hundred and fifty men—Yaquentes and Apaches and breeds of various descriptions. Some of ’em are carrying pretty old guns too. Only the Yaquentes have modern arms.”

Lance frowned. “And will Horatio and his men fight against Indians of his own tribe?”

Lanky nodded. “A lot of the tribe wouldn’t have anything to do with either side. The Yaquentes who went with Fletcher are just young bucks with no sense, Huareztjio claims. Huareztjio and his pals are just spoiling to teach the young bucks a lesson, and—like I say, after all, fighting is a Yaquente’s whole life. Shall we take him up on the offer?”

“I figure we’d be fools not to. But where are these seventy-five men he claims he has with him?”

Lanky spoke to Huareztjio. The Indian gave a quick, short call. Instantly from all sides white-clad forms, carrying guns, came leaping from the brush. In a moment they were gathered all around Lance and Lanky. Lanky gasped with surprise, then spoke quick words to Huareztjio.

“My gosh!” Lance exclaimed. “We were surrounded and didn’t know it. Lanky, I reckon it would be a good idea to put a couple of these Yaquentes on guard.”

“Sufferin’ sheep thieves!” Lanky said. “What do you think I just told Huareztjio? I got that idea as quick as you. Better take these hombres inside, Lance, and throw some coffee and food into ’em. You’ll make yourself solid. Trunk-Strap can stay out here with a couple of Yaquentes. I’ll go along to make talk if anything comes up.”

They herded the Yaquentes into the house, much to the surprise of those inside. Lance explained briefly, “Horatio and his friends have come to fight for us. Our luck’s not all bad.” He told Katherine he could use some help fixing coffee and food for the Indians. The girl rose to go to the kitchen.

A sudden clamor lifted among the Yaquentes. They were all staring at Katherine and talking excitedly. Lanky listened, then started to laugh. “It’s Miss Gregory’s yellow hair that gets ’em,” Lanky exclaimed. “There’s some old legend in their tribe about a white maiden with yellow hair coming to lead them to a great victory someday.”

Katherine smiled up at the Indians crowded around her. More talking followed and the flash of even white teeth. Huareztjio grinned and pointed to Katherine, then said to Lance, “Your woman?”