Ambush on the Mesa Page 15

  “What is it?” asked Nettleton. “By Heaven, the father-in-law would love this. I must get some for him.”

  Hugh stood up. “There’s plenty available,” he said. “I should have thought of it before.”

  Marion Nettleton stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Hugh! What is it?”

  “Never mind. Eat.”

  Clymer stood up. “Answer the lady,” he said.

  Hugh started for the door. Clymer gripped Hugh’s shoulder and whirled him about. “Answer the lady,” he said.

  Hugh spat. “Listen, you big tub of guts: she’s eating, isn’t she? It’s food, isn’t it? Take it and be thankful.”

  Katy stood up and looked from one to the other of them. “I know what it is.”

  “Well?” demanded Marion.

  “Rattlesnake,” said Katy.

  Marion Nettleton threw her plate across the room. She turned pale and suddenly jumped up and ran to the door, holding her hand over her mouth.

  Clymer set his jaw. “Damn you, Kinzie!”

  Hugh grinned. “The Lord will provide,” he said. “Best damned diamondback steaks I ever ate.”

  Hugh walked outside. Marion Nettleton was bending over the terrace wall. Always the lady, thought Hugh. He walked to the tower and picked up the coiled picket lines. Then he walked around to the place where the fault had been walled in. His carbine leaned against it. He thumped the mortared rocks with his Sharps butt. It was as solid as Gibraltar, or so it seemed. He climbed up into the second floor of the tower and tried it again. He was rewarded with a hollow sound.

  Hugh eyed the wall. A pick might break through, if he had one. A sledge might crack through, if he had one. He squatted at the window, studying the wall. Somewhere, in his past, he had once read a book on medieval siege operations. “Why not a battering ram?” he said aloud.

  Hugh began to gather his materials. A heavy roof beam would do for the ram, but he needed a means of suspension. He went out on the terrace. Nettleton and Clymer were talking in low voices. They stopped as Hugh approached. Hugh explained his plan to them.

  Nettleton rubbed his dirty face. “Do you think we can break through?”

  Hugh shrugged. “We can try.”

  “If the Mimbrenos hear the noise they’ll be suspicious.”

  “Do you have any other ideas about a way of escape?”

  Nettleton shook his head. “Let’s try it,” he said.

  It had taken them all of two hours to rig the device. Beams had been braced in the upper floor of the tower, and they had been extended through the window to rest against the wall. Hugh rigged plaited picket lines from the beams and from them they depended a solid beam, even with the second-floor window. There was hardly enough room to swing the beam in the little room, but they had no other choice.

  Nettleton passed around a bottle after they finished. “Now what?” he asked.

  Hugh took a good slug. “We’ll have to figure out the best time to begin smashing the wall.”

  “We won’t have much time once the Mimbrenos hear us,” said Nettleton thoughtfully.

  “Supposing we don’t smash the wall?” asked Clymer.

  “That’s a damned silly question,” said Hugh.

  Nettleton took another drink. “I’ll have the ladies ready,” he said.

  “What about Phillips?” asked Clymer.

  Hugh stood up. “We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

  “I’m worried about it now,” said Clymer.

  “You mean you’re worried about getting out of here yourself and to hell with everybody else.”

  Clymer reached for the bottle. “Some day …”

  • • •

  Darrell Phillips opened his eyes as Katy wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. “How are they doing?” he rasped.

  “They’ve been up there for a couple of hours.”

  “We should have thought of that before … before this happened.”

  “We won’t leave you, Darrell.”

  “I know you won’t. But what about them?”

  She patted his bristly cheek. “I’ll stay with you,” she said.

  • • •

  Marion Nettleton gathered her things together. Her stomach still rebelled at the thought of the horrible food she had partially eaten. She tied a scarf around her head and tucked in a loose strand of hair. Still, it had been Hugh Kinzie who had held them together thus far. Phillips would die. Maurice would bumble and fumble as he always had. Clymer, instead of paying his usual attention to Marion, had become preoccupied with something else. That left Hugh Kinzie. He would get her out. He’d get her back to civilization. She sipped a little water to get rid of the taste of the meat. “And if he dies on the way,” she said aloud. “so much the better!”

