Shalako (1962) (22 page)

From somewhere down the valley came the sound of a bugle. Dagget, von Hallstatt, and the women came around the boulder.

In that instant, the Quick-Killer came suddenly into view, racing over the rocks like a goat, heading for Elephant Butte Canyon. And then he stopped, for suddenly Shalako appeared, almost in front of him.

The Indian wheeled and raced up the side of the butte itself, with Shalako behind him. The Indian turned, toppled a rock toward Shalako, then went on up.

Down below, von Hallstatt stood, rifle in hand, so engrossed in the scene before him that he forgot the rifle and did not think to fire.

The two men vanished, appeared again, and suddenly they were facing each other atop the butte.

The sun was hot, and there was no wind. Atop the butte the rock was flat, here and there the thin sheet of surface rock had broken down and the fragments had been blown away by wind. There were no plants here, no growth of any kind except one gnarled dwarf cedar that clung to the far lip, a few feet below the edge.

Behind Shalako, who had circled somewhat in climbing, the cliff fell steeply away for more than a thousand feet. His shirt, torn before, ripped more in scrambling up the rocks, was now in shreds. Shalako ripped the rags from his back so as not to impede his arms in their movements.

The Indian stood, legs apart, one foot forward, staring at him.

Around them was the vast bowl of the sun-hot sky, below them the awful jumble of broken, jagged rock and desert, mountain, and canyon. They were alone, under the sky, a buzzard the only spectator.

Each understood what was to happen now, each knew that a man would die ... perhaps two men. Each knew it would be settled here.

The Indian was supremely confident. He had fought many times with members of his tribe or other Apache tribes, and with Mexicans and Yaquis. Yet he was wary of the American, for the man had thrown him into the rocks. He had proved a puzzling, dangerous fighter.

Tats-ah-das-ay-go gripped his knife tighter and moved toward Shalako.

Remote sounds could be heard from below. But on the butte it was very still. Shalako's mouth was dry and he gripped and ungripped his fists, watching every move of the Apache.

The man had a knife, which he was skilled at using. Shalako circled to the right, causing the Indian to turn to keep in front of him. He feinted a move, but the Indian merely watched him and was not fooled.

The heat was frightful. Sweat began to trickle down Shalako's chest. His lips tasted salt from the sweat of his face.

Shalako moved his left foot forward, gaining a few inches, crouching a little. The Apache feinted, then came in fast. Unable to knock the knife blow aside, Shalako struck it down, catching the Apache's elbow in the grip of his hand.

Closing his powerful grip on the man's elbow, he dug his fingers, seeking the funny bone, to find it and paralyze the Indian's arm. For a moment then they fought, straining every muscle, and then Shalako, retaining his grip on the arm, suddenly yielded and stepped back, throwing the Apache off balance.

Shalako hooked a short, vicious blow to the face as the Indian fell into him, and then another. The Indian fought to bring the knife up, but then Shalako's seeking fingers found the nerve he wanted and began to grind upon it.

The Apache cried out and tried to break free, but Shalako crowded upon him, forcing the Indian to move back to keep from falling, and no matter how desperately the Indian struggled, he stayed with him.

Suddenly the Indian cried out and, opening his hand, let go of the knife.

It fell, rattling upon the rocks. Wheeling, the Apache sprang for it, but Shalako was first and kicked the knife, sending it spinning off into space. It caught the sunlight, winked brightly, then fell down among the rocks far below.

Shalako slugged the Indian as they closed and he felt the clawlike hands creeping toward his eyes. Wildly, bitterly, desperately they fought, their bodies greasy with sweat and blood, their faces straining only inches apart.

Again Shalako yielded suddenly, falling back and throwing the Indian over him to the rock. Swiftly, he came up as the Indian sprang on him. The powerful hands grasped his throat, his head was pushed back, he felt the brutal thumbs sinking into the flesh of his throat, and then he jerked his two arms up inside the Indian's arms smashing them apart and away from his throat. The Indian fell forward, and Shalako rolled over and came to his knees as the Indian leaped at him, swinging a vicious kick at Shalako's head.

Throwing himself against the Indian's anchor leg, he threw the Quick-Killer violently to the rock, and Shalako staggered to his feet.

