Apache Rampage (3 page)

‘Not unless you want to eat grass all the way.’

‘A most unpalatable source of nutriment, me dove,’ said Doc, climbing back on to the wagon. ‘Far less so than more normal human food.’ Taking out a notecase which drew avaricious eyes to it, Thornett extracted several bills and gave them to Janice. ‘Purchase a sufficiency to enable us to reach Fort Owen, my dear.’

Taking the money Janice went through the wagon, opened the door and climbed down. In other towns there would have been plenty of young men willing to help her down. Here there was no such move. The young men in the crowd studiously avoided looking at the girl. The crowd parted to allow her through. Thornett started his horses moving, and drove slowly to give the girl time to make her purchases. At the water-trough on the side of the plaza, he halted the team and told the girls to water the horses. The crowd made no attempt now to either help or hinder. They just stood watching, blank unfriendly faces staring at everything the medicine show people did.

Janice walked through the crowd and along to Haslett’s General Store. She pushed open the door and entered: The store might have called itself general, but it did not stock the wide range of other such places she’d seen. There was food for sale and a few cooking utensils, but none of the other wide range most general stores sold. The store was empty, except for a young man who was sweeping the floor. He put down the brush and came towards the girl. He was a tall, slim, good-looking man of perhaps twenty years. There was something about him, some look, which did not appear to belong to this town.

‘Serve you, miss?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ Janice replied, looking at the well-stocked shelves of canned goods. Quickly she gave him a list of what she wanted, and he went about filling the order with deft hands. All went well until she said, ‘I’d like four cans of peaches.’

The peaches were right on the top shelf, and a ladder stood by for the purpose of bringing them down. The young man looked around him cautiously. Then, ignoring the ladder, he picked up his broom and knocked four cans off the shelf. They fell one after the other and he caught them as they dropped, each landing on the one preceding until he held all four on the palm of his right hand.

‘Say, that was good,’ remarked Janice, for the move was slick, smooth and showed practice. ‘I’d like a couple of cans of tomatoes as well.’

To her surprise the young man casually knocked down the required cans, catching them on top of the peaches. ‘Shucks, that wasn’t nothing much at all,’ he said. Looking cautiously around once more, he dropped his voice. ‘You’re with the travelling show, aren’t you?’

‘Sure,’ agreed Janice, waiting for either a sneer or an obscene suggestion.

Neither came. The young man looked friendly and delighted at meeting a member of a travelling show. He shot a scared glance at the door as if not wishing to be overheard in what he was going to say.

‘I saw me a travelling show one time when I was in Tucson. Mr. Haslett took me in to do the heavy lifting. Left me while he went to the meeting house. So I slipped away and saw the show. Was a juggler in it and he was good. I come back home and tried to learn his tricks. I never let on to Mr. Haslett about it. He reckons all you show folks are sinners.’

‘He could be right,’ answered Janice.

‘Shucks, I know what he is. That meeting house he went to—it had a red lamp hanging outside. Say, how’d you like me to show you a trick or two? They won’t be back while there’s a chance of seeing something.’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ Janice agreed tolerantly. She could see the young man was not happy living in Baptist’s Hollow. No young man would be. He was going to need to leave soon, or wind up like the older men here. The sort of man who would sneak off to a joy house when well away from his home, but would demand that no such establishment be allowed in his home town. She did not wish to hurt the young man’s feelings by refusing and so stood watching.

The young man placed her order in a sack, then took up six tomato cans. ‘My name’s Elwin,’ he said as he began to throw the cans into the air and catch them as they fell. ‘The Hasletts took me in after the Apaches got my folks.’

Took in would be the right word, Janice thought. The Hasletts did not appear to be the sort of folks who would perform any charitable action unless they saw a good return for the deed. Her attention went to the large, awkward cans as they flew through the air. Janice bit down an exclamation of surprise. She’d expected to see a simple trick. This was not simple. It was as good as any she’d ever seen on a stage. He ended the trick by catching them all one on top of the other.

‘That was really good,’ said Janice.

