Chapter 9

Running Fox and I set out on our usual morning scouting run. We were not expecting anything unusual, I say that because Indian attacks had become more and more usual. We were about 3 miles from the wagons when Running Fox called a halt. "I saw something moving back there among the dunes. It didn't register at first, but now I think that we should check it out."

"OK by me. You often see things that I don't, Running Fox, that's why you are so valuable as a partner." We turned back toward whatever it was that had caught Running Fox's eye, but even he did not see anything more at first.

Then he said, "Look there, next to that tall cactus. That looks to me like bare human skin showing. We may be in for more trouble." We drew our guns and approached the cactus.

When we could finally see what it was next to the cactus, Running Fox's first comment was, "Yaquis, again!" A naked Indian woman was tied, front first, to the cactus in such a way that virtually the whole front of her body was penetrated by cactus spines. She was sagging in her bonds and unconscious, which was undoubtedly the best thing for her under the circumstances.

Since she was unconscious, we took the time to look around to see if any of the Yaquis were still around. We were afraid that she was the bait in some sort of trap, but it looked like the coast was clear. Nevertheless, we were wary as we dismounted and went to cut the woman loose from her torture. The first thing that I noticed was that she had been able to keep her face clear of the thorns, so she was not blinded or otherwise seriously injured around her face.

I was a little stronger and taller than Running Fox, so I held the woman up as he cut her loose. We wanted to get all of her bonds cut before we tried pulling her away from the cactus. Running Fox started at ground level cutting the leather bindings, first at her ankles, then her knees, and finally at her waist.

As he stood up, the woman opened her eyes and screamed. She immediately fainted again. Running Fox cut the binding at her chest which had caused her tits to be cruelly pushed onto the spines—God, that must have hurt! There were two bonds on each of her arms, one at her elbow and one at her wrist. When Running Fox had cut those, we worked together to ease the woman onto her back. It was difficult for me to tell with Indians, but I estimated her age to be 18-22.

Fortunately, most of the thorns came out of her skin as we pulled her as gently as possible away from the cactus. We laid her on the ground and started pulling out the spines that stayed stuck in her. This cactus had been in good health, so very few of the points broke off and stayed behind as we pulled them out. Still, she had some thorns stuck in her that were going to have to be cut out, and this was definitely not the place to do it.

We were only about 100 feet from the road, so we had no trouble flagging down the wagon train when it got to us. There were still several miles to go before we took our lunch break, so we loaded the woman into the red wagon and left her to Alice to dig out those remaining spines. With Yaquis in the area, we were extra cautions, but with Running Fox to back me up, I was not afraid to continue scouting.

We followed the road for the allotted distance and found that it was safe for the wagons. After lunch, we checked our equipment and rode after the Yaquis who had mistreated the Indian woman. We rode back to the torture site and Running Fox looked around for sign. I probably could have found the trail on my own, but it was so much faster with Running Fox doing the searching that I just tried to stay out of his way.

He scanned the ground for about 10 minutes and announced that the Yaquis had headed almost due north. Neither one of us knew what was in that direction that would attract the Yaquis, but that did not deter us as we followed their trail. Several times, we were delayed as the trail crossed hardpan, but Running Fox was able to pick it up again much more quickly than I would have. We followed as fast as we dared, but we didn't want to be ambushed again, so we kept the horses well below their maximum speed.

We saw a plume of smoke about an hour after we had first left the torture site, so we figured that the smoke had to be a sign of Yaqui mischief. This seemed to be something worth chancing bad luck. We sped up in an effort to get to the trouble site as soon as possible.

What we found was a burning haystack and a nearby manure pile. The haystack was almost burned out, but the manure pile was smoking as if it was going to burn for days. The really interesting point was that five Indians, probably our Yaquis, were attacking the house. It was built from adobe, so it was not going to burn. Even the roof was covered with a coating of adobe, so there was practically no way that the inhabitants could be harmed by fire.

There was sporadic gunfire coming from the house and being launched by the attacking Yaquis. The siege must have been running for several hours with neither side able to do any real damage. It appeared that the only openings to the house were all on one side, so all of the Yaquis were concentrated there. The people inside, there seemed to be two of them, were shooting through loopholes in the shutters, and the Yaquis were sheltering behind whatever they could find that would stop a bullet.

This looked like another job for the Remington, so I pulled it from its scabbard and grabbed the pouch of cartridges. I also took my water. Running Fox took his Winchester, ammunition, and water and joined me on a little hill of sand where we could see all of the Yaquis.

The range was about 450 yards, so we were temporarily safe from a bullet from the Yaquis. We saw three Winchesters and two Spencers among the Indians, so I decided to go after the Winchester users first. As usual, the attacking Indians were not expecting an attack from their rear, so we had an easy time in getting ready for our share of the fight.

I put eight Remington cartridges on my large bandana on the ground and propped the rifle against a convenient pile of sand. A deep breath and a second one, my usual routine, preceded my first shot. One of the Yaquis appeared to know what he was doing with his Winchester, so I selected him for my first target. The bullet struck his back dead center and a little below his shoulder blades. It had to be an immediate kill, because the Indian did not move.

We were far enough away that the sound of the shot did not disturb the Indians. Probably, if they noticed it at all, they attributed the sound to one of the other rifles that was shooting. My second shot was equally successful, but I hit in a slightly different place. This Indian, also one with a Winchester, was angled away from me slightly, so the bullet went in the right side of his back and traveled at a slight angle into his body. I'm not sure which vital organs I hit, but he died as quickly as my first target.

Two for two—just what was meant by one shot, one kill. I was not feeling anything particular as I was shooting. I hated the Yaquis for the wanton pain and terror they caused, but that did not influence my shooting. All I was thinking about was all I ever thought about under these circumstances—doing my job the best that I could! And, right now, my job was killing hostile Indians.

I know that some people would believe that to be callous and uncaring, but believe me when I say that my attitude was nothing unusual. In a fight, especially one that was life-or-death, like this one, you only thought about the mechanics of what you were doing. Fear, triumph, sadness, or whatever other emotion you might experience had to wait until after the fight was over. Sure, some people were overcome by fear, but they did not make good soldiers, just the statistical count of the dead, unless they were very, very lucky.

Anyway, I lined up my third shot and fired. This time one of the remaining two Yaquis turned in time to see the puff of powder smoke. OK, we were spotted. Now was the time for me to depend on Running Fox's shooting ability with the Winchester. The two remaining Yaquis jumped to their feet and ran toward us.