Ralph Compton - Down on Gila River

“I was started to head home,” James said, “but turned back. I heard the voices of my ancient ancestors in my head and they said that what I was doing was not the way of the warrior. They said the crazy, bad-eyed white man would be killed fer sure if I was not there to guide him. Maybe so.”

“That’s true-blue,” Sam said. “The kind of tip-top behavior I’d expect from a white man.”

“It was not true-blue,” the Kiowa said. “It was stupid. The ancient ancestors are not always right.”

“Well, anyhoo, I’m glad you’re here,” Sam said. “I needed a smoke real bad.”

The Kiowa leaned a shoulder against the rock wall and asked Sam to tell him how he came by his wound.

And he did.

After Sam had finished speaking, James stood still and quiet. When he finally did speak, his voice was a broken croak.

“I told you it was stupid,” he said.

* * *

The thunderstorm showed no inclination to move on, and Sam sheltered from the pounding rain as best he could while the Kiowa hobbled away to stand guard at the mouth of the arroyo.

Within ten minutes the Indian returned, his agitated face signaling his alarm.

“Riders coming, Sammy,” he said. “Two men.”

“Is it Moseley and Dan Wells?” Sam said.

“I don’t know. I count noses and run.”

“Hell, couldn’t you have waited until they got closer?”

“Would you wait out there with no gun?”

Sam’s nerves were twanging again and suddenly his wounded side was paining him worse than before.

“What do we do, Sammy?” James asked. He looked scared.

Sam made up his mind fast.

“We wait for them right here,” he said. “I’ll pick ’em off as they ride into the clearing.”

“Will you see them, you being half-blind the way you are?”

“Yeah, I’ll see them. If they get close enough.”

The Kiowa was quiet for a few moments, his face gloomy.

“Sammy,” he said, “I got no confidence in you and I got no confidence in your eyes and I got no confidence in your shootin’.”

“Hell, Injun, I shot Jeptha Wells, didn’t I? If you’re so all-fired worried about me, why don’t you do the shootin’?”

“I got no confidence in me either,” the Kiowa said.

Chapter 22

Lorelei drew rein and leaned toward Hannah Stewart, rain falling between them. She pointed. “Over there. See the arroyo? Maybe we can find shelter.”

Thunder roared and drowned out Hannah’s reply, but she swung her horse in the direction of the arroyo, head bent against the wind-driven downpour.

The walls of the arroyo provided scant shelter from the rain, but its steep sides cut the wind. Lorelei dismounted and told Hannah to do the same.

“The kid can stay in the saddle,” she said. “At least for now.”

Hannah, exhausted, wet, and miserable, could only nod, and Lorelei read her strained face.

“How you holding up, schoolma’am?” she said. “All this hasn’t been easy for you, has it?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hannah said. “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

Lorelei glanced around her, at the storm-shredded trees on the rims of the arroyo and then the roiling black sky.

“We’ll be all right here for a spell,” she said. “Even Dan Wells isn’t crazy enough to ride in this weather.”

“Is it a box?” Hannah said.

“I don’t know. I reckon it is.”

“Then if they trap us here, we’re done for.”

“Unless we get some rest, we’re done for anyhow,” Lorelei said. “I’m sore wounded, schoolma’am, and I can’t ride any further.”

Hannah’s face paled in alarm as she remembered the bullet in Lorelei’s shoulder from Matt Laurie’s gun. “Let me see it,” Hannah said.

“No, not now, not here. Later.” Lorelei led her horse forward. “Follow me,” she said. “Maybe there’s a place to shelter from the rain up ahead.”

The brush and cactus thinned out as the two women made their way deeper into the canyon. After a while it widened and appeared to open up into some sort of clearing.

Lorelei looked back at Hannah and said, “I may have found us a place to camp for the night.”

Lorelei walked into the clearing—and immediately came under fire from Sam Sawyer’s hammering revolver.

* * *

Lorelei’s horse screamed and went down in a tangle of legs and leather, shot through the neck. Behind her she heard Hannah’s startled yelp of fear. Another bullet split the air above Lorelei’s head and forced her to dive for the muddy ground.

“You’re killing us here,” she yelled.

“Wait, Sammy,” the Kiowa yelled. “It’s a woman.”

“Dang it all,” Sam yelled, “I took her fer Dan Wells.”

Lorelei rose to her feet. She glared at Sam, her eyes blazing. “Did you fire those shots and kill my hoss?” she said.

Sam stepped toward her. “Sorry. I plumb mistook you for a man.”

Lorelei opened her slicker and revealed the breasts swelling under her dress. “You old goat, do I look like a man to you?” she said. She moved to Sam, her face a mask of fury. “Give me that damned gun before you do harm to somebody.”

Sam hesitated and Lorelei snapped, “Give it to me!”

Before the woman could say anything else, Sam holstered his Colt and said, “Now, see here, ma’am, I—”

But his words fell on unconscious ears because Lorelei collapsed in a dead faint at his feet.

“Sam, you . . . you killed her,” Hannah said.

Taken aback, Sam needed some time to focus on Hannah.

“So, it really was you and little Lori at the Wells place,” he said.

“You killed her,” Hannah said again. “You shot her.”

“Woman not dead, but has bad wound,” James said. He knelt beside Lorelei and now looked up at Hannah. “Bullet still in shoulder. Must come out.”

“I’m real sorry, Hannah,” Sam said, wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t shoot her,” Hannah said, hugging Lori close. “If she has only one bullet wound, it happened when we were escaping from Dan Wells’s place.”

“Sammy,” the Kiowa said, “bullet must come out.”

Rain streamed over them, and the walls of the arroyo flickered with pulsing light and then darkened again.

“You ever take out a bullet, James?” Sam said.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Well, we can’t stand here talking about it,” Hannah said. She looked at the Kiowa. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me James.”

“Right, James. First we have to build some kind of shelter for Lorelei. Can you do that?”

The Kiowa nodded. “Lean-to, maybe, if I can find enough wood. Then we cover it good with slickers.”

“Then let’s get it done,” Hannah said. “Sam, get down to the entrance to the arroyo and keep watch. And for Pete’s sake don’t shoot any more horses unless you’re sure it belongs to Sheriff Moseley or Dan Wells, otherwise you’ll set the whole territory afoot.”

“Hannah, what happened at the Wells place?” Sam said.

“Later, Sam,” Hannah said. “Right now we’ve got a wounded woman to take care of.”

* * *

The makeshift shelter was reasonably dry, if cramped. Rain drummed on the stretched-out slickers, and every now and again fat drops fell onto the three people inside.

Hannah cradled Lorelei’s head on her lap. The Kiowa had agreed to do the cutting after Lorelei, who had slowly regained consciousness, turned down Sam’s offer, telling him he was so blind he’d cut her throat by mistake.

“Before you start,” Lorelei said, “there’s a pint of whiskey in the sack on my saddle. Bring it here.”

The Kiowa did as he was told and Lorelei passed the bottle to Hannah. “Here, schoolma’am, take a swig.”