Chapter XIX: Apaches

There cannot be a war without violence and bloodshed, nor can all the losses be on one side. No matter which side is right, or which has the strongest battalions, Death holds a level hand. The Scarboroughs had killed Sharps and old Henry Bassett; but now the scales had turned and Red, their finest rifle-shot, had been shot down by Winchester Bassett. A posse of four men had ridden into their stronghold and offered to give them battle; and then, when they had refused and held fast to Indian tactics, Death had risen up and snatched away Red. Yet even with the body of their brother before them the Scarboroughs declined to fight.

No swarm of vengeful Texans came spurring on their trail as Meshackatee led the way north, riding boldly up the trail which led like a highway towards the Rim; and at the divide above Canyon Creek they stopped. Here, though they were hidden in the pines, they could watch the trail both ways; and it was time to cook coffee and rest. And if, as might happen, any Scarborough men passed by, they could give them tit for tat. For a month and more the Scarboroughs in their arrogance had held up every wayfarer on this trail, and if a man did not belong to their secret organization he was destined to proceed on foot. All this the Bassetts knew, for the men who had given them shelter were the ones who had suffered the most; and when, late in the afternoon, they spied a horse-herd coming south they fairly romped to cover.

The horses, which were jaded from their long drive over the rocks, came toiling up the zig-zag trail, and the posse let them pass; but as the two Texans who were driving them came up with the drag they sensed mischief and dashed back down the hill. Lead slugs and explosive bullets struck the ground up all about them, and as they forded the creek the Bassetts took after them while the others rounded up the horses.

"Them's Mormon horses," declared Meshackatee, after they had stopped them on a flat, "I know about half of them brands. We'll jest hold 'em a while and see who shows up--may git some of these Texicans yet."

They went back to their lookout, leaving the horses to graze; and almost immediately Bill and Winchester appeared, riding low and spurring like mad.

"Injuns!" they yelled, as they scrambled up the point and dropped down behind their rocks. "Apaches, as sure as hell!"

"Where at?" demanded Meshackatee. "Them A-paches ain't on the war-path, and hain't been since the 'Pache Kid."

"Well, all right," panted Bill, "but I'll bet ye we seen twenty. And when we run across 'em they chased us."

"There they are!" said Winchester, pointing to a string of half-naked horsemen, "and if them ain't Apaches, I'm a liar."

"Leave 'em to me!" swaggered Meshackatee, "because that's where I shine. We'll try 'em with a little sign-talk."

He stepped out on the point where he could be seen plainly from below and raised his right hand in the peace sign.

"Wahoo!" he bellowed, "Wahoo Meshackatee!" But the Indians only circled and stared at him. They were savage looking creatures, with their long black hair bound back out of their eyes with red handkerchiefs; but after a second look Meshackatee ripped out an oath and came striding back to the posse.

"Aw, hell!" he exclaimed, "them ain't no Injuns. It's nothing but a passel of white men."

"How do you know?" demanded Bill. "Jest because they don't savvy your sign-language----"

"Aw, cripes; I know an Injun!" burst out Meshackatee indignantly. "I can tell 'em by the way they set a horse. We'll try 'em with a little U.S.A."

He stepped out on the point and hailed them again, and a man rode out from the rest. He was mounted on a mule and the minute he saw him McIvor knew it was Grimes. It was not the mule alone, it was the thrust of his head and the handy way he carried his rifle.

"Hello there!" shouted Hall, stepping out on a rock, and Grimes stopped his mule and looked up.

"Don't know you!" he announced, "but dam' your black hearts, we've come to git back our horses!"

"That's Grimes--the sheepman," explained Hall over his shoulder, and Meshackatee stepped down behind a rock.

"You talk to him," he grumbled. "I got no use for a sheepman." And Winchester and Bill nodded assent.

"Yes, sure it's Grimes!" yelled the pseudo Indian, "but who in damnation are you?"

"My name is Hall," answered McIvor shortly. "I met you down at the Bassetts'!"

"Oh, that preacher guy!" observed the sheepman sarcastically. "Well, what are _you_ doing up here?"

"I'm a deputy sheriff," retorted McIvor. "What does your business happen to be?"

