1.
Three blue coats rode amidst the rising sun. They rode in a race against time. For the Apaches were on the warpath. The majority of them were from the San Carlos Indian Reservation. A rogue chief named Red Eagle led them. They were a sorry bunch with nothing to lose and nothing to gain except their pride. Sergeant Mark “Sully” Sullivan led the three blue coats. He felt sorry for the Red Devils. He had been to San Carlos and it was a sight that he would never forget. Starvation was ripe, along with the loss of their tribal lands. It was a way of life that would be gone and forgotten within a hundred years.
The stories of the goings-on behind the scenes at San Carlos were the worst-kept secret among the Army. The Indian agent sold the reservation’s beef to settlers and the Army as the Indians starved. He harbored no grudge against capitalism. It was the lifeblood of the nation. The greed of a few kept the Indians hungry. A hungry Indian was a desperate Indian. A desperate Indian was dangerous.
No, he wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of the Apache for even a year’s pay upfront. There was nothing worse than watching your own people starve all around you. To the Apache there seemed to be but two choices. Death by famine or death by combat against the White Man. Neither of which were not a good way to go. He may have been acting under orders, but this was personal to him. You see running Tumbleweed Station was old Bob Ruth. He had a daughter that was with him. Her name was Cindy. She was the woman he loved and the woman he was going to marry.
For that assignment, he had picked two of his best men. Lance Corporal Jim Thompson and Private First Class Max Sand were his best men. They were men with fighting experience. With Red Eagle on the loose, it would take men with experience to bring him down.
He prayed that he wasn't too late.
2.
It was miles away on the opposite end, a stagecoach worked its way toward Tumbleweed Station. Five souls were aboard the stage.
Sitting on the box out front driving the stage was Billy Griff. He was a man born in Arizona Territory and lived there his whole life. The other four souls, which were inside the stage itself, were of a different breed. Two of them were of the rough end of life and the others were not yet defined.
Vernon Brooder, who once played on the wrong side of the law in Kansas was at this point an honest bounty hunter. It was most of the time that bounty hunters would bring in their bounty as a stone-cold dead corpse. Not Vern. He would bring them in alive. Not necessarily in one piece. John Bishop, better known as the Tombstone Kid could attest to that. Vern had the outlaw, bruised and toothless, chained to his wrist. He was a patient one. Captors had captured him four times, but each time, he overpowered and escaped them. The thing was he had never encountered a man like Vernon Brooder before.
The other ones sitting across from them were a young couple married. They were William and Lisa Johnson. Both of them kept their mouths shut like the Kid’s on account of the elephant in the room. That elephant was Vern himself, who loved to talk about his exploits. Some of them were true and some of them were questionable. All involved his exploits in the justice system if that was what you wanted to call it. All the while, the Kid couldn’t help but look at Lisa. She couldn’t help but remind him of this girl he used to go steady with back in Tombstone.
To her, he was no good.
To him, she was an angel.
“Haven’t ya said enough,” spoke up the Kid.
“Did ya speak?” said a very sinister Vern.
“I said…”
Vern hit him across the face with the butt end of his repeating rifle to knock another tooth out of the Kid’s mouth.
Vern laughed at the sight of him losing another tooth. To him, it was funny, while to the newlyweds it was downright disturbing.
“Go ahead and talk some more,” sneered Vern. “I love watching ya lose some more of your bad teeth. It's quite a sight for sore eyes.”
If looks could kill the Kid’s face would have killed Vern on the spot.
“Oh, shit,” laughed Vern. “Ya should see the look on your face, Kid.”
The Kid couldn't help but wait to see Vern’s face after he smashed it in once he was out of the shackle with him.
3.
The Apaches inspired Tumbleweed station's design. It was a design that resembled a half-fortress, with a hacked-down adobe wall exposing trunks. If you arm enough men, they could resist Outlaws or Apaches for some time.
Inside the kitchen of the station, Cindy Ruth stood over a hot grill cooking a fresh batch of stew. All the while as she cooked she had one thing on her mind.
That was her man, Sully. It was three weeks ago after a year-long courtship that he had finally got up the nerve to ask her to marry him. His Army commission was coming to an end and he had accepted a Marshall’s post in Contention. He had some money saved up for a plot of land right outside of town where he could build a house and raise a family. All the while she was counting the days till his commission ended. It was eleven days until his commission would end. He would arrive from the Fort to take her away from Tumbleweed station. She couldn't complain about life. It was nice living with her dad at the station for a number of years since her mom had passed on four years ago. Five times a week the stage would arrive and a different set of people would come and go. It was good company to see fresh faces, but there were times that it was lonely. That loneliness went away whenever Sully would come by. He was her rock.
