Read Online the Lonely Men (1969) by Louis - Sackett's 14 L'amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis - Sackett's 14 L'amour
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the Stone Houses ... the people who built the cliff dwellings in Arizona and Colorado. They were driven out by the Navajo, who killed many of them.
"The white man has driven out the Indian, but the Indian drove out others before, and those others had driven peoples before them. It is always the same.
I think the Indian was defeated by the traders, not by the soldiers."
"How so?" Battles asked.
"The traders made the Indian want things he could not make himself. He came to need the white man, to depend upon him. The Indian had to trade or steal to get the rifles and other things he wanted that the white man had."
It was what I had thought myself. Rocca shrugged again. "The first white trader who came to the Indians brought their doom in his pack. I think it is so."
We were silent then. We came to a fearful slide and went down it, our horses sliding on their haunches for a good part of the distance to the bottom of a gloomy canyon, through which ran the headwaters of the Bavispe. It was an eerie, haunted spot, and I swung down, standing for a moment with both hands on the saddle, listening. But there was no sound except that of falling water, and the sighing of wind among the pines.
"I don't like it," John J. said. "It looks like the dark edge of hell."
Me, I was thinking of those youngsters among the Apaches, so strange to them, so frightening. They must be scared stiff. Yet I could think of worse things than living out a life in these mountains. The Sierra Madres were beautiful.
We were coming close now, and we could see plenty of Apache sign. In gloomy places like this a body always had the feeling of being watched.
We drank, one at a time, with the others watching and in the saddle. We crossed the river then and went up a switchback trail for a thousand feet toward a tremendous promontory.
Storm clouds hung over the nearby peaks, and there was electricity in the air.
Kahtenny's rancheria was somewhere below us, hidden in the low clouds. We started down through the trees, but had gone only a short distance when the rain began to fall in sheets, swept by a violent wind.
The forest offered slight cover, and there was nothing to do but hole up and wait it out. We found a place where a great pine had fallen almost to the ground, part of it resting among the rocks. We cut away the branches on the under side and took shelter there, leading our horses under cover with us. There was barely room for us, and the pommel of my saddle brushed the bark of the pine.
We took a chance, with the rain to keep down the smoke and keep the Apaches under shelter, and built a small fire where we made soup and coffee.
After a break, with the rain still falling, I took up my rifle and went out on a scout. Keeping to the trees, I worked my way along the cliff. The rocks glistened with wet, and the raindrops pelted my slicker like thrown stones, but the trees offered some shelter.
Suddenly I was looking down into Kahtenny's rancheria. There were a few smokes from wickiups, but nobody was visible.
I felt a movement behind me, and I turned sharply. It was Tampico Rocca.
He indicated the rancheria below us. "I could not fool them now," he said. "They would smell the difference in me. I have been eating the white man's food."
"How many would you guess there are?" I asked. "Twenty, maybe?"
"Twenty, or twenty-five."
Two dozen human wolves ... and I mean nothing against them. My enemies for the time, yes ... but I respected them. At trailing or fighting they were fierce and relentless as wolves, and we had done the impossible and followed them into their almost impregnable Sierra Madre.
"I'm going down," I said. "I shall get close and listen."
Rocca stared at me. "You crazy. They will hear you. Their dogs will smell you."
"Maybe, but the rain will help."
"All right," he said, "we both go." It would be a daring thing, but there was enough of the Apache in him to be cautious. And it would be a chance to count coups against the
"The white man has driven out the Indian, but the Indian drove out others before, and those others had driven peoples before them. It is always the same.
I think the Indian was defeated by the traders, not by the soldiers."
"How so?" Battles asked.
"The traders made the Indian want things he could not make himself. He came to need the white man, to depend upon him. The Indian had to trade or steal to get the rifles and other things he wanted that the white man had."
It was what I had thought myself. Rocca shrugged again. "The first white trader who came to the Indians brought their doom in his pack. I think it is so."
We were silent then. We came to a fearful slide and went down it, our horses sliding on their haunches for a good part of the distance to the bottom of a gloomy canyon, through which ran the headwaters of the Bavispe. It was an eerie, haunted spot, and I swung down, standing for a moment with both hands on the saddle, listening. But there was no sound except that of falling water, and the sighing of wind among the pines.
"I don't like it," John J. said. "It looks like the dark edge of hell."
Me, I was thinking of those youngsters among the Apaches, so strange to them, so frightening. They must be scared stiff. Yet I could think of worse things than living out a life in these mountains. The Sierra Madres were beautiful.
We were coming close now, and we could see plenty of Apache sign. In gloomy places like this a body always had the feeling of being watched.
We drank, one at a time, with the others watching and in the saddle. We crossed the river then and went up a switchback trail for a thousand feet toward a tremendous promontory.
Storm clouds hung over the nearby peaks, and there was electricity in the air.
Kahtenny's rancheria was somewhere below us, hidden in the low clouds. We started down through the trees, but had gone only a short distance when the rain began to fall in sheets, swept by a violent wind.
The forest offered slight cover, and there was nothing to do but hole up and wait it out. We found a place where a great pine had fallen almost to the ground, part of it resting among the rocks. We cut away the branches on the under side and took shelter there, leading our horses under cover with us. There was barely room for us, and the pommel of my saddle brushed the bark of the pine.
We took a chance, with the rain to keep down the smoke and keep the Apaches under shelter, and built a small fire where we made soup and coffee.
After a break, with the rain still falling, I took up my rifle and went out on a scout. Keeping to the trees, I worked my way along the cliff. The rocks glistened with wet, and the raindrops pelted my slicker like thrown stones, but the trees offered some shelter.
Suddenly I was looking down into Kahtenny's rancheria. There were a few smokes from wickiups, but nobody was visible.
I felt a movement behind me, and I turned sharply. It was Tampico Rocca.
He indicated the rancheria below us. "I could not fool them now," he said. "They would smell the difference in me. I have been eating the white man's food."
"How many would you guess there are?" I asked. "Twenty, maybe?"
"Twenty, or twenty-five."
Two dozen human wolves ... and I mean nothing against them. My enemies for the time, yes ... but I respected them. At trailing or fighting they were fierce and relentless as wolves, and we had done the impossible and followed them into their almost impregnable Sierra Madre.
"I'm going down," I said. "I shall get close and listen."
Rocca stared at me. "You crazy. They will hear you. Their dogs will smell you."
"Maybe, but the rain will help."
"All right," he said, "we both go." It would be a daring thing, but there was enough of the Apache in him to be cautious. And it would be a chance to count coups against the
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