"A de-puty sheriff!" whooped Grimes. "Hey, boys; here's a deputy sheriff!"

He laughed and the gang of make-believe Apaches came riding up to join him.

"Seems to amuse them," remarked Hall, and Meshackatee muttered an oath while the Bassetts looked on in grim silence.

"Bunch of Mormons," growled Winchester, "rigged out with horsetails and handkerchiefs--kinder reminds me of the Mountain Meadow massacre."

"All the same," spoke up Meshackatee, "we might use the danged jaspers. Git 'em to go down and clean up on the Scarboroughs!"

"Why not?" chimed in Hall. "This is no time for petty differences. Shall I tell them we'll give back their horses?"

"Sure," replied Meshackatee, "but they've got to prove ownership. Otherwise they'll claim the whole band. Go down and see what you can do."

Hall swung up on his horse and rode down the trail, and as he came up to the Mormons they reined to one side, leaving Grimes to do the talking.

"How'd do, Mr. Hall," he began, "do you know anything about our horses? So you're a deputy sheriff, hey?"

"Yes, I'm a deputy sheriff," answered McIvor evenly, "and I can't see that it's in any way a joke. There are three more officers up there in the rocks, and I'd advise you to show a little more respect."

"Oh, certainly!" mocked Grimes, "you're jest the _hombres_ we're looking for. A big gang of horse-thieves has been raiding our ranches and driving off our stock for a month. Not gitting any protection we have organized to run 'em down and hang every scoundrel we can ketch; but now, of course, all we have to do is to report our losses to _you_!"

"Yes, that's right," said Hall, "just give me a list of the animals, so there won't be any mistake."

"Any mistake!" repeated Grimes. "Well, by grab, it seems to me you look more like a horse-thief than we do. How's the Scarborough boys gitting along these days? But I believe you was staying with the Bassetts?"

"Yes, I was staying with the Bassetts," replied Hall. "Anything more you'd like to know?"

"I asked you," sneered Grimes, who seemed determined to pick a quarrel, "how your friends, the Scarboroughs, are gitting along."

"Why, not so well," returned McIvor. "Red was killed only this morning. It was a case of resisting arrest."

"Killed!" cried Grimes, and then he spurred forward and held out a hairy hand. "By hooky," he exclaimed, "I sure apologize, Mr. Hall, for any little thing I may have said. I'm sure glad to meet you, and my friends and neighbors here will be proud to shake your hand."

He introduced the Mormon ranchmen, most of whom had laid off their disguise, and then returned to the matter at hand.

"Are you in charge of this posse?" he asked. "Because we'd like to find out about them horses." "No, I'm not," replied Hall, "Meshackatee is in command, and the other two deputies are the Bassetts. You remember them--Winchester and Bill."

"You don't say!" exclaimed Grimes, leaning over in his saddle. "Is that the way the ground lays? Because if that's the case I can git you a bunch of deputies that will serve without money and without price. All we ask is a whack at the Scarboroughs."

"We can talk that over later." responded Hall, "but I'm sure we'd be glad to have you. Now about those horses--we just held up a big band that a couple of young Texans were driving----"

"Good!" chorused the Mormons, suddenly starting up the trail, but McIvor motioned them back.

"And my orders," he went on, "were that each man should describe his animals in order to avoid mistakes."

"Give 'im his way, boys; give 'im his way!" spoke up Grimes with assumed heartiness. "He's an officer of the law after all. And right now, Mr. Hall, I want to offer my services to arrest the last Scarborough for horse-stealing."

Hall nodded obliviously, for all the Mormons in unison were calling off a list of their horses, and after they had written the brands and colors on chance papers he led the way to the herd. Meshackatee and the Bassetts rode along to deliver the animals but when the lists had been filled there was a general clamor for other horses, which the ranchers claimed as their own. At first Meshackatee resisted them, demanding receipts for the animals; but as they became more insistent he threw up his hands and told them to take the whole herd.

"And git to hell out of here," he added under his breath--which the Mormons proceeded to do.

It was late in the evening but, rushing the herd before them, they started back up the trail at a gallop. Only Grimes, the sheepman, stayed, and he stemmed every rebuff until Meshackatee made him a deputy.