While she was deep in thought of her man her father Bob stepped inside the kitchen.
“How’s it coming?” he asked her.
“It’s almost done, Pa,” she replied.
“Good, the next stage will be here in a few minutes.”
“It’ll be out in five.”
“What’s the matter?”
She looked at him with her green eyes. Bob could see it right in them.
“I know,” he said. “I love him too.”
“Senor, Bob,” said an accented voice from behind the kitchen.
It was Miguel Gomez, the keeper of the horses and Bob’s right-hand man in running the station. He was a few years older than Cindy. He had the experience and horse sense to take over operations of the station when the time came for Bob to retire. In fact, Bob was grooming him to take over the station in a year or so.
“Yes, Miguel?”
“The stage is arriving.”
“They're here early,” said Bob. “Cindy, don't rush it. Bring the food out when it's ready.”
“Right, Pa.”
“Open the gate and let ‘em in,” said Bob to Miguel as he left the kitchen.
Miguel ran ten yards to the barred wooden gate. He had the gate opened right when the coach was at the gate and they entered.
“Howdy, Miguel,” greeted Billy Griff.
“Hola, Billy,” Miguel greeted back.
The little Mexican ran up front to the lead horses, reaching for the reins upon stopping. By then the stage had stopped and Billy was off his box, lighting a cheap cigar as he stretched his legs on the ground.
“Tumbleweed station,” announced Billy.
The young couple got out first and almost bumped into Bob at the doorway to get inside.
“Afternoon,” he greeted. “Fresh food will be out shortly.”
“Thank you,” said Lisa as they went past him inside.
Bob went up to Billy to greet him.
“Well, Billy, how many is it today?”
“Four.”
“I only saw two.”
“Oh, the others will be out in a minute. They're taking their time.”
“Who are they?”
“One of them is Vern Brooder.”
“Who did he catch this time?”
“The Tombstone Kid.”
“Ya don't say?”
“Yep.”
“He’s a tough one.”
“A good price on his head too as well.”
“How much is he worth?”
“Vern says five thousand.”
“Damn,” whistled Bob. “Ya think he’d killed General Crook to be worth that much.”
“He ain't no saint,” laughed Billy, “that's for damn sure.”
“He sure ain't,” agreed Bob.
“Be careful though, this Kid is a bad apple, so Vern’s a bit rough on ‘em.”
By then the two remaining passengers stepped out of the stage. Vern first and then the Kid. Bob stopped to get a good look at the Kid and could tell right away that he was a bad apple.
“Hello, Bob,” greeted Vern.
“Hello, Vern,” said Bob, “So that's the Tombstone Kid?”
“In the flesh,” Vern smiled.
The Kid was silent with a hard look on his face. Vern looked at him and yanked on his wrist.
“Well, go on, Kid,” said Vern with the devil’s grin. “Say hello to Bob.”
“Hello, Bob,” said the Kid.
“Now was that so hard?” said Vern.
“My other teeth I’d like to keep,” said the Kid.
“Funny one ain't ya,” laughed Vern. “All right head on inside. I'd like to eat.”
“So would I,” said the Kid.
“Shut up or you'll lose more teeth.”
Bob followed them inside, while Billy stayed outside to help Miguel with the horses. By the time they got inside the food was already served at the table where both William and Lisa sat eating. Vern sniffed the scent of the meal as he entered.
“Smells tasty,” said Vern. “Better enjoy it, Kid, because it'll be better than that slop they'll give ya for your last meal at Yuma.”
The two hard men sat on the other side of the table opposite William and Lisa, while Cindy served them each a bowl of stew.
“Hello, Cindy,” said Vern.
“Hello, Vern,” she said.
“When are you two getting married?”
“Twelve days from now.”
“Well, in case I don't see ya till then, congratulations,” he said. “I hope you'll be happy.”
“Thank you.”
Cindy returned to the kitchen after serving the food and Bob sat with them.
“Eat up Kid,” said Vern.
“I’m a leftie,” said the Kid.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I'm left-handed, chaining my left hand to your right," he said. “It would be easier on us both if ya unchained me so that we can both eat.”
“Well, thank you for thinking of me,” said Vern, “but you'll eat with your right while I'll eat with my left. You're not leaving my sight till I get ya on the train from Contention to Yuma prison.”
“You’re all heart,” sneered the Kid.
“If I had a heart, Kid I wouldn't have lasted for as long as I have in this business dealing with the likes of you.”