  • • •

  Maurice Nettleton, in his meticulous way, went about making sure everything was ready. Not that there was much to get ready, but it salved Nettleton’s conscience. He knew he had lost command of the party even before they had been trapped in the canyon. Man after man had died or disappeared. It wouldn’t be easy to explain, now that First Sergeant Hastings lay dead out in the canyon, for he had kept all the records. Nettleton shook his head. There would be a great deal of explaining to do. Still, they might look upon him as somewhat of a hero for getting the remainder of his party to safety. If only that loudmouth Abel Clymer had gone the way of the others.

  Nettleton padded about. He gathered up the extra weapons and carried them to the tower. He filled the canteens and placed them with the weapons. He looked up at the ram and nodded in satisfaction. This would make a good story to tell in the officers’ clubs when he got back to duty in the east.

  He came out of the tower and heard a scrabbling noise further up the triangular passageway. He walked east toward the noise. A big figure bulked in the darkness. It was Abel Clymer, down on his hands and knees, digging in debris. Nettleton opened his mouth and then closed it. Kinzie had accused Clymer of caching food for his own use. Nettleton stepped in between two buildings and raised the flap of his holster.

  Clymer pulled something from the hole and dusted it off. He looked up the passageway and then felt in his pockets. He opened the saddlebag he had unearthed and lit a match. Swiftly he began to take something from the bag and stow it inside his shirt.

  Nettleton walked forward. He drew and cocked his Colt. “Mr. Clymer,” he said.

  Clymer turned quickly. He held a fold of papers in his big hand. The match flickered out.

  “What is that, Mr. Clymer?”

  “Personal papers.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Certainly!”

  “Let me see.”

  “You have no right to see them.”

  Clymer extended the papers.

  “Light a match, Mr. Clymer.”

  Abel Clymer produced and lit a match. Nettleton looked at the papers. Then he looked up coldly at Clymer. “The government drafts from Fort Buchanan. How came you by them, sir?”

  “I was protecting them, Captain.”

  “So? I am in command here. Give me the rest of them, sir!”

  Clymer looked past Nettleton. There was no one else in sight. He slid a hand inside his shirt. Then he moved swiftly. He knocked Nettleton’s hand up into the air. His right fist smashed fully against Nettleton’s jaw. Nettleton staggered against the wall. Clymer snatched the Colt from Nettleton’s weakened hand. Nettleton swayed toward Clymer. Clymer thrust out his big right hand and closed the massive fingers about Nettleton’s soft throat. Nettleton struggled. Clymer forced the smaller man to his knees. Carefully he placed the cocked Colt on the debris. Then he closed his other hand about Nettleton’s throat. There was no sound but the frenzied scraping of Nettleton’s feet on the gritty earth and Clymer’s harsh breathing.

  Clymer lowered the lifeless man to the ground. He stowed away the drafts. Then he picked up the captain and carried him into a dwelling. He piled debris over the body. Then he stepped back and spat on the
rude grave.

  Hugh Kinzie looked at Marion Nettleton. “I just can’t find him,” he said.

  “He must be somewhere around here.”

  “He isn’t. I’ve looked high and low.”

  “Perhaps he went out into the canyon?”

  “If he did, he’ll stay there.”

  “Yes.” She came close to Hugh. “There is a chance for us, isn’t there?”

  “Who knows? We can try. He looked down at her. “I’ll look for him again.”

  “Do so,” she said coldly.

  Hugh walked outside. Clymer stood by the crumbling wall. “He isn’t to be found,” said Clymer. “Last I saw of him he was poking about on the slope at the west end.”

  Hugh eyed the big man. There was something wrong somewhere. “We’d best get ready,” he said.

  • • •

  Katy Corse was binding a splint about Darrell Phillips’s smashed leg. The man was in agony, she knew, but she would see to it that he went along.

  Darrell Phillips placed a hand on Katy’s soft dark hair, vaguely wondering what it would be like freshly washed and combed and with a ribbon in it. “A red ribbon,” he said.

  She looked down at him. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” He raised his head. “Is there any hope, Katy?”