Laying the cans back where they came from, Elwin picked six eggs from a basket and began juggling with them. Janice held her startled words down. Eggs were far from being conventional material for a juggler. She could see why he used such unusual props; they were all that came to his hands. Janice gasped as one of the eggs flew off at a tangent and, by an apparent accident, was caught again. All the time Elwin did his act he held his face in an expression of worried concern which amused the girl. He was a natural, talented and skilled. Given the right sort of coaching Elwin could go far as a juggler. Janice found herself wishing Thornett could see the act and give his opinion of it.

So absorbed were they that neither Janice nor Elwin saw the two faces which peered in the window. They did not see the medicine show wagon come to a halt outside the store either. Elwin juggled and Janice watched until the door was thrown open and an enraged fern mine voice shrieked:

‘Elwin!’

The six eggs went crashing to the floor, breaking and making a mess. Elwin’s mouth dropped open. There was a guilty, furtive expression on his face as he turned to face the two women who entered the store.

‘Yes, Mrs. Haslett?’

The thin woman, followed by the fat one, came in, slamming the door behind them. They both crossed the room to face Elwin and Mrs. Haslett hissed, ‘I’ve warned you before about wasting your time like that. Now I find you fooling about with this hussy and breaking my eggs.’

‘I’d throw that trollop out into the gutter where she belongs, Mrs. Haslett,’ put in Mrs. Millet, secure in her extra size and weight. ‘The dirty little slut.’

Janice was the most even-tempered of Phyllis’s daughters. If Mrs. Millet had said such a thing about any of the others, particularly Patty, she’d have soon wished she kept her mouth tight shut. However, Janice held her temper for she knew anything she said would merely make it worse for Elwin. Taking out the money Thornett gave her, Janice put the price of the supplies on the counter and reached for the sack. She wanted to get out of the store before there was any trouble.

‘Just a minute, you,’ snapped Mrs. Haslett, moving nearer. ‘You pay for the eggs Elwin bust.’

For the first time in his life Elwin came out in open rebellion against the vinegar-tongued woman. ‘That’s not right, Mrs. Haslett. It was me, not the young lady who broke the eggs.’

‘Young lady, is it?’ Mrs. Haslett yelled. Backed by the hefty Mrs. Millet she was sure the girl would not dare object. ‘You keep your mouth shut.’

‘If anybody pays for the eggs it should be me,’ insisted Elwin.

‘Why you ungrateful young wretch,’ Mrs. Haslett squealed. Words seemed to fail her at that moment, and she swung the flat of her hand hard against Elwin’s face. The bony fingers left a red mark on his cheek.

Elwin took a step back, his face reddening with embarrassment at being struck in front of a stranger. Particularly in front of this pretty, friendly girl. Then he saw Janice lunge forward, going in front of him. There was an angry look on her face, the look of a female bobcat defending its young. Her voice was a low hiss, throbbing with fury.

‘Don’t lay a hand on him again.’

Mrs. Haslett stepped back before the fury of the small girl. Mrs. Millet, feeling secure in her extra size and weight, swung her hand hard. Janice’s head rocked to the slap, and she crashed into the bar by Elwin’s side. Never in all his life had Elwin seen such a look as came into the girl’s eyes. Janice appeared to be transformed into a savage, spitting hellcat, even as the big woman stepped forward to slap again. Without a sound Janice hurled herself at the big, fat woman.

For all her even temper Janice knew well enough how to take care of herself. She and the other girls sometimes found themselves involved in hair-tearing battles with jealous females of the towns they visited. Mostly Janice only joined in out of family feeling, but once in not even Patty could come to her for sheer fighting fury. Lowering her head, Janice ducked under Mrs. Millet’s reaching hands to butt into the fat stomach. The fat woman gave a startled, pain-filled gasp and doubled over with hands clawing wildly at Janice’s firm muscled body, but the girl was too fast for her. Swarming over Mrs. Millet and bringing the big woman crashing on to her back, Janice let loose the full flood of her temper, using feet, knees, fists, elbows and teeth to hurt the big woman. Mrs. Millet screamed and flailed her arms wildly, kicking her fat legs in a desperate effort to throw Janice from her. Without a sound Janice took a double handful of the woman’s hair and began to smash her head against the hard boards of the floor.