Under the blazing sun, he waited for the Indian to get up. His lungs heaved at the thin air, gasping for breath. The advantage was momentarily his, but he lacked the breath to go forward, and the Apache got to his feet.

For an instant, they stood staring at each other across the rock of the small butte.

Lungs heaving, they began to circle. The Quick-Killer sprang, and Shalako grabbed his wrist, swinging the arm back and under, then forcing it up the Apache's back in a hammer lock.

Shalako pushed the Apache's wrist higher across his back, then began with all his strength to force the Indian's right wrist over to his right shoulder. Once the Indian grunted, his face went bloodless and he tried to turn to relieve the pressure, but Shalako blocked the turning and, bending suddenly at the knees, he heaved upward with all his strength and both felt and heard the bone crack.

The Indian cried out, his face went white with pain and he swung free, staggered, and tried to grasp Shalako with his left hand. Shalako swung and hit him, and the Indian lost his footing and fell back. He hit the edge of the cliff above the desert in a sitting position, his broken arm still grotesquely behind him, and then he toppled back, his black eyes still upon those of Shalako, and then he fell slowly over backward into space.

The last thing Shalako saw was the eyes of the Indian, the eyes of Tats-ah-das-ay-go, the Quick-Killer, fastened upon his.

As the Apache fell, Shalako cried out suddenly, almost in anguish, in admiration:

"Warrior! Brother!"

And he spoke in Apache.

Shalako heard Tats-ah-das-ay-go's wild cry as he struck, somewhere far below, before the body bounded out again, to fall sheer for hundreds of feet.

And then he was alone upon the mountaintop, and there was only the heat, the sweat, and his lungs gasping, crying for air.

Shalako stood alone there, looking off across the hills, then he lifted his eyes toward the sun-blazing sky, almost as if in prayer.

They were waiting below, he could see them standing there, staring up at him, shading their eyes against the sun's glare.

He could see Irina, von Hallstatt, Dagget, Laura, and Julia. The Army was there, too, the sun glinting on the glossy shoulders of their horses, reflecting from their rifles. They stood there in a long, winding column, several hundred of them, and he was glad to see them.

He climbed down slowly, the sweat streaming into his eyes and causing them to smart from the salt, and when he reached the bottom he walked to where his guns were and picked them up.

They stood watching him, none of them coming up to him, and he walked toward them.

He looked up at Colonel Forsyth. "Howdy," he said. "I guess we can go now."

The colonel started to speak ... desperately he wanted to know what had happened up there atop the butte, but that this man lived was evidence enough.

"All right, then. We shall go."

Von Hallstatt started to speak, but Shalako walked past him and held Tally's stirrup for Irina. She hesitated an instant, then allowed him to help her into the saddle.

Her eyes searched his face and, as the rest of them mounted, he swung his leg over Mohammet and pulled up beside her.

"This is my country," he said. "This and California." She did not speak, but listened, looking down at her nails. They were broken, no longer perfectly manicured, but they were a woman's hands, strong hands, capable hands. They were hands of beauty, but hands of more than beauty, they were hands with which to do.

"It will be different for you."

"I know."

They rode on, and when they reached the road that turned eastward toward Fort Cummings, they drew up. Colonel Forsyth rode back to them, von Hallstatt beside him. The colonel's eyes went from Shalako's to Irina's. "You are stopping?" Forsyth asked.

"Our way lies westward."

Forsyth started to speak, then was silent. Von Hallstatt hesitated, his face stiff and cold. Then he said, "It is a good way, my friend, a good way." He held out his hand, and Shalako took it.

"Irina"-his eyes held upon hers for a moment" Irina ... good-by."

"Good-by, Frederick."

Von Hallstatt turned his eyes again upon Shalako. Then the Prussian saluted, snapping the salute in the approved military fashion, and Shalako returned it.

As they rode off, Forsyth said, "I did not know he was a soldier."

"He was," von Hallstatt said dryly. "And he is!" When they had gone a few miles Irina said, "I do not look like a bride."

Shalako shifted his grip on the lead ropes of Damper and the roan. "You will," he said. "You will!"