[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
would not wait long. He was dangerous, but too impatient. He would be
relentless and ruthless, but less shrewd than old Vittoro had been.
Behind the column the dust settled and there were only the tracks, a plain
trail that nothing could remove. Not even a bad storm would wipe out that
trail and behind them would be the Mescaleros and their allies.
He looked around at the parched and lonely country, then swung the lineback.
There was yet time, but to hole up and make a stand would be worse than
useless. They must keep going, get near enough for a relief column to reach
them.
He rode after the moving train, and they plodded on wearily, pushing toward
the afternoon and the rim of distant hills beyond the post, still so far, far
away.
Page 109
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
There was a brief noon halt near a water hole whose waters swiftly dwindled
and died as the horses drank. No man touched any water but that from his
canteen, and sparingly. The horses were all-important now, and each horse
drank.
Lieutenant McKay was delirious, talking ofRichmond , of the Point, and of a
girl somewhere who had said no, when she could not have found a better man.
The sun was high and hot. Fifteen minutes of halt, then the column moved out.
Men slumped in the saddle, weary after miles, yet knowing what was yet to
come. In the wagons the cursing man had lost consciousness, and a man with a
broken collarbone and a bandaged skull was singing to a mandolin the good
songs, the old songs...
In the hot stillness of the afternoon they came down from the hills, their
dark bodies dusty with the trail and the column swung its few wagons into a
tight circle and the rifles spoke. The Indians vanished, then came again,
swiftly, some on horseback, but more upon foot. The Apache was a daring
runner, and he trusted his feet.
Cold eyes looked down the barrels of rifles and then men fired. Dust leaped
from the hillside. An Apache stopped in mid-stride as though he had run
headlong into some obstruction, and then he fell, his shrill dying cry hanging
in the stillness of the afternoon long after the man was dead.
The charge ended, the rush was gone, the hillside was a barren and empty
thing, alive with death. Like ghosts, somebody said. Vanished, melted into the
landscape, as was the Apache way. A rifle spoke. A trooper cried out and died.
Hondo rode swiftly around the inner circle. He called his orders in a low,
hard voice, Sergeant Young making the other loop. The rush came suddenly, and
as it did the column sprang into life and went hurtling forward, wagons three
abreast, horses racing, surrounded by cavalry.
It caught the Apaches by surprise. Most of them were dismounted, moving
forward among the rocks. It caught them unprepared and the tight knot of
wagons and men rolled out and over the crest and down the long sweep of the
valley. A mile fell behind ... two miles. Whooping Indians came up behind,
firing and missing, yet racing forward.
Hondo yelled at Young and the Sergeant gave a quick command. Ten troopers
swung their horses into line and dropped to the ground, to their knees. An
instant they waited as the Apaches charged nearer. The volley was a solid
sound, a sound that struck, and melted the advancing Indians. Swiftly the
kneeling men fired again.
Leaving chaos behind them, they swung into their saddles and were off after
the train.
"We'll try that again!" Young yelled.
"Won't work again," Hondo said. "They'll be scattered out now."
But some of the attackers had gone on ahead, cutting across the hills, and
now they came down, pouring over the crest like a dark flood, lit by flashes
of color and flame The wagons rounded again into a circle and the troopers
swung down from their horses. Hondo put the butt of hisWinchester against his
shoulder and fired, his shots seeking out the Apaches, firing carefully,
squeezing off every shot.
Page 110
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Attacks began and ended. The Apache was never one to trust a wild charge. He
was a shrewd and careful fighter, knowing the value of cover, moving with
care, never wasting time or shots. They moved in closer, then closer.
They were elusive, targets scarcely seen. A flash of brown against the
desert, then no sign of life, no movement. Worming their way closer, they used
scant inches of cover for their movements. When they came again it would be
from close up, their charge only a few yards. Hondo worked his way around,
warning the troopers to be ready. He scattered the few men with pistols in
positions to cover every yard of space.