Screaming in terror and rage, Mrs. Haslett moved forward, caught Janice by the hair from behind and pulled her from Mrs. Millet. Janice let out a howl of pain, the first time she’d made a sound. Her foot lashed back and caught the woman on the shin. Mrs. Haslett let Janice’s hair free and howled, hopping on one leg. Janice came round and hurled at the other woman, driving her back into the counter by the fury of her attack. Mrs. Millet got to her feet and lunged after the fighting pair. Her right hand caught Janice’s frock and tore it, then they all tangled in a wild fighting mêlée.

Elwin stood pressed back against the bar, unable to do a thing. The fury of the fight scared him. He’d never seen women fight before, and the fury was far worse than anything he could imagine. The pretty, friendly little girl was now transformed into a wild-eyed, savage wildcat, for like most even people Janice was far worse than any bully when roused.

The three women staggered wildly across the floor and in a tangled mass hit the door, bursting it open and reeling out on to the sidewalk. Mrs. Haslett gripped Janice from behind, holding her while Mrs. Millet rained slaps at her face and head.

Phyllis came to her feet. She’d heard the noise in the store and was on the point of investigating when the three came into view. Even before Phyllis could make a move to go help her daughter it was too late. She felt a violent push, and saw a red-haired shape hurling over the wagon box. It was Patty. She’d seen her little sister in trouble and needing help. Patty was just the girl to hand out that same help.

Hurling over the wagon box Patty landed full on Mrs. Millet’s back and the fat woman thought she’d been jumped by a pile of wildcats. Patty was bigger, stronger and even more skilled than her sister, for she was ready to fight at the drop of a hat. The big woman lit down on the sidewalk, managed to roll over and wished she had not, for Patty started to bounce her already sore and aching head on the sidewalk.

Mrs. Haslett saw what was happening to her friend and showed true loyalty. She could barely hold the wildly struggling Janice, so let loose, pushed the girl away and turned to dash back into the store, slamming the door. Janice swung around and gave an angry yell, then started to lunge forward. Phyllis caught Janice by the arm and thrust her backwards. She saw the crowd running towards the scene and knew she must act fast to save her daughters from serious trouble. She’d followed Patty out of the wagon and darted by Janice to where Patty knelt astride the now still Mrs. Millet, slamming her head on the sidewalk. There was no time to speak, nor would it be any use when Patty’s temper was up. Phyllis knotted her hand in her daughter’s hair and heaved. Patty gave an angry yell as she hit the hitching rail by Janice. For a moment the red-head tensed to throw herself at her new attacker. Then she recognised her mother and relaxed. Turning to Janice she looked at the torn frock and the blood running from her sister’s lip.

‘You all right, Jan?’

Janice was breathing hard, she rubbed the blood, then nodded. ‘I’m all right now, Patty. Thanks.’

‘I’d do it any time,’ answered Patty.

Phyllis did not look at the still form on the sidewalk. She saw the crowd running forward and snapped an order for her girls to get into the wagon. There was not time. The crowd surrounded them in an ugly, angry mass.

CHAPTER THREE

Ellwood burst through the menacing and advancing crowd. ‘Back off, all of you. Back off there!’

Mrs. Haslett opened the door about half an inch to peep out and make sure Janice was not waiting to grab her. Seeing the marshal and her friends gathered she came out, sniffing and dabbing the blood from her face. Stepping by the still form of Mrs. Millet, she advanced to the edge of the sidewalk.

‘Those two sluts attacked poor Mrs. Millet and me,’ she sniffed.

Patty gave an angry hiss and turned from climbing into the wagon, but her mother caught and held her. With an angry growl Ellwood swung back his hand as if to hit the girl.

‘Don’t do that,’ snapped Thornett.

Turning, Ellwood opened his mouth to say something. His hand dropped towards his side then froze. Thornett’s right hand went under his coat and came out holding the short-barrelled Merwin and Hulbert gun. One of the crowd, one of the few who were armed, made a grab for his weapon with no greater success than Ellwood. Molly saw the move and kicked open the rear door of the wagon, her rifle slanting down at him and ending the move undone.