Lisa had enough of listening to Duke put her spoon down and stood up.
“Damn you, sir,” she spat at Vern. “It’s bad enough we got to listen to your filth on their trip. "If I must eat, I will refuse to listen to you."
“Lisa,” said William, trying to calm her down.
“No, William,” she said, “I've had it. I will not listen to any more of this. Ya treat that poor kid like he's some animal, well he isn't. He's a man whether he's guilty or not. Does he still have to stand trial?”
“Yes, ma'am he does,” began Vern, “but…”
“Then a man is innocent until proven guilty,” he spat. “You’re a fine example of the law, ya filthy white trash.”
Shock grips Vern as the Kid laughed without restraint. No one has dared to ever talk to Vernon Brooder like that.
“Ma’am, I am shocked,” said the Kid. “I’ve never met a lady who had the guts to talk to me like that. I must say that ya got a poor taste in who ya feel sorry for.”
“That’s because you’ve never been in the company of a lady to begin with,” she said with spite. “My father happens to be Judge Bixby out in Contention and he’ll have a few things to say about this.”
“You’re Judge Bixby’s girl?” said Vern.
“I sure am,” she said.
“Then I can see where ya get your spirit from,” said Vern. “He’s quite the man. Damn, good Judge. If I have offended ya, then I apologize to ya both…”
Vern’s words froze at the sight of both Billy and Miguel entering through the door with their hands up. Behind them were two men in sisters pointing guns at them.
“All right everyone,” said one. “This is a hold-up. Reach for the sky.”
“Ya ok, Kid,” asked the other.
“It’s about time ya two got here,” said the Kid. “I’ve lost enough teeth.”
“Who are these two?” Vern asked the Kid.
“Well then, please allow me to introduce ‘em to ya,” said the Kid. “Mike Shaft to the left and Jack Croft to the right, fellows, this is Vernon Brooder.”
“I’ve heard of ya two,” sneered Vern. “You’re each worth two thousand dollars.
“Which ya won't live long enough to collect,” said the Kid. “Now, ya got some unchaining to do. Or do I have to knock out a few of your teeth to get ya to move?”
The Kid turned his wrath to his two men.
“What the hell took ya two so long to catch up and spring me,” he spat. “It’s been like a bad trip to the dentist with this bastard.”
“Sorry, Kid,” said Mike. “But some red skin half-breed got wind of our trail and was following us.”
“Did ya at least lose ‘em?”
“What do ya take us for, Kid?” said Jack. “Of course we did.”
“Ok, ok. As long as he's off your trail.”
The Kid turned his attention to everyone else at the table.
“The rest of y’all get your asses up and stand against the wall with your hands reaching for it. Now move!”
The others rose, approached the wall, and reached as instructed.
“There’s a girl in the kitchen over there, Jack,” said the Kid. “Go bring her out.”
“Sure, Kid,” said Jack, moving towards the kitchen.
“Mike, gimme a gun.”
Mike gives the Kid a gun with his available hand and sticks it into Vern’s belly.
“Now, Vernon,” said the Kid. “Do I have to ask ya again?”
Vern bit his lip. He reached for the keys to the cuffs and was about to unshackle himself from the Kid. He came to a stop when Jack came out of the kitchen with his hands up. Cindy followed behind him with a rifle pointed at his back. The Kid shrugs with frustration, while Mike turns his gun to Cindy.
“What the hell, Jack,” the Kid swore.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack, “but she had the gun aimed at me right when I stepped into the kitchen. I didn't stand a chance.”
“Sure,” shrugged the Kid. “I’m sure that's what happened.”
“Drop that rifle lady,” spat Mike.
“Cindy don't listen to ‘em,” called Vern.
“Like Hell,” spat the Kid with the gun in Vern’s belly. “If any of ya move from that wall old Vern is gonna get a belly full of lead.”
“If ya kill ‘em then your man here dies,” said Cindy not backing down.
“She means it, Kid,” stammered Jack.
“Shut up, Jack,” yelled the Kid. “Y’all stay against that wall!”
The others listen but are alert for a chance to make a jump for it. The Kid knows it as well.
“What do we do, Kid?” said Mike who was starting to panic.
“Relax, Mike,” said the Kid. “Keep your gun on the girl, damn it!”
A whip lashed out to lash the gun right out of Mike’s hand. He grabbed his bleeding hand to look at the door along with everyone else. All eyes go wide at the sight of an Apache half-breed in black with a whip and a Bowie knife as his only weapons.
“It’s him,” stammered Mike.
“It’s the half-breed,” stammered Jack.
