His left pistol came up and fired. Count them! One. Another shape coming across the clearing, stumbling with the report. Two. A Mimbre darted from one tree to another and he missed him. Three. Don't throw them away! The same one came on, in view for a longer time, and he knocked him flat. Four. Madora's firing the other way. Don't look around. There…off left! The slamming report and powder smell. Five. Now wait…you're starting to reload…here they come!
He stood up suddenly, pointing the other pistol, firing, seeing them go down…four blasts from the pistol and two Mimbres dropped, one hit twice. Others were coming out of the trees! No…split-second indecision and they were going back in. Hurry up, reload! He inserted two cartridges, looked up, and when there was no movement he loaded three more; then the other gun.
The firing had stopped on both sides. "What did you have, Joe?"
"Ponies. Didn't you hear them?"
Flynn shook his head.
"They were for attention," Madora said. "Your side's the one."
"Don't tell me."
"You want to trade off?"
"I'm used to it now."
Turning toward Deneen, Madora said, "You want to help out next time?" He stopped, his eyes narrowing into a frown. "You feel all right?"
Flynn looked over. Deneen was crouched with his back against the base of a pine, half hidden by the branches, clutching the pistol in a tight-knuckled, close-to-chest, protecting way as if it were the only thing that stood between him and the end of his world. And the picture of that night at Chancellorsville flashed through Flynn's mind-the darkness and the dripping pines and almost the same tight-jawed wide-eyed expression frozen on his face-and Flynn looked away, back to Madora.
"We're not going to get any help from him," the scout said. He looked out over the meadow in the dawn light. Flynn moved back to the fallen tree, but as he did Madora called, "David, look-at over there."
His eyes followed Madora's outstretched arm through the early morning haze, out across the meadow. There, at the edge of the trees two hundred yards off, stood three Mimbrenos. They were looking toward the pines; then one of them motioned and others appeared, carrying something.
"David…that's a man."
Flynn studied them, watching two warriors drag the limp form of a man between them. They held him upright then while another Mimbre threw a line over a tree limb above them. Flynn saw now that one end was fastened to the man's wrists and as the Mimbrenos walked off holding the free end, the line tightened, drawing the man's arms up over his head and the next moment he was hanging above the ground.
Madora said, "Do you recognize him?"
Flynn shook his head. "His head's down."
"Get Deneen's glasses."
Deneen was staring at Flynn as he turned toward him. "What is it!"
"Take it easy. Let me have your glasses."
Deneen's left hand felt the case hanging at his side. "I'll look first!"
Flynn shrugged. "You won't like it." And he thought: He's not as bad as at Chancellorsville. Maybe he thinks there's still a way out.
Deneen looked through the glasses. When he brought them down his face was drawn tighter than before and for a moment Flynn thought he was going to be sick. Madora jerked the field glasses from his hands without ceremony. "He told you," the scout said, and handed the glasses to Flynn; and after he had given Flynn time to study the man he asked, "Who is he?"
Flynn lowered the glasses, handing them back to Madora. "I don't know. His head's still down…what's left of it."
Looking through the glasses Madora said, "Scalped. And nekked as a jaybird." He was silent. Then, "He's alive, David."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"What's that?" Flynn watched the Mimbres nearing the man again.
"They got knives," Madora said. He grunted. "You see that?"
"Enough," Flynn said quietly.
"They cut the tendons in his arms." Madora waited, and winced holding the glasses to his eyes. "Now both his legs."
Deneen turned away.
Flynn said, "That's for our benefit."
"You bet it is." Madora lowered the glasses. "They're telling us what's coming up about an hour from now."
"Next time they'll rush until they get us," Flynn said.
Madora nodded up and down. "The first time they found out what they wanted to know…though it cost them more than they figured. Your side was the natural, cuz of the cover, just fooled around mine. Next time they'll come mounted, all of them…like a twister and run right through us."
Flynn didn't know what to say, but he said, "Well…" and in his mind, rapidly:…but most of all for having offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of…"Joe, what if we run?"
"Which way?"
"Back." He nodded into the trees.
"We wouldn't get ten feet." Mildly, Madora said, "David, the only thing we can do now is think about all the things we shouldn't of done before."
Flynn half smiled now, thinking of Nita. "And all the things you'd like to have done."
"What would you do, David, besides kick his francis from here to Prescott?" He nodded toward Deneen.
Flynn said vaguely, "Maybe stay around here."
"And prospect?"
"Maybe."
"For what?"
Flynn smiled. "She's a nice girl."
"I thought so," Madora said. "Well…it'd be a nice living." He looked at Deneen again. "And I wouldn't see how you'd have anything further to prove as far as he's concerned."
Flynn said, "Only nothing like that will happen now." Still, he thought of Nita Esteban, until she was forced suddenly from his mind"David…here they come!"
Flynn had time to recognize Soldado, though it was a quick, fleeting glimpse-first Soldado, then his warriors riding out of the trees, coming out bunched, separating in the open, the rumble of their ponies, dust rising-then he was whirling back to face the dense pines. He heard a pistol shot close behind him, but it went in and out of his mind for he was tensed waiting for something else, then Madora's voice"David!"
Nothing moved in the trees. He glanced around quickly seeing Madora and beyond him the Mimbrenos swerving their ponies, racing down through the wide aisle between the pines and the trees they had come out of.
"They don't want us!"
And off to the left, far out, were mounted men. They had been coming along the road that, ahead, would skirt the cemetery, but now momentarily they stood holding their horses, almost a dozen riders, watching the Apaches bearing down on them…then as one they spurred, breaking for the village off beyond the trees.
"They were waiting for them all the time!"
"Joe, that's Lazair's men!"
"God Almighty they don't have a chance!"
"Joe!"
Madora's head jerked toward Flynn, seeing him pointing off to the right, the other direction, and as he followed Flynn's gaze his eyes opened in amazement.
"God Almighty…rurales!"
Flynn screamed through the din of the horses that had swerved around from the right side of the trees, "And Bowers! Look at him!"
And there it was. Cavalry! Cavalry out of the Manual. Charging, full-glory cavalry used the way it should be, the way you dream about it but seldom see it. Something out of Cooke's Tactics. And it was all there as Flynn had seen it before-only here were straw Chihuahua hats and the full-throated battle screams were in Spanish. Flynn felt the excitement in him and screamed at them as they rode by bearing down on the Apaches who were milling, turning in confusion and not all the way around when Bowers hit them. He hit them with gunfire, carbine butts, sabers and a will…a rawhide cavalry will to hit the enemy, slash him hard in the first few seconds and use the rest that makes up a minute to mop up, chase the stragglers, run them to the ground.