‘Put that gun away,’ Ellwood ordered. ‘I’m taking you to jail.’

Thornett shook his head gently and made no attempt to holster the revolver. He could see the dull, ugly mood of the crowd and knew things might go badly for the girls if he allowed them to be taken. One thing he was sure of now, Ellwood was not a good man with a gun. The fighting man’s gunbelt was nothing but a bluff.

‘I’m afraid I must decline, my good public servant,’ Thornett answered. Even at such a time he still retained his pompous way of talking. ‘Get into the wagon, Phyllis, me dove. And you, girls.’

‘Stop them, Major,’ screamed Mrs. Haslett. ‘I want them girls arrested for attacking me and poor Mrs. Millet.’

Ellwood frowned. He was being given a formal complaint and should act on it. There was only one thing wrong. That gun was still lined on him, and there was a look of determination on the medicine man’s face. ‘Put down that gun,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid not. We’re leaving right now.’

‘You’re resisting arrest,’ warned Ellwood. ‘You leave this town and I’ll have you posted as a wanted man.’

Thornett neither lowered his gun, nor relaxed. He doubted if Ellwood could post him as wanted, or would be willing to risk it. Not when a good lawyer could clear Thornett on any of the charges without pausing to take breath. However, it might prove inconvenient for him and the show to have such a thing hanging over them. It might be as well to straighten things out before he left.

‘We’d like to know what did happen in the store,’ Thornett said, backing the suggestion with his lined gun. ‘I would suggest you find out before making threats of arrest, Marshal. There is such a thing as being sued for false arrest.’

Ellwood knew this and growled out, ‘All right. What did happen in there, Mrs. Haslett?’

The woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. It was not easy to bring out the words in a manner which would be creditable to herself and Mrs. Millet. ‘They attacked poor Mrs. Millet and myself in there,’ she lied. ‘Both of them. When we caught them making up to Elwin.’

‘I wish to point out,’ Thornett put in, ‘that only Janice went inside. Patty remained in full view of all of you.’

Mrs. Haslett gulped. She’d made a slip and could see Ellwood was not missing it. The town marshal frowned, knowing what was happening. Only one girl did go into the store, the other having been in sight of the wagon most of the time. He also knew the small girl would not willingly start trouble with two women, one almost twice as large as she was. He knew that, truth or lies from Mrs. Haslett, the crowd did not aim to see these people leave town.

Looking at Janice, who stood by her mother waiting for Patty to climb into the wagon, Ellwood said, ‘All right, tell me what happened.’

‘The big woman hit me after I stopped the other one hitting the boy who works inside. I hit her back and they both started on me.’

‘Liar!’ shrieked Mrs. Haslett, then gave a scared yelp as Janice lunged forward at her.

Catching her daughter’s arm and shoving her against the wagon, Phyllis asked, ‘Why not get the young feller out here and ask him?’

‘Elwin,’ called Ellwood. ‘Come on out here.’

Elwin came from the store carrying Janice’s sack of supplies. He put the sack on the edge of the sidewalk and turned to the marshal. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Tell us what happened in the store.’

‘This young lady come in to buy supplies, and I started to show her a couple of juggling tricks. Then Mrs. Haslett and Mrs. Millet came in. Mrs. Haslett started to abuse me and her. Then Mrs. Millet slapped her face and they both started on her.’

‘Why, of all the lying, ungrateful wretches—!’ gasped Mrs. Haslett. She looked at the thin, miserable-looking man who was her husband. ‘Dudley, did you hear what he just said?’

Haslett gave a guilty start, for he was looking at Janice’s half-bared bust which showed from the torn frock. He turned his annoyance at the interruption on the young man. ‘Is that the sort of gratitude we get after taking you in and caring for you all these years?’

Elwin was on the rebellious trail and did not mean to be put on any more. He gave an angry cough of laughter. ‘Took me in and cared for me? That’s a big joke. I worked twice as hard and four times as cheap as any hired man you could have got. The young lady wasn’t doing a thing until those two started to abuse her.’

