And as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Some Apaches, perhaps a dozen, had broken free and were streaking off in the distance; many were on the ground, horses and men, scattered over the meadow; and there were those who had given up. They sat their ponies sullenly with their hands raised in the air, herded into groups, rurales circling each group with carbines ready.
Then Bowers was coming toward them, holding his mount to an easy trot, the saber flashing in the sunlight; but he saw the naked figure hanging from the tree and he guided the left rein in that direction.
Madora was grinning broadly in his gray-streaked beard. "Where'd he get that saber? David, I think he might do."
Flynn was smiling, but then he turned quickly remembering Deneen…there, by the tree. "Colonel…" The word hung by itself with none to follow. Flynn stared, feeling the cold shock of what he saw, then gradually realizing what had happened-remembering the pistol shot right after Madora had yelled that the Mimbrenos were coming.
That was enough, just knowing they were coming, and knowing what they would do from seeing the man strung up across the meadow. That finished him, Flynn thought. At Chancellorsville it was a shelling. That had been bad. But what the Mimbrenos had in mind would have been much worse. So…
"Joe…look here."
Madora was silent for some time looking at Deneen slumped against the tree. The face was beyond recognition, the pistol barrel still jammed into his mouth, his hand still on the trigger. Then Madora shook his head slowly. "When did he do that?"
"Right after you yelled. I remember hearing a shot close, but I thought it was you."
Madora shook his head again. "Just think, if he'd a put that off one minute he'd be bitchin' at us for something right now."
"Maybe," Flynn said, "he's done everybody a favor."
Madora said, looking up, "Here comes Bowers," and moved out to the edge of the trees.
Flynn started to follow, but he stopped, glancing back at Deneen thinking of Bowers. What good would it do him to see that? Flynn thought. Throwing it in his face that Deneen was a coward…a Colonel, United States Cavalry. And suddenly he had hurdled the fallen tree trunk and was dragging back the nearest of the dead Mimbrenos, lifting him over the trunk, dropping him to the other side, dragging him up facedown over Deneen's body. He pried Deneen's hand open, closed the Mimbre's fist around the gun butt and placed the barrel back-gently-against the gaping teeth-shattered expressionless hole.
Madora was calling, "Red, where in hell did you get that sword?"
Bowers was dismounting as Flynn reached him. He pushed the sword point into the ground, taking the extended hand, grinning, feeling the glory of it, but not wanting to show his excitement.
Flynn smiled back at him, saying, "There was no room for cavalry, but it was cavalry that won after all. How'd you do it with Santana?"
Bowers smiled half self-consciously, even in his cavalry pose, hand resting on the sword hilt. "Santana and I talked for a long time last night," he said. "We discussed again the battle of Cinco de Mayo at Puebla. We talked of Santana's military ability-about which he wasn't the least bit restrained-then we got around to Gettysburg-the second day, if the memory of my father's words serves me correctly-and I told him about an incident during the Culp's Hill skirmish."
Bowers squinted. "Now I think it was Geary's division of Slocum's XII Corps holding the hill, with Ewell's rebel division pinning them down. Ewell couldn't climb his division up the hill, but neither could Geary get out…and Meade, that's General George G. Meade, wanted part of Geary's division over to reinforce Sickles' end of Cemetery Ridge where Longstreet was hammering. Now there was a fellow named Gregg with some cavalry sent to help out Geary, but he couldn't see how to get at Ewell, until, from the hill, they spotted a supply train coming up along Rock Creek. They knew Ewell's scouts would tell him about it and from then on it was timing. Ewell started for the supply wagons and Gregg hit him while his pants were down with umpteen troops of Union Cavalry." Bowers' eyes were alive, smiling. "I've always considered that would have been some sight to see." He said then, "Now just casually I mentioned to Santana, 'If Lazair's men were to come down that road in the morning, Soldado would sniff him and it would be pretty much the same maneuver, wouldn't it? And for a military man of your ability, it would be easy as walking.' That did it. He even dug sabers out of Duro's storeroom. We knew the Mimbres were in the trees…no other place they could be; so we waited until there was a sign of Lazair's men far out, then swung out a side street and barreled around that grove of trees."
"How did Duro react?" Flynn said.
"Duro's dead. He ran for it during the night. Hilario was watching then…he told him to stop, but Duro kept going, so he shot him. Hilario said someone else ran out ahead of Duro. We've been trying to figure out who it could be." Bowers jerked his thumb over his shoulder vaguely pointing across the meadow. "We didn't even think of him, but that's who it must have been."
From Flynn, "Who is it?"
"Lazair."
Flynn paused, surprised. "Is he dead?"
Bowers nodded. "Dead as a stone."
Madora half smiled in his beard, noticing the new, sure-of-himself tone of Bowers' voice along with the hip-cocked cavalry way he stood. He said, "Red, you might do at that…with a little seasoning."
Bowers smiled, though he was thinking: Damn, how you have to listen to old men and smile just because they are old men. As if a few more years just naturally makes them wiser. Then he said, because he had to say something, "I hope so, Mr. Madora. I do hope so." And then, remembering, Bowers said, "Where's the colonel?"
Flynn stepped aside and nodded into the trees and followed Bowers as he walked in among the pines.
"My God-"
Flynn said nothing. And suddenly, watching Bowers' face, he was more than glad he had done this-seeing the young lieutenant looking at a soldier's death-no, more than that, looking at a colonel of cavalry killed in action. When a colonel dies, it's a bigger thing, Flynn thought. No matter how he dies.
Bowers was saying, "This will head the report," his voice heavy with respect, "for it isn't often that a colonel dies this way."
Flynn looked at him quickly, but only awe and respect were on Bowers' face and Flynn said, "No, thankfully, it isn't often."
Madora came up behind them. He glanced at Flynn after looking down at Deneen, but he said nothing to him. Then to Bowers, "I see Soldado survived…him and about two dozen others. Counting his women up in the hills somewhere, you'll have about seventy people all told. Red, how do you propose to get 'em to San Carlos?"
"I was thinking of talking Santana into helping as far as the border…have cavalry come down to meet us there." Bowers smiled. "Hell, Joe, all the fight's out of those Mimbres. The three of us could take them up, for that matter."
"You mean the two of us."
"Two?"
"David here's talking about doing some prospecting."
Flynn smiled, but he didn't deny it.