A half hour passed. The sun beat down from a wide and brassy sky. Sweat
trickled down the faces and necks of the waiting troopers. Its salt made them
blink. Their rifles were hot from the desert sun.
The Apaches knew the value of waiting, and as they waited, they drew nearer.
A single rifle shot sounded. A trooper had seen a flashing brown leg and
fired. His shot ripped the heel from the vanishing Indian.
Silence lay heavily upon the circle. Heat waves shimmered. A man coughed, a
horse stamped at a fly. There was no other sound. Hondo shifted his Colt,
drying a sweaty palm. They waited, hugging their sparce cover.
Suddenly fifty horsemen charged over the hill. Eyes lifted to them and rifles
... and in that instant, the nearer Indians charged also. It was
perfect except for Hondo's pistol men.
There were six of them in all, but their fire was point-blank. It broke the
force of the charge, and the Indians that reached the barricades were clubbed
down by battering rifle butts. And then the horsemen came.
Some had gone down, but a dozen leaped their horses into the circle. One big
brave lunged his horse at Hondo, his lance poised. Hondo's side step saved him
and his quick grasp of the lance wrenched the Indian from the saddle. The
Indian hit on the small of his neck, and as he tried to roll over, Hondo
kicked him under the chin, then shot him.
A horse was down, screaming. The inner circle was a whirl of fighting men.
From the outer circle came the heavy bark of rifles to prove that Indians were
still coming. Lieutenant McKay was on one elbow, firing his pistol.
Hondo swung his pistol barrel at a head, heard it crunch, saw a lance aimed
for him and swung aside. And then in the swirl of dust and smoke he saw Silva.
The big Indian's face was a twisted mask of fury and he leaped his horse at
Hondo. The animal's shoulder hit Hondo and he was knocked rolling. Silva swung
down from his horse and sprang, knife in hand. Hondo came up from the ground
and his kick caught Silva below the knee. The Indian stopped in mid-stride and
another Apache swept by. Hondo struck out at him and saw the man fall, then
caught up his broken lance in time to meet Silva's lance. He parried the blow, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
would not wait long. He was dangerous, but too impatient. He would be
relentless and ruthless, but less shrewd than old Vittoro had been.
Behind the column the dust settled and there were only the tracks, a plain
trail that nothing could remove. Not even a bad storm would wipe out that
trail and behind them would be the Mescaleros and their allies.
He looked around at the parched and lonely country, then swung the lineback.
There was yet time, but to hole up and make a stand would be worse than
useless. They must keep going, get near enough for a relief column to reach
them.
He rode after the moving train, and they plodded on wearily, pushing toward
the afternoon and the rim of distant hills beyond the post, still so far, far
away.
Page 109
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
There was a brief noon halt near a water hole whose waters swiftly dwindled
and died as the horses drank. No man touched any water but that from his
canteen, and sparingly. The horses were all-important now, and each horse
drank.
Lieutenant McKay was delirious, talking ofRichmond , of the Point, and of a
girl somewhere who had said no, when she could not have found a better man.
The sun was high and hot. Fifteen minutes of halt, then the column moved out.
Men slumped in the saddle, weary after miles, yet knowing what was yet to
come. In the wagons the cursing man had lost consciousness, and a man with a
broken collarbone and a bandaged skull was singing to a mandolin the good
songs, the old songs...
In the hot stillness of the afternoon they came down from the hills, their
dark bodies dusty with the trail and the column swung its few wagons into a
tight circle and the rifles spoke. The Indians vanished, then came again,
swiftly, some on horseback, but more upon foot. The Apache was a daring
runner, and he trusted his feet.
Cold eyes looked down the barrels of rifles and then men fired. Dust leaped
from the hillside. An Apache stopped in mid-stride as though he had run
headlong into some obstruction, and then he fell, his shrill dying cry hanging
in the stillness of the afternoon long after the man was dead.
The charge ended, the rush was gone, the hillside was a barren and empty
thing, alive with death. Like ghosts, somebody said. Vanished, melted into the
landscape, as was the Apache way. A rifle spoke. A trooper cried out and died.
