Edge: Apache Death

THEY crested the ridge at first light, as the grayness of the false dawn was pushing back the darkness from the east and night was preparing to retreat under the first threat of the onslaught of a new day. They were high, perhaps two thousand feet up on the first-step toward the Rockies and it was cold. Zeb Hanson was riding bare-back now, the horse blanket hung about his shoulders. Edge was draped in a blanket, too, and had been chain-smoking cigarettes, drawing hard against them in cupped hands to try to get warmth into his fingers.

“That there's Rainbow,” Hanson said, pointing as Edge rode up alongside him.

They were on one side of a wide valley and the ground fell away in a gentle, boulder-strewn slope. Then there was a broad expanse of open country with a river cutting a zig-zagged course across it, west to east. The far side .of the valley was a sheer cliff face, rising upwards of a thousand feet higher than the ridge where the two, men had halted. Where the river angled toward the cliff and then swung around in a wide arc was the town toward which Hanson’s shivering finger was pointing.  

The fort was built against the cliff, the solid rock face forming its rear defense. On the other three sides it was defended by a high retaining wall, rock to first story level and wood above. Spread out in front of the fort, on a street which intersected it, were the buildings of the town of Rainbow.

"I can see how the fort was there first," Edge said, more to himself than to Hanson.

"Yeah," the old man said. "Ain't much defense' for the town, is it? But that ain't its purpose. Built as headquarters for the Thirteenth Cavalry. Lot of country for the soldier boys to cover. They didn't want no town there to add to their troubles. But, once it started, hard to stop." He sniffed. "Soldier boys and townspeople ain't none too friendly toward each other."

Edge continued his survey of the town and its surroundings. He decided it looked like a good, safe spot. The floor of the valley was mostly open country, offering little cover for attackers and once within four hundred feet of the edge of the town, there was the obstacle of the river to cross, a hundred feet wide and perhaps deep. Thus, to north and south, Rainbow had good natural defenses. To the west, too, it looked good, because the open, almost featureless ground continued from the river to the foot of the cliff. East was the weak spot, for in this direction there had been rock falls and the floor of the valley was at this point littered with enormous chunks of the former cliff face. The face itself grew gradually less sheer, providing an easy downward ride. The stage trail went in this direction, curving between the fallen rocks and then forking, one spur stretching off eastward into the distance, the other snaking into a gully for northbound travelers.

"Look good to you, mister?" Hanson asked when he was sure Edge had finished his surveillance,

The first ray of sunlight of the new day stabbed over the eastern horizon, lighting up the valley floor like a spotlight on a theatrical set. Edge grunted and didn't reply as he rolled two cigarettes, put one in his mouth and handed the other to Hanson. The old man smiled.

"Obliged to you, mister."

Edge struck a match and lit his own cigarette, then held out the match toward Hanson. The old man leaned forward, screamed and continued the movement, the cigarette still stuck to his bottom lip.

“I thought the third light was the unlucky one," Edge muttered as he glanced at the arrow which had caught Hanson squarely between the shoulder blades.

He ducked instinctively as he turned in the saddle and felt the draught of a speeding arrow rush over the top of his head. There were four of them, sitting astride ponies at the edge of a grotesquely shaped outcrop of rock just below the crest of the ridge, about two hundred feet from Edge. Apaches weren't red, of course. These four, like all in the six tribes which made up the Apache nation, were coppery brown. They were dressed and painted for war, in animal hide breechcloths and long-sleeved shirts open at the front to reveal the white daubing on their chests. Other white markings were splashed above their dark eyes, on their high cheekbones and outlined their receding chins. Their long, thick black hair hung unbraided around their faces; held out of their eyes by buckskin strips with just one dark feather at the back for decoration.

Even as Edge was drawing his Colt the two who had not yet joined the attack loosed off barbed arrows from their three foot long bows. Edge dug his heels into the flanks of the horse and the animal jerked forward. Both arrows twanged harmlessly into the ground as Edge fired and grunted in satisfaction at the sight of one of the braves pitching from his horse clutching at the bullet hole in his throat.