“Hello, Goshe,” said Vern who was happy to see him. “I shoulda figured it was you when these two turkeys said an Indian half-breed was on their trail.”
“And I figured they'd be heading for ya to pick up the Kid.”
“Don’t get any ideas on the Kid.”
“I have no designs on the Kid, Vern. As far as I’m concerned ya can have ‘em. I’ll settle for these two.”
“That’s a deal,” agreed Vern.
“Who the hell is this guy?” spat the Kid. “He ain't even packing a gun.”
“Well, you're licked, Kid,” sneered Vern, “cause that half-breed can lick ya armed three with the bullwhip alone. My advice to ya is to call it quits, cause ya don't wanna face ‘em with that knife of his.”
But the Kid wasn't having any of it.
He doubles down.
“Like Hell, I will,” he yelled. “I still got a gun on old Vern here. What are ya gonna do about that?”
“Bad move, Kid,” warned Vern.
“Shut up,” said a defiant Tombstone Kid. “I ain't giving up to some half-breed Indian that's not even packing a…”
Both his sentence and his life came to and when the knife found its way into his neck. He fell over dead with blood gushing everywhere. Before he hits the ground, Vern takes the fun out of the Kid’s cold dead hand before it goes off. That is when he unshackles himself from the now-dead Kid.
Jack and Mike freeze, shaking in their boots as the others against the wall jump them and take them down.
Goshe stepped inside, rolling up his whip, and walked up to a blood-covered Vern smiling.
“Sorry, Vern,” he said. “I guess ya won’t be bringing ‘em in alive to watch ‘em hang. It's a damn shame.”
Vern wasn't too broken up about it.
“Yeah, it's a damn shame.”
Goshe retrieved his knife, wiping the blood on the blade on the Kid’s body upon doing so. Bob, who had checked on Cindy, walked up to the two bounty hunters.
“Ya came at the right moment, Goshe,” said Bob. “Ya have my thanks.”
“Yeah,” nodded Goshe. “Sorry about the mess I made though.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said Bob. “It’s what happens when you’re disposing of a skunk.”
“We got company,” called Billy by the window.
“Who is it?” asked Bob who rushed to the window to see.
“Why it's three boys in blue.”
Bob smiled.
“It’s ok,” said Bob. “It’s Sully.”
“Wait a minute,” said Billy. “Something’s wrong. They're riding in here awful quick.”
“Let’s find out what's wrong, Billy,” said Bob. “The rest of y’all keep an eye on those two remaining skunks.”
“You’ll have no problem on that front,” smiled Vern.
While Billy, Bob, and Cindy stepped outside to meet the blue coats. Vern and Goshe took charge of Mike and Jack. Goshe terrified them both and they believed he would kill them. Vern was loving every minute of their terror.
“You two fear Goshe, don’t you?” Vern teased.“Well, ya both should be, 'cause ya two are his bounty, not mine.”
“But you’re gonna take us into town to stand trial, right Mr. Goshe, sir?” stammered Mike. “Right.”
“Now why would I do that?” Goshe asked them. “The two of ya are four thousand dollars added to my pocket. I could bring ya both in warm like what Vern here would do. How would he manage that I dunno, given the time he had with the Kid lying dead there on the floor. I don't like working that hard. No, I'd rather bring ya both stone-cold dead so that I know for sure won't try to run off on me.”
“I got an idea,” said Vern, “hear me out.”
“Speak your piece.”
“Why don't the two of us partner up and split the reward down the middle of all three of ‘em put together? You’d be making four thousand with the two of ‘em. Adding the Kid to the pile if we partner up you’d make an extra five hundred to boot. I know that's five hundred short of what I’d make with the Kid. I’m willing to give up five hundred to bring these two in alive to watch ‘em both swinging from ropes.”
Nearby, Lisa was listening to them both with William. She doesn't believe her ears.
“I don't believe ya two,” she said.
“This is the west, Miss,” said Goshe. “It comes with the territory. I didn't make it that way. That's how it is and ya can take it or leave it. It's cruel, but that's life.”
She turns away from the two Turkey vultures of men who continue their discussion.
“How about it, Goshe?”
“All right. I’ll take ya up on that offer. We’ll bring ‘em in together.”
They shake hands on it.
Not a moment later those outside stepped inside with some news.
“I need y’all to listen up,” said Sully. “We got a situation.”
All eyes turned to the sergeant.
“What’s wrong, Sergeant?” said William.
“Well, for starters we’re about to have some company.”
“What kind of company?” asked Lisa.
“The Apache kind.”
The room went silent.
