Read Online Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis L'amour
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the loss of an arm would come easier than the loss of prejudice, for he lived by hatred.
The attack came suddenly. The Apaches came out of the desert like brown ghosts, and vanished as suddenly. They had come with a rush, moving suddenly as on signal, but there had been no signal that anyone heard. They came, they fired and they hit the sand, and then the desert was empty again, as though the sudden movement had been a deception of the sunlight on the sand ... only now they were closer.
Another horse had been killed, and Cates swore under his breath, knowing what the Indians had in mind. For a time there was silence and every man waited, expecting another rush, searching the sand and the jumble of lava for a target they really did not expect to find. Sheehan mopped sweat from his brow and worried, wondering what had been done back at the fort, knowing how few men were there.
"Nobody to shoot at," Foreman complained. "They're like ghosts."
"We wasted time!" Taylor said irritably. "We could have struck out for Yuma."
"Like your posse did?" Cates asked.
"That was an accident!" Taylor said angrily. "It wouldn't happen again."
"The Apaches make accidents like that."
Beaupre and Lugo fired as one man, and Kimbrough's shot was an instant behind. The three bullets furrowed the crest of a sand hill a short distance off, a crest where an instant before an Indian had showed.
"Missed him!" Beaupre spat his disgust.
"Teach 'em to be careful," Lonnie Foreman assured him. "If you missed you sure made him unhappy, comin' that near."
Minutes paced slowly by. Out over the desert heat waves shimmered; the day was going now, and it would leave them in darkness soon, leave them in darkness where the Apaches could creep closer, and closer.
Cates moved around their position, checking each man, scanning the desert from every vantage point. The area they covered was all of a hundred yards long, but difficult to get at for any attacker. There was cover beyond their perimeter of defense, but the cover for the defenders was even better. Where the two upper pools were there was a wide space that was open and safe as long as the defenders could keep the Indians out of the bordering rocks.
The hours drew slowly on. Occasionally a shot came out of the desert ... or an arrow. But there were no more casualties. Only once did anyone get a shot, and it was Kimbrough. He took a shot at a running Indian, a shadow seen among the mesquite and cholla, no more. Whether he scored or missed there was no way of telling. The sun lowered itself slowly behind the distant hills, and out over the lava, a quail called. It was evening again.
Squatting beside the fire, Cates nursed his cup in his hands. The fire and the coffee were the only friendly things; he did not belong here, he did not want this fight. Alone, he might have gone on, for his horse was a desert horse and his two canteens were large. And now he was pinned here, surrounded by Indians, and among people either indifferent to him or outright in their dislike of him.
"Will we get out?" Jennifer asked him.
"We'll get out."
"Do you suppose--I mean, is this all? Or are there other Indians out?"
"Can't say."
"I was wondering because of my father. I--I think he's looking for me."
"I would be, if I was him."
"Why? I love Grant. I intend to marry him."
"All right."
"You don't like him, do you?"
Cates shrugged. "I don't know him. He may be a good man ... but not for you."
"You don't think much of me, either."
"You'll do all right as soon as you understand what your dad means to this country, and what the country means to him."
"He killed a man. I saw him."
"Before we get out of here," Cates replied, "we'll all have killed men. Or we'll have been killed ourselves."
"That's different!"
"Is it?" Cates indicated Kimbrough. "What about him? He was in the war, so what about the killing he did?"
"But that was war!"
"Your dad was in a war, too, only it was fought without banners, without the big
The attack came suddenly. The Apaches came out of the desert like brown ghosts, and vanished as suddenly. They had come with a rush, moving suddenly as on signal, but there had been no signal that anyone heard. They came, they fired and they hit the sand, and then the desert was empty again, as though the sudden movement had been a deception of the sunlight on the sand ... only now they were closer.
Another horse had been killed, and Cates swore under his breath, knowing what the Indians had in mind. For a time there was silence and every man waited, expecting another rush, searching the sand and the jumble of lava for a target they really did not expect to find. Sheehan mopped sweat from his brow and worried, wondering what had been done back at the fort, knowing how few men were there.
"Nobody to shoot at," Foreman complained. "They're like ghosts."
"We wasted time!" Taylor said irritably. "We could have struck out for Yuma."
"Like your posse did?" Cates asked.
"That was an accident!" Taylor said angrily. "It wouldn't happen again."
"The Apaches make accidents like that."
Beaupre and Lugo fired as one man, and Kimbrough's shot was an instant behind. The three bullets furrowed the crest of a sand hill a short distance off, a crest where an instant before an Indian had showed.
"Missed him!" Beaupre spat his disgust.
"Teach 'em to be careful," Lonnie Foreman assured him. "If you missed you sure made him unhappy, comin' that near."
Minutes paced slowly by. Out over the desert heat waves shimmered; the day was going now, and it would leave them in darkness soon, leave them in darkness where the Apaches could creep closer, and closer.
Cates moved around their position, checking each man, scanning the desert from every vantage point. The area they covered was all of a hundred yards long, but difficult to get at for any attacker. There was cover beyond their perimeter of defense, but the cover for the defenders was even better. Where the two upper pools were there was a wide space that was open and safe as long as the defenders could keep the Indians out of the bordering rocks.
The hours drew slowly on. Occasionally a shot came out of the desert ... or an arrow. But there were no more casualties. Only once did anyone get a shot, and it was Kimbrough. He took a shot at a running Indian, a shadow seen among the mesquite and cholla, no more. Whether he scored or missed there was no way of telling. The sun lowered itself slowly behind the distant hills, and out over the lava, a quail called. It was evening again.
Squatting beside the fire, Cates nursed his cup in his hands. The fire and the coffee were the only friendly things; he did not belong here, he did not want this fight. Alone, he might have gone on, for his horse was a desert horse and his two canteens were large. And now he was pinned here, surrounded by Indians, and among people either indifferent to him or outright in their dislike of him.
"Will we get out?" Jennifer asked him.
"We'll get out."
"Do you suppose--I mean, is this all? Or are there other Indians out?"
"Can't say."
"I was wondering because of my father. I--I think he's looking for me."
"I would be, if I was him."
"Why? I love Grant. I intend to marry him."
"All right."
"You don't like him, do you?"
Cates shrugged. "I don't know him. He may be a good man ... but not for you."
"You don't think much of me, either."
"You'll do all right as soon as you understand what your dad means to this country, and what the country means to him."
"He killed a man. I saw him."
"Before we get out of here," Cates replied, "we'll all have killed men. Or we'll have been killed ourselves."
"That's different!"
"Is it?" Cates indicated Kimbrough. "What about him? He was in the war, so what about the killing he did?"
"But that was war!"
"Your dad was in a war, too, only it was fought without banners, without the big
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