‘You make him shut his mouth, Major!’ Mrs. Haslett screamed.

‘That’s fairness for you.’ Phyllis spat the words out. ‘If the young man’d said Janice was at fault he could have talked as much as he wanted.’

‘Shut your mouth unless I speak to you,’ Ellwood barked, ‘or I’ll shut it for you.’

For once the bombast left Thornett’s voice. ‘Mister! You lay one hand on any of my young ladies and I’ll kill you.’

Once more Ellwood looked death in the face, for the plump, mild-looking man was in deadly earnest. The big marshal looked into his own motives, not liking what he saw. He did not have the cold-blooded courage necessary to go against a man holding a drawn, lined gun. More so when the man holding it was in the right.

The crowd was rumbling angrily although they also lacked the courage to go up against any armed person. They were willing to shove their marshal against those guns, even if they would not go up against the same guns. Ellwood listened to the rumble of the crowd and did not like what he heard. That was not the protest of a righteously outraged crowd; it was the snarl of a lynch mob. He knew that if he was able to arrest the show people, his trouble would not be over.

So interested in what was happening were the participants of the scene that none of them saw the four newcomers to the town. Four men had just come down from the stage trail and were now sitting their horses and watching everything.

They were young Texas cowhands, sat afork magnificent horses, one of them leading a pack-pony. Four Texas cowhands, three of them belting on a matched brace of Colt revolvers.

One of this quartet would have caught the eye in any crowd. He was a handsome blond giant, a rangeland dandy, yet a working cowhand or his expensive, made-to-measure clothes lied. Around his waist was a brown leather, hand-tooled buscadero gunbelt supporting a finely made brace of Colt Cavalry Peacemakers in the holsters. He lounged easily in the saddle of his huge bloodbay stallion, a light rider despite his great size.

The two men who flanked the handsome dandy would also catch the eye. One of them sat a seventeen-hand white stallion. He was tall, slim, lithe and dark looking. His face looked young, almost babyishly young and innocent, but those red-hazel eyes were neither young nor innocent. His clothing was all black, from hat to boots. Even the gunbelt was black leather. Only the butt forward, walnut grips of the old Colt Dragoon revolver at his right and the ivory hilt of the bowie knife at his left relieved the blackness.

The other eye-catching man was younger, not out of his teens. He sat astride a seventeen-hand paint stallion, a fine-looking horse, and led the pack-pony. His clothing was expensive yet practical, like the dress of the handsome giant. He was a blond youngster, handsome, blue-eyed and friendly, and his face was strong, without any trace of dissipation. Around his slender waist was a new-looking gunbelt which carried the staghorn butted Colt Artillery Peacemakers in the low-hanging holsters.

The fourth man sat slightly ahead of the others. He lounged in the Texas kak saddle with the easy grace of a cowhand. He was a small, insignificant man, the sort who would go unnoticed in any crowd. Even the butt forward, bone-handled Colt Civilian Peacemakers in the holsters of his gunbelt did nothing to make him look more noticeable. His clothes looked plain, but they were costly, his black J.B. Stetson expensive as were his high-heeled boots. He was a handsome enough young man, but not in the eye-catching, attention-drawing way of the golden-blond giant. Not in the lean, latently savage, somehow Indian way of the dark-faced rider of the big white. Not in the friendly, clean and open way of the youngster. His face was handsome. It was also, if one took time out to look, a strong, commanding face. Sitting his huge paint stallion the small man thrust back his hat, showing his dusty blond hair as he looked at the wagon. His face flickered in a half smile as if he thought he knew the people in the medicine show.

‘Let’s get moving, Doc,’ said Phyllis, not seeing the riders, her full attention on the crowd.

Elwin stood on the sidewalk, watching. This was the supreme moment of his life if he chose to take it. Here was the means to get him away from this town. His life, previously miserable, would be even more so. Suddenly he knew he must leave Baptist’s Hollow and never return.

