Read Online Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
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his sweaty palms on his shirt front.
"Cates," he spoke in a low tone, "don't count on help from the fort. Not soon, anyway. With us gone there aren't twenty men there."
Lonnie Foreman turned impatiently. "Why are they waiting? If they're going to attack, why don't they get started?"
"Who knows why an Indian does anything? Maybe they figure they don't have to hurry."
Lonnie was silent and when he spoke he said, "You know what I think? I think maybe they're right."
From Kimbrough's position there was a single shot, then silence, and no sound but the light breeze of a gray morning turning to a blazing hot day.
Sheehan slipped away to scout the various positions and check with his men. Lonnie shifted his rifle and squinted his eyes against the sun. "She's a real nice girl," he said suddenly.
Cates agreed solemnly. "Make some man a good wife," he added.
"If I was a little older," Lonnie explained carefully, "I'd--no, I want to see some more country. Why, I hear tell that up north in California there's some of the biggest trees in the world! I'd sure like to see them trees."
"You do that." Cates had found a cluster of rocks in the sand that somehow did not look quite natural. "I figure every man should see some trees before he dies."
He lifted his Winchester and sighted at the flat surface of a rock slightly behind the group. He steadied himself, blinked the sweat from his eyes, then squeezed off his shot.
From behind the rocks there was a startled yelp and Cates fired against the rock again, then fired past the rock. There was no further sound.
"Them ricochets," Lonnie said, "they tear a man up. They tear him up something fierce."
Cates slid back to where it was safe, then stood up. "You stay here, Lonnie. They'll be nervous now, but you be careful." He started down the rocks. "She's a fine girl, all right. I'd say she was very fine."
He stopped by the fire for coffee. He squatted by the fire, thinking about it. The killing of that horse had been no accident, for every horse killed meant a man afoot, and a man walking was a man who would die in this country.
Zimmerman walked to the fire and lifted the coffee pot. Cates saw at a glance that the big man was hunting trouble, and it would be always that way with Zimmerman. He would hunt trouble until somebody killed him--only this was not the time.
"You wet-nursin' that Injun?" Zimmerman demanded.
"Before we get out of here we'll be glad to have him with us. We'll need every man we've got."
"Send him out there with the rest of the Injuns," Zimmerman said. "He's like them all. This here's a place for white men."
"Lugo is a Pima, and the Pimas are good Indians. They are ancient enemies of both the Apaches and the Yaqui, with more reason for hating them than you'll ever have. He stays."
"Maybe." Zimmerman gulped coffee, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe I'll run him out."
"In the first place"--Logan Cates got to his feet--"Tony Lugo is, I suspect, twice the fighter you've ever been. In the second place, I'm in command here, and if you want to start anything with him, start it with me first."
Zimmerman looked at him over the coffee pot, a slow, measuring glance, and he did not like what he saw. He had seen these lean, quiet men before, and there was a cool certainty in Cates's manner that betrayed the fact that he was no stranger to trouble. Yet Zimmerman knew his own enormous strength and relied upon it. "You get in my way," he said, "and I'll take that little gun and put it where it belongs."
"How about right now?" Cates asked softly.
Zimmerman looked at him, then shook his head. "I'll pick my own time," he said, "but you stay out of my way."
Turning, the big soldier walked away, and Logan Cates knew that only the time was suspended, that nothing had been avoided. Nor could there be any reasoning with Zimmerman, for the man's hatred of all Indians had been absorbed during childhood, drilled into him, leaving no room for reason; for such a man
"Cates," he spoke in a low tone, "don't count on help from the fort. Not soon, anyway. With us gone there aren't twenty men there."
Lonnie Foreman turned impatiently. "Why are they waiting? If they're going to attack, why don't they get started?"
"Who knows why an Indian does anything? Maybe they figure they don't have to hurry."
Lonnie was silent and when he spoke he said, "You know what I think? I think maybe they're right."
From Kimbrough's position there was a single shot, then silence, and no sound but the light breeze of a gray morning turning to a blazing hot day.
Sheehan slipped away to scout the various positions and check with his men. Lonnie shifted his rifle and squinted his eyes against the sun. "She's a real nice girl," he said suddenly.
Cates agreed solemnly. "Make some man a good wife," he added.
"If I was a little older," Lonnie explained carefully, "I'd--no, I want to see some more country. Why, I hear tell that up north in California there's some of the biggest trees in the world! I'd sure like to see them trees."
"You do that." Cates had found a cluster of rocks in the sand that somehow did not look quite natural. "I figure every man should see some trees before he dies."
He lifted his Winchester and sighted at the flat surface of a rock slightly behind the group. He steadied himself, blinked the sweat from his eyes, then squeezed off his shot.
From behind the rocks there was a startled yelp and Cates fired against the rock again, then fired past the rock. There was no further sound.
"Them ricochets," Lonnie said, "they tear a man up. They tear him up something fierce."
Cates slid back to where it was safe, then stood up. "You stay here, Lonnie. They'll be nervous now, but you be careful." He started down the rocks. "She's a fine girl, all right. I'd say she was very fine."
He stopped by the fire for coffee. He squatted by the fire, thinking about it. The killing of that horse had been no accident, for every horse killed meant a man afoot, and a man walking was a man who would die in this country.
Zimmerman walked to the fire and lifted the coffee pot. Cates saw at a glance that the big man was hunting trouble, and it would be always that way with Zimmerman. He would hunt trouble until somebody killed him--only this was not the time.
"You wet-nursin' that Injun?" Zimmerman demanded.
"Before we get out of here we'll be glad to have him with us. We'll need every man we've got."
"Send him out there with the rest of the Injuns," Zimmerman said. "He's like them all. This here's a place for white men."
"Lugo is a Pima, and the Pimas are good Indians. They are ancient enemies of both the Apaches and the Yaqui, with more reason for hating them than you'll ever have. He stays."
"Maybe." Zimmerman gulped coffee, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe I'll run him out."
"In the first place"--Logan Cates got to his feet--"Tony Lugo is, I suspect, twice the fighter you've ever been. In the second place, I'm in command here, and if you want to start anything with him, start it with me first."
Zimmerman looked at him over the coffee pot, a slow, measuring glance, and he did not like what he saw. He had seen these lean, quiet men before, and there was a cool certainty in Cates's manner that betrayed the fact that he was no stranger to trouble. Yet Zimmerman knew his own enormous strength and relied upon it. "You get in my way," he said, "and I'll take that little gun and put it where it belongs."
"How about right now?" Cates asked softly.
Zimmerman looked at him, then shook his head. "I'll pick my own time," he said, "but you stay out of my way."
Turning, the big soldier walked away, and Logan Cates knew that only the time was suspended, that nothing had been avoided. Nor could there be any reasoning with Zimmerman, for the man's hatred of all Indians had been absorbed during childhood, drilled into him, leaving no room for reason; for such a man
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