Dillinger - Jack Higgins [48]
'So do my men,' Cordonna said. 'Half of them are Indians themselves, remember.'
'But not Apache,' Chavasse said.
Sergeant Bonilla turned from the water trough and led Cordonna's horse forward.
Cordonna mounted, adjusted his chinstrap and smiled. 'Before dark, my friends, I promise you Juan Ortiz. Either riding a horse or across one.'
Watching him canter away into the smoke, followed by his men, Villa sighed. 'What a pity that in life we do not profit by the experience of others.'
He slid to the ground and held out his bound hands to Dillinger with a smile. 'Would you mind, amigo? There is really no place I would care to run to at the moment and I find this rope most uncomfortable.'
Ignacio Cordonna had held his present rank for only six months and had little prospect of receiving a captain's bars in less than three years. It seemed only reasonable to assume, however, that the destruction of Diablo and his band would bring his promotion significantly nearer. That thought pushed every other consideration from his mind.
Half an hour later leaving Hermosa they topped a rise and saw a bearded scarecrow riding toward them on an Indian pony. When Fallon caught sight of the uniforms he slid to the ground with a hoarse cry and waited for them.
He was still terribly shaken by his ordeal and Cordonna dismounted and held a canteen to his lips. When he had drunk his fill the old man stammered out his story in a few graphic sentences.
Cordonna turned to Bonilla. 'Four in the ambush at the canyon and perhaps twelve or fifteen have joined them from the town.' He grinned. 'Fair odds.'
Cordonna mounted quickly and galloped away, followed by his men. Within a few moments they were only a cloud of dust travelling fast across the desert. Fallon shook his head, climbed back on his pony and rode off toward Hermosa.
At the entrance to the canyon Cordonna halted and sent Bonilla and a trooper forward. The two men rode through into the great bowl and reined in their horses sharply at the scene which met their eyes.
The fire still smouldered, the heat of it making things lose definition, and the charred body of Felipe, with its unrecognizable face, sprawled across the embers.
Bonilla rode on through to the other side where a broad trail of pony tracks turned into the desert. He dismounted for a moment to examine them and then rode back to his companion.
'Tell the lieutenant to come on in. They've cleared off.'
He dismounted and lit a cigarette while he waited, gazing up at the steeply sloping sides of the bowl, at the rocks above, imagining the poor devils trapped in here with no hope of retreat.
He shuddered and turned to meet Cordonna as he rode in with the rest of the men. The young officer dismounted and walked forward. He examined the bodies, Dona Clara's, Maria's, Felipe's and Father Tomas's, then turned his face expressionless.
'One grave for all of them, then let's get out of here. We must keep after them now they're on the run.'
As part of his. equipment, each trooper carried a small military trenching shovel. The men unstrapped them from behind their saddles, stacked their carbines and got to work.
Cordonna and Bonilla stood watching them without speaking. When the wide grave was about three feet deep the lieutenant nodded and they carried the four bodies across and laid them side by side. The men turned expectantly, grouping round the grave, and Cordonna removed his cap and started to pray.
From the rocks above, Ortiz brought the sights of his rifle to bear on the base of the lieutenant's skull and squeezed the trigger. It was the signal to begin. As Cordonna pitched forward into the grave, the Apaches fired at each of the men below.
Within a few moments it was all over. Here and there an unfortunate trooper still moved or tried to shelter behind the bodies of his friends, but there was no escape. The shots continued until no limb moved. Finally, Ortiz held up his hand and scrambled to his feet.
As he stood gazing down at the carnage, one of his men ran between the boulders and tugged