Picking up the sack, Elwin stepped from the sidewalk towards his destiny. ‘I got your supplies here, mister. Can you take me along as far as Fort Owen?’

‘Hold hard!’ Haslett yelped, seeing the sack lifted into the wagon. ‘Is all that stuff paid for?’

‘Paid for and the money in the drawer,’ Elwin replied. ‘Go and count it if you want. You can keep my week’s pay.’

Haslett was torn between a desire to go into his store and count the money and wishing to warn Elwin off. The latter won, and he tried to sound big as he said, ‘Don’t you come running back here. That’s the last time I take anybody in. Ungrateful bums, that’s all young uns like him are.’

Ellwood watched the young man climb in through the door at the rear of the wagon. Then he turned to Thornett and gave a grim warning:

‘All right. Get going as soon as we know the supplies are paid for. I want you out of this town and don’t ever come back.’

‘Mister, do you know what you’re doing?’

The soft-drawled words cut over the noise of the crowd and brought every eye to the four riders. It was the small man who’d spoken, Ellwood guessed and decided he was relying on the backing of the three big cowhands while speaking.

‘What do you mean?’ Ellwood asked, irritation thinly veiled in his tone. The town saw little of cowhands, less of Texas cowhands. Any man who knew the cowhand country would have known that here sat three men who were tophands and knew the cattle business from calf-down to trailend shipping pens. He’d also have known that here were four men more than just ordinarily competent with their guns. Ellwood knew none of this.

‘You aren’t sending these folks out of town at a time like this, are you?’ asked the small man.

It was Mrs. Haslett who replied, spitting the words out viciously. ‘Why not, because four saddle-tramps don’t like it?’

‘No, ma’am,’ the small Texan answered, his voice an easy southern drawl. ‘Because of what we know—and you don’t.’

Ellwood watched the small man, noting the commanding way in which he spoke. There was more to this man than first met the eye, the marshal decided. It might be well to listen to him.

‘What might that be?’

‘We found a couple of miners as we cut through the hills.’

‘So what?’ Ellwood snapped. ‘The hills are full of miners.’

‘There’s two less now, mister,’ the dark-faced boy said, moving his horse alongside the small man’s. ‘Maybe more, we didn’t stop on long enough to find out.’ He reached back and drew something from under the bedroll strapped to his saddle. ‘This’s what killed one of them.’

The crowd scattered as if the young man had thrown a live rattler at them. Every eye went to the thing which stuck in the ground before them. It looked like a long, thin, straight stick—except that stick never grew on a tree with feathers at one end, barbed head at the other and painted bands of colour in the centre.

‘But that’s an Apache arrow.’

‘Yeah, friend,’ agreed the dark boy, his voice cold and mocking. ‘An Apache war arrow.’

The listeners noticed the emphasis placed on that one word and knew what the dark boy meant by it. There was a whole lot the good citizens of Baptist’s Hollow did not know about Apaches. There was one thing they, and almost every other man or woman in Arizona territory knew, that was the significance of an Apache war arrow. The Apache might kill a chance-met stranger with a hunting arrow, but he would never use the same for serious business. When the Apache went to war he took his special war arrows from the medicine lodge. When he used war arrows it meant just that—he was wearing paint and at war.

‘So you found two dead miners, one killed by an Indian arrow,’ said Ellwood, not liking the dark boy’s attitude or tone of voice. ‘Why should that stop me turning undesirables out of town?’

The small man studied Ellwood as if the marshal was fresh come from under a rotten log. ‘Mister, Lon said maybe more. We didn’t stay on to try and find out. The Apaches are out, swarming. There’s more of them out there than a man could count on a lot more hands and feet than he’s got right now.’

‘And they’re all wearing paint,’ concluded the dark boy, ‘or I don’t know sic ‘em about Apaches.’

That was one saying none of the crowd needed explaining. No self-respecting Apache would think of making war without putting his paint on first. On the wagon Phyllis and Doc looked at the small Texan with considerable interest. They were nearly sure they could put a brand on him. It was a famous name, one which was known from Texas to California, from the Rio Grande to the Canadian line. Phyllis was almost sure but did not speak.