"What happened here?" Lucy blurted out, her eyes fixed on the line of fresh grave mounds.
"The Apache hit 'em at daybreak," the soldier explained. "A boy of about fourteen, scared half out of his wits, managed to sneak off into the brush and reach our fort. He told us what happened. But by the time we got here, it was too late to help anybody. There were seventeen killed. Six were women and-"
"Never mind the death count or the details," Longarm said abruptly. "Do you know who was leading the raid?"
"An Apache called Red Shirt. He's a bad one and we want him bad, but he raids and then escapes across the Mexican border where we can't follow."
"Did he take any women or children hostage?"
"We think so because a few of the younger ones are missing, according to the boy that escaped."
Lucy slid off her horse and had to hang onto her saddlehorn because she was so weary.
"Private, lead me to your sergeant," Longarm ordered.
"Yes, sir," the soldier said, coming to attention. He was obviously a green recruit and trying to do everything by the book. That would soon change.
Sergeant Wilder was snoring loudly when the private entered his tent. Longarm overheard their terse conversation.
"Sergeant, there's a United States deputy marshal outside and he wants to talk to you."
"A who?" a groggy voice replied.
"A deputy United States marshal."
"Yeah. Yeah. Tell him to go to sleep and come see me in the morning."
The private emerged from the tent. He shrugged and said "The sergeant ..."
"I heard him and his advice was sensible," Longarm said. He studied the army camp and guessed there were only five or six soldiers there. The others had obviously been pulled off to chase Red Shirt and his followers in the futile hope of rescuing white hostages.
Longarm led their horses over to a spring and watered them before he tied them to a picket line and removed the saddlebags and bedrolls.
"We've got some beans and sourdough bread," the private said. "If you're hungry."
"We are," Lucy said.
"Then follow me, miss!"
The private was more than happy to lead them over to the campfire, where a pot of congealed beans and bacon were pasted to the insides of a blacked iron pot.
"I know they don't look like much," the private said by way of an apology, "but they stick to your ribs and they'll stop your belly from growling."
"Thanks," Lucy said. "Are there any plates, or must we scoop the beans out with our fingers?"
"Oh! Sorry." The private jumped to a makeshift table and wasted no time in finding them plates and spoons. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"I don't suppose you've got a shot or two of whiskey that I can wash this down with," Longarm asked.
"No, sir! Captain Meeks won't allow no whiskey on patrol."
"Probably a good idea," Longarm said. He pointed off to the side. "We'll sleep over there and have a talk with your sergeant early tomorrow morning."
"Reveille is at five sharp," the private said.
"Great," Lucy replied. "That will give us about four hours of sleep."
"Sorry, miss. But that's the army way."
Lucy and Longarm nodded as they scraped beans and bacon out of the iron pot and began to shovel them into their mouths. They were famished.
"If you need anything else, you just holler," the private said. "I'll be on watch for another two hours."
"Thanks," Longarm said. "Do you have a feedbag and a little grain for our horses? They've been ridden long and hard."
"I guess I could rustle up some oats," the young private said, "but the army don't give anything away free. The sergeant will tell you how much they cost in the morning."
"Fine," Longarm said. "We'll be happy to pay whatever is fair. Wouldn't want to cheat the government out of a few cents worth of oats now, would we?"
"No, sir."
Longarm suppressed a smile and scooped up some more beans.
CHAPTER 7
Precisely at five o'clock the next morning reveille was sounded, and Longarm rolled out of his bedroll and swayed to his feet. The sun was just barely up, but there was enough light to see the devastation left by the Apache only twenty-four hours ago. The entire settlement had been put to the torch, and now lay in charred ruins. "Good morning, sir." Longarm didn't think it was such a good morning. The smell of fire and death lingered over the remains of Rimrock, and it made him want to leave as soon as possible. "'Morning, Private."
"I told the sergeant about you and your prisoner coming in late last night. He wants to see you in a few minutes."
"Fine," Longarm said. He glanced back over his shoulder. "But why don't we just let my prisoner sleep. It's been a hard trail."
"Yes, sir."
Longarm strapped on his six-gun and pulled on his boots, then went over to the spring and cupped a few handfuls of cold water into his face. After that, he headed for the campfire, where a coffeepot was already steaming.
"Marshal?"
Longarm turned to see a thickset sergeant waddling toward him. "You must be Sergeant Wilder."
They shook hands. Wilder said, "I guess this ought to convince you, Marshal, that it's not safe to travel this country alone or with a prisoner. Where are you heading?"
"Yuma."
The sergeant glanced over at Lucy, whose face was hidden under her bedroll. "The private, he says that your prisoner is extremely attractive."
"She is," Longarm said, "although I don't see what that has to do with anything. Pretty or ugly, they deserve the same treatment."
"Of course they do," the sergeant said with a wink and a smile. "Of course they do!"
The man's condescending attitude rankled Longarm, but he let it pass. "We'll be pushing on this morning for Prescott." "Prescott? I thought you were bound for Yuma."
"I am," Longarm said, "but first I have to make a stop at Prescott."
"I see," the sergeant said, clearly not seeing at all. He glanced back at Lucy's sleeping figure. "I don't think that I can allow you to go on without an escort."
"What?"
"Too dangerous," the sergeant explained. "My orders are to make sure that no civilians are endangered by the Apache."
"Don't worry about that," Longarm said. "We are going in exactly the opposite direction that Red Shirt and his warriors were heading."
"There are other hostiles raiding in this territory. I'll have to ask you to remain under our protection until my captain returns and can decide what to do with you. He may ask you to accompany him to the fort."
Longarm could see that this sergeant was too stubborn to listen to reason and was going to create big problems. "Look, Sergeant, I carry written orders--orders signed by a federal judge--to deliver Mrs. Ortega to the territorial prison at Yuma. Now, Sergeant, you don't have any orders that would countermand my orders, do you?"
"No, but..."
"Then I tell you what," Longarm interrupted. "Why don't we just enjoy a cup of coffee and then part friends."
"Marshal, I can't let you go," the sergeant repeated, sticking his chin out. "I got to hold you until the captain and his patrol returns."
"And how long might that be?"
"Probably a couple of days."
Longarm made a decision. "Could we step inside your tent and have a little private talk?"
"Sure, but it ain't going to change anything. You see, Marshal, it'd be my ass if I let you and that woman go and you ran into another Apache raiding party."
"I'll take the risk."
"I won't."
Longarm smiled and said, "Let's step inside for a moment and really consider this."
"Okay, but I ain't going to change my mind. You'll just have to wait here for the captain."
Longarm followed the man into his tent, pulled the flap, and then fisted his left hand and held it out to the side. "Do you know what I have in my hand, Sergeant Wilder?"
The sergeant stared at the closed fist. "No."
"Nothing," Longarm whispered as he measured his punch and sent his right hand crashing into the sergeant's jaw.