  “We’ll get you out.”

  “I mean, any hope for us together?”

  She pressed him back on his blanket. “I’m sorry, Darrell.”

  He nodded his head. “I thought so.”

  She stood up. “I’ll see how the others are,” she said.

  He waited until she left and then drew his Colt out from under the blanket. It was freshly loaded and capped. He cocked it and slid it under the blanket again….

  It took time to get Darrell Phillips out of the room and onto the terrace. He stifled his groans, and mercifully fainted when Clymer bumped hard against his smashed thigh.

  They placed him in the passageway below the water seep. Hugh wiped the sweat from his face. “We’ll block the other passageways,” he said, “so they can’t break through.”

  Clymer nodded.

  They piled debris in the triangular passageway to the east of the tower, piling it high and forming a rude abatis with shattered beams, six feet higher than a man’s head.

  Hugh checked everything. The two women stood in the passageway. Katy Corse held a carbine in her left hand. A gunbelt circled her slim waist. She tied the canteen straps together and placed the canteens inside the lowest room.

  Marion Nettleton shook her head as Katy extended a pistol to her. “I’ve never learned to use one,” she said.

  “It’s simple. Cock the hammer so … point the muzzle and pull the trigger.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  Katy shrugged. She slid the extra pistol under her gunbelt.

  Hugh looked at the three of them. “We’ll wait until just before dawn.”

  “Why?” demanded Clymer.

  “Two reasons. One, we’ll have light to see. Second, we’ve got to give Nettleton every chance to get back.”

  “If he does.”

  Hugh looked at Marion Nettleton. She seemed unconcerned.

  Hugh had gathered together a pile of sotol stalks. “We can use these for light in there,” he said.

  They all eyed each other. There was one thought uppermost in their minds: was it a dead end?

  • • •

  The hours dragged past. There was no sign of life from the Mimbrenos. They could afford to wait another day and then move in without trouble.

  Hugh paced the terrace with his carbine in the crook of his arm. Now and again he looked up at the darkened roof of the huge cave, wondering about that mysterious walled fault. There was no sign of Maurice Nettleton….

  The sky was lighter now. Hugh looked down into the canyon once more. He could see Matt Hastings’ body lying there. “So long, amigo,” he said quietly….

  Hugh stopped beside Phillips. “We’re about ready,” he said. “I’ll carry you into the lower room so that you won’t get hit by debris … if there is any.”

  Phillips moved quickly, drawing his revolver out from under his shirt. “I’ll stay here,” he said.

  “You’re loco!”

  Phillips shook his head. “No, I can’t burden you. Get on with your work. Good luck.”

  Hugh moved a little.

  Phillips raised the Colt. “No. Don’t try. You’ve got Katy to think of.”

  Hugh stepped back. He passed the wounded man. “Muy hombre,” he said.

  Darrell Phillips smiled for the first time in many days.

  • • •

  Clymer eased his big shoulders through the opening into the second floor. He waited for Hugh. They placed their hands on the beam and tested it. “Ready?” asked Hugh.

  Clymer nodded.

  They swung together. The beam end thudded against the rocks and bounced heavily back. They swung again and again. “No good!” said Clymer.

  “Keep trying, you big bastard!”

  Sweat streamed from their bodies. The beam began a steady thud-thud-thud against the stubborn wall. The Hohokam had built well….

  High on the northern wall of the canyon the Mimbrenos threw back their blankets as they heard the thudding noise coming from the Place Of The Dead. They stood up and got their weapons….

  A rock cracked and then fell from the wall. Another shifted and then fell. The end of the beam was fraying and splintering. Again and again the tattoo went on. Sweat streamed from the bodies of the two big men and a foul miasma rose from their stinking clothing to mingle with the bitter smell of dust….

  Silently the Mimbrenos came down the canyon wall, testing the dawn air with all their senses. They stopped on the canyon floor and faded into the unburned brush….

  The beam smashed through. Clymer went off balance and hit the wall, Hugh hung onto the beam and grinned. “Made it,” he said.

  They smashed with renewed fury. Rocks and ancient mortar crumbled beneath the savage onslaught.