Sully looked over at the dead Tombstone Kid with his half-breed killer standing over him.
“Bob told me how handy ya are with that toothpick ya got there. We could use your help in a little bit. There's something we’re gonna need ya to do.”
“What do ya have in mind?” asked Goshe.
4.
Red Eagle led the war party approaching Tumbleweed Station. The White Man's empty promises filled him with rage and anger over the injustice. His own people starved and suffered from the loss of their tribal lands. Their misery fed him the strength to do what was necessary.
When his father, the great chief Victorio died days ago he gave his son the mantle of chieftain. When he looked around at the faces of his people who turned to him for leadership. He saw that nothing was going to change if they stayed at San Carlos. He figured it was better to die fighting with honor than to sit by and wait to die while the white man starved you out. He swore upon his father and his ancestors that he would honor them.
They had torched white settlements and killed everyone. Women and children alike. It would be no different at Tumbleweed Station. Many scalps they would collect. When they got to the wall they stopped. Red Eagle looked inside and saw that no one was in sight. It was quiet. In Apache, he told his braves to encircle the place, but not to attack yet. He knew they were waiting for them to attack and he would lose some of his braves. Already he had lost a few attacking the settlements before, but this would be different.
He could feel it.
“Red Eagle,” said a voice from inside the station in Apache. “Great warrior, hear me.”
He recognized the voice as belonging to a white man.
It was Sully.
“I hear,” called Red Eagle in response. “Speak white man.”
“Does a great warrior stoop himself to the level of slaughtering women and children like a coward?”
“Is it not cowardice when the white man does the same to Apache women and children,” spat Red Eagle. “Your Bible calls that an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth doesn't it?”
“The book also says that an eye for an eye makes the world blind,” said Sully.
“Your book doesn't make sense,” said Red Eagle. “It says one thing and then says another. Three-headed God doesn't make sense. Here’s my sense, white man has stolen our lands, our faith, and our food. All we have left is to die lying on our bellies or die fighting. It is better to die fighting than to die like a worm. That's sense to me.”
“Not all white people are alike. There are good and bad among all people. You let hate blind you.”
“Blind me? Their three-headed God blinds them. It commands conquest, viewing our different customs as savage. Does killing women and children make the wrongs of my people right?”
“I grow weary of this discussion white man,” spat Red Eagle. “I will take great pleasure in taking your scalp.”
“Well before y’all can get down to the business of killing you'll have to go through one man.”
“Who?” laughed Red Eagle. “You?”
“That would be me,” said Goshe, stepping out of the building in fluent Apache. “I challenge you to a fight of hand-to-hand combat under the customs we share.”
Red Eagle laughed.
He hated the likes of Goshe. The likes of mixed blood try to integrate into the ways of the white man with one foot in the Apache’s door.
He hated them.
“What do you know of our customs?” spat Red Eagle. “You live among the whites doing their bidding.”
“I live to survive. I survive by adapting to a world that is changing. You could do the same, but you won't because you're living in the past to."
Red Eagle was livid. He was livid enough to want to kill this joke of an Apache himself.
“I accept your challenge,” agreed Red Eagle.
Red Eagle drew a dull gleaming blade from his waistband and stepped out.
When Red Eagle stepped out, Goshe stepped out to meet him halfway out into the open. They stood with their people behind each of them facing each other. Goshe’s back facing the sun.
Red Eagle studied Goshe for a moment like studying a sheep ready for a slaughter.
“What’s your name?” asked Red Eagle.
“Goshe.”
Red Eagle laughed.
His name was Apache for dog and Red Eagle promised to put him down like and of.
“You make the first move,” said Goshe.
“Very well,” said Red Eagle. “I’ll move…”
Red Eagle makes a mad dash for Goshe. In one move he threw the Bowie knife right at Red Eagle, hitting him right in the chest.
Red Eagle stopped when the knife hit him. He looked down at his chest and then looked at Goshe. A look of complete surprise was on his face before he fell on his back dead.
Goshe looked out among the Braves who sat in their saddles behind Red Eagle.
“Your chief is dead,” said Goshe in Apache. “A senseless war, fought with bad medicine, now lacks your leadership. If there is a man among you who wishes to take his place step up before me right here and right now. I will only strike him dead as well, along with the next man after him. Anybody wish to challenge my medicine?”
None of them spoke up. They all looked at him with awe, respect, and most important fear.
“Then drop your weapons on the ground and go home,” he ordered them. “Soldiers are on their way as I speak. Go now before they arrive and decide to kill you all as well.”
The Apaches dropped their weapons to the ground. They turned around and left in silent disgrace.