Hondo rode swiftly around the inner circle. He called his orders in a low,
hard voice, Sergeant Young making the other loop. The rush came suddenly, and
as it did the column sprang into life and went hurtling forward, wagons three
abreast, horses racing, surrounded by cavalry.
It caught the Apaches by surprise. Most of them were dismounted, moving
forward among the rocks. It caught them unprepared and the tight knot of
wagons and men rolled out and over the crest and down the long sweep of the
valley. A mile fell behind ... two miles. Whooping Indians came up behind,
firing and missing, yet racing forward.
Hondo yelled at Young and the Sergeant gave a quick command. Ten troopers
swung their horses into line and dropped to the ground, to their knees. An
instant they waited as the Apaches charged nearer. The volley was a solid
sound, a sound that struck, and melted the advancing Indians. Swiftly the
kneeling men fired again.
Leaving chaos behind them, they swung into their saddles and were off after
the train.
"We'll try that again!" Young yelled.
"Won't work again," Hondo said. "They'll be scattered out now."
But some of the attackers had gone on ahead, cutting across the hills, and
now they came down, pouring over the crest like a dark flood, lit by flashes
of color and flame The wagons rounded again into a circle and the troopers
swung down from their horses. Hondo put the butt of hisWinchester against his
shoulder and fired, his shots seeking out the Apaches, firing carefully,
squeezing off every shot.
Page 110
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Attacks began and ended. The Apache was never one to trust a wild charge. He
was a shrewd and careful fighter, knowing the value of cover, moving with
care, never wasting time or shots. They moved in closer, then closer.
They were elusive, targets scarcely seen. A flash of brown against the
desert, then no sign of life, no movement. Worming their way closer, they used
scant inches of cover for their movements. When they came again it would be
from close up, their charge only a few yards. Hondo worked his way around,
warning the troopers to be ready. He scattered the few men with pistols in
positions to cover every yard of space.
A half hour passed. The sun beat down from a wide and brassy sky. Sweat
trickled down the faces and necks of the waiting troopers. Its salt made them
blink. Their rifles were hot from the desert sun.
The Apaches knew the value of waiting, and as they waited, they drew nearer.
A single rifle shot sounded. A trooper had seen a flashing brown leg and
fired. His shot ripped the heel from the vanishing Indian.
Silence lay heavily upon the circle. Heat waves shimmered. A man coughed, a
horse stamped at a fly. There was no other sound. Hondo shifted his Colt,
drying a sweaty palm. They waited, hugging their sparce cover.
Suddenly fifty horsemen charged over the hill. Eyes lifted to them and rifles
... and in that instant, the nearer Indians charged also. It was
perfect except for Hondo's pistol men.
There were six of them in all, but their fire was point-blank. It broke the
force of the charge, and the Indians that reached the barricades were clubbed
down by battering rifle butts. And then the horsemen came.
Some had gone down, but a dozen leaped their horses into the circle. One big
brave lunged his horse at Hondo, his lance poised. Hondo's side step saved him
and his quick grasp of the lance wrenched the Indian from the saddle. The
Indian hit on the small of his neck, and as he tried to roll over, Hondo
kicked him under the chin, then shot him.
A horse was down, screaming. The inner circle was a whirl of fighting men.
From the outer circle came the heavy bark of rifles to prove that Indians were
still coming. Lieutenant McKay was on one elbow, firing his pistol.
Hondo swung his pistol barrel at a head, heard it crunch, saw a lance aimed
for him and swung aside. And then in the swirl of dust and smoke he saw Silva.
The big Indian's face was a twisted mask of fury and he leaped his horse at
Hondo. The animal's shoulder hit Hondo and he was knocked rolling. Silva swung
down from his horse and sprang, knife in hand. Hondo came up from the ground
and his kick caught Silva below the knee. The Indian stopped in mid-stride and
another Apache swept by. Hondo struck out at him and saw the man fall, then
caught up his broken lance in time to meet Silva's lance. He parried the blow, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]