  • • •

  Darrell Phillips wet his lips and then began to crawl toward the terrace wall, inching his way along until he could pull himself up on his good leg. There was a movement on the slope just below him. A bushy head rose from the brush. The Colt roared. The big slug smashed the buck back down the slope.

  Phillips set his jaw. The agony in his leg made him feel faint. He braced his elbow on the wall and fired at a darting Mimbreno. The warrior fell and rolled down the slope.

  “Zastee! Zastee! Zastee! Kill! Kill! Kill!” chanted the aroused warriors.

  Rifles flashed in the light of dawn. Bullets pattered against the dwelling walls and sang eerily off into space. Phillips fired twice more, adding another notch to his tally. Then he stood there and laughed.

  The Mimbrenos had scuttled for cover, shrieking in dismay….

  There was now a hole in the wall big enough for a man to get through. Clymer and Hugh worked swiftly, cursing in their mad haste. They shoved beams across into the hole. Marion was helped up the ladder by Katy.

  They could hear the smash of rifle and pistol fire near the terrace. Clymer leaned out of the west window and snapped out a few shots from his Colt.

  Hugh tightened his belt, thrust some sotol stalks into his shirt, then teetered across to the hole, carrying his carbine. He turned and looked back. Katy was standing there, helping Marion up onto the shaky makeshift bridge.

  Hugh looked down into the hole. It was pitch black down there. He hastily lit a sotol stalk and waved it to make sure it would burn. He looked down again. The floor of the fault sloped steeply upward and was littered with something brownish. But he felt a blessed draft of cold air on his heated face. There was a way through!

  He dropped the stalk. It was about ten feet down to the floor. Katy passed canteens and weapons across to Hugh. Hugh reached across for Marion. Her face was set as she came across. “Put your legs through and drop,” said Hugh.

  She shook h
er head.

  “Go on, Hugh!” called Katy.

  Rifle fire broke out again. Clymer fired steadily. Hugh hung for a moment and then dropped, hitting hard on something which crackled below his feet, loosing a curious musty smell. He looked up, vaguely seeing Marion. “Drop!” he yelled. “Damn it, woman! Drop!”

  Then she landed heavily beside him and clung to him. Above them they could hear the muffled roaring of guns. Katy landed beyond them. Then the big body of Clymer came through the hole. They clambered up the steep slope toward the fresher air, floundering through material which cracked and snapped beneath them. Hugh fell heavily. His free hand touched something smooth and round.

  Clymer cursed. “Move on!” he yelled.

  • • •

  Darrell Phillips jerked as a slug smashed into his right shoulder. He shifted his Colt to his left hand and steadied the heavy weapon. Somehow he felt calm and cool. A bushy head appeared beyond the wall. Phillips fired, driving the buck from sight.

  He raised his head. “Come on, you bastards,” he said.

  A knife flew through the air and struck him in the left side of the neck. He fired his last shot. Then a bullet struck him full in the forehead and he went down for eternity.

  • • •

  The firing had died away. Hugh struggled to his feet, still clutching the rounded object in his free hand.

  “Light!” roared Clymer. He lit a match and held it out They looked about them. Marion Nettleton looked at the rounded thing in Hugh’s hand. Then she looked down at her legs, buried up to the knees in loose material. Then she screamed again and again as the match flared out in the draft.

  Hugh dropped the brown skull he held in his hands. He moved, feeling the dry bones crackle beneath his feet Katy Corse drew in a sharp breath.

  Marion Nettleton screamed again and then became silent.

  “Jesus!” said Clymer. “It’s their catacombs!”

  Hugh gripped Katy by the arm and pulled her up the slope. They could hear the others floundering around below them.

  “You think they’ll come through the hole?” called Clymer.

  Hugh grunted. “Into here? You wouldn’t get them within half a mile of this place if they knew it was here.”

  He cracked his head against a rock wall. He felt for a sotol stalk and lit it. The passageway was narrow, hardly wide enough for them to get through. He worked his way upward until he felt the coolness of the dawn wind pouring about him. Then suddenly his head emerged even with the mesa floor. “Wait!” he cautioned Katy.