Desert Sands

Desert Sands


As I lay there belly down in the sand I could see the heat rising in waves from the scorched earth in front of me. I could smell my own sweat as it trickled down my sides under my shirt. I was in an arroyo that had a small seep at the base of the cliff on my left. In back of me and to the right, were dense thickets of chain fruit cholla (pronounced choy-ya) or jumping cactus. This is because the segments easily detached and seemed to attach themselves painfully to anything that brushed even lightly against them.

The only open area was to my front and it was hot, blistering, sand. How did I wind up in predicaments like this? All I had wanted to do was help a friend. I had received word about a week ago that a friend of mine needed a hand against some major rancher, set on forcing him off his land. Now, my friend hadn’t asked for my help. He didn’t even know that I was on my way to help. That just wasn’t the way things were done out here in the West. A man forked his own broncs and stomped his own snakes. Out here, if you strapped on a gun you were expected to know how and when to use it.

I had been heading north out of Sonora when I had ridden out of the draw into the band of Mescalero Apaches. I had been half-asleep in the saddle from the long ride. My horse had lifted his head as I was coming out of the draw. That was the only thing that had saved my life. That and the fact that the draw was padded with sand and had deadened the horse’s footsteps. The Apaches were as startled as I was. We all came out of our stunned silence about the same time. I just had been a little faster at getting my guns into play. I let out a rebel yell, snaked my Patterson out of my shoulder rig, and let bang. The first warrior took the slug just at the v where the collar bones come together at the base of the throat. It had blown part of his spine out the back of his neck and sent him head over heels off the back of his pony. The next shot took an Apache high and to the right just above the heart. His eyes had gone wide in shock. He looked at me and seemed about to ask me a question and then slumped forward over his horse’s mane. My next round took the next warrior just below the sternum. It seemed to drain the wind right out of him.

With that, I was through them and riding hell bent for the place where I was now holed up. I had seen the slight spot of green on the ridge. I made for it as fast as my horse would carry me. It must have been a lucky shot that hit the horse just as I hit the lip of the arroyo where I was taking cover. I heard my horse grunt in pain and start to fall. I reached down and pulled my rifle free and leaped clear of the now falling horse. I tucked as I landed and rolled down behind the lip of the arroyo. My horse had rolled right down into the cholla cacti.

Once I had settled down, I tried not to move for movement meant death in this test of nerves and skill. I just hoped that all the excitement didn't aggravate the cough that had been plaguing me of late. I had inched the rifle up beside my body and covered the barrel with sand to dull the shine. That way its gleam wouldn’t give away my position. I had the rifle under a small bit of mesquite to hide it and my outline. I scanned the area in front of me. I couldn’t see anything but I knew they were out there. There had been six apaches to start with. It must have been a small raiding party of young bucks off the reservation. Like all young men, they felt the need to prove themselves.

I thought I saw something move just to the front and right of my position. I inched the rifle a little further up into firing position. I dare not lay my cheek against the rifle, as the metal was hot enough to blister skin. I eared back the hammer on my rifle just as the Indians seemed to rise up out of the sand. They looked like dust colored apparitions. My shot took the Indian in the stomach and the Apache ran a few more steps before his legs just seemed to fold up under him and he hit the sand on his face. I worked the lever on my rifle only to have the casing stovepipe in the chamber. I dropped it, grabbed my Colt from my hip, drew, and fired all in one swift move. The warrior took the first slug and just kept coming. I worked the pistol bringing the next round into play and let the hammer drop. This time the slug took the Indian in the chest. The momentum of the Apache kept him moving until he slammed into me knocking us both to the ground. I lost my pistol in the collision. I hurried to get out from under the young warrior. I didn’t need to worry though he was dead.

I took a deep breath both of the Indian warriors were dead. Wait! I thought as my head snapped up. There had been three. It was then I heard the footstep just before something slammed into my side. I felt a searing pain along my ribs as the knife the Apache was using creased my side. I had instinctively turned when I heard the footstep. It had saved my life. The warrior was on top of me before I could get my bearings. He tried to plunge the knife into my chest but I was able to stop its downward descent. We rolled over and over in the hot sand trying to gain control long enough to end this life and death struggle. I decided to take a chance I reached back with one hand and pulled the razor sharp stiletto I kept in a sheath at my collar. The gamble was that I could get the knife out and into play faster than the Indian could stick that knife into my chest. As I reached back, the young warrior was so intent on sticking that knife in me that he never paid attention to why I had let go of his arms with one hand. There was a brief flash of triumph in his eyes before they widened in pain and surprise. I had my knife buried to the hilt in his side with the point tickling his heart. He let out a last exhale of air and slumped onto my chest. I rolled him off and sat up.

I quickly recovered my pistol and rifle. I cleared the rifle and reloaded the pistol checking to make sure that no sand had gotten into the action. I found my hat and brushed it off. I surveyed my surroundings. Well nothing much left to do here. The coyotes had to eat too. I started looking around for the place where the Indians had stashed their ponies. I found them and picked one out that looked like it once had belonged to the Cavalry. Well, at least it was shod and had the U.S. brand on it. I brought it as close as I could till it started to smell the blood. I stripped my gear off my horse and put it on my new mount. I swung into the saddle and after a couple of humps, to try me out of the saddle, the horse settled into the saddle and bit just fine. Well I had to get going a friend needed my help. If nothing else, people knew that Doc Holliday always helped his friends.