CHAPTER 9

FORT APACHE AND MEXICO, 1869 - 1870

 

For eighteen months he rode guard to the Paymaster, becoming fully familiar with every trail they rode, every detail of the landscape. The plan evolved in his careful, systematic mind. Finally, he chose the best route that would offer him the maximum opportunity for escape and the best month and time to carry out the robbery. The location was called Stein's Pass, and he planned with meticulous attention to detail.

In preparation, he purchased civilian clothes - a brown, broad-brimmed Stetson, brown trousers, dark blue shirt and a buckskin jacket which he hid in his kitbag and, on the morning of the start of the journey, he packed them, along with extra rations, in his saddlebags.

The small detachment of six men, with himself as the commanding lieutenant, and the Paymaster, set out from Fort Apache and rode until sunset, camping for the night at the foot of a high outcropping in Stein's Pass. Miller set a guard of two men to rotate during the night every two hours. His was the last two-hour watch so, pretending to be asleep but watching alertly, it was during the first change of watch that he made his move. Whilst the guards' attention was taken up with the changeover, Miller slipped out of his bedroll, arranging the blanket to indicate his sleeping form. He deliberately cut the back of his hand and rubbed the blood on his kit, then left an Apache Indian feather, which he had found on a previous ride, nearby. In the moonless darkness, he moved around to the picket lines for the horses, untied his mount and put sackcloth on each of the horse's hooves in order to muffle the sound of his departure. Out of sight from the detachment, he made his escape without any difficulty.

When the detachment's sergeant went to rouse his lieutenant for his spell at watch, his hand met with the inanimate lump of bedroll. He felt the stickiness of blood on his hand and he spotted the single white Indian feather nearby. Alarmed, the young man went to rouse the rest of the detachment.

"The Lieutenant's been nabbed by injuns!" he reported to the Paymaster. "Look, blood, sir, he's been hurt! Sir, permission to try and find him!" asked the young sergeant, eagerly.

"Look, son, we've gotta get this money delivered." replied the Paymaster.

"But, sir, he's hurt already - mebbe them injuns'll torture him! If'n we get to him on time, mebbe we kin save him!"

The Paymaster, who knew Orville well, was suspicious and uncertain what to do. Why just take Orville? Why hadn't anything been seen or heard by the watchman? If he had been abducted, the possibility was that he was dead already, but then, on the other hand, he might still be alive. If the soldiers could rescue him before the Indians reached their camp ... "What do you suggest, sergeant?" asked the Paymaster.

"Just take a half-day, sir. I'm a good tracker, reckon I kin find any tracks if'n there are any."

"How do you propose to guard the money?"

"We'll keep Private Jones beside you. There's no-one out here who knows of the money. Do I have your permission, sir?"

"Very well." agreed the Paymaster reluctantly. "But see you're back by high noon."

"Yes, sir." and the four men rode out, leaving the private and the Paymaster alone.

Miller, from his vantage point in a small fissure in the rock above the pass, saw them ride out, waited for two more hours, then carefully made his way back down, leaving his horse secluded behind a thicket. As the heat of the day increased, the young private began to doze. Miller recognised the boy as he sneaked up behind him, unsheathing his knife. Private Jones had joined the Army six months before, 'for adventure'. "Pity." thought Miller. "He could have made a good soldier." Dismissing his compassion, Miller struck with lightning swiftness - the accurately thrown knife sank keep into the boy's neck.

The Paymaster whirled at the choking, gagging sounds of the dying trooper to face Miller, a man with murder in his eyes and greed in his heart.

"You!" exclaimed the Paymaster. "You set this up! You'll never get away with it!"

"You reckon not?" drawled Miller. "Well, let's just see!" Swiftly, he stooped to pull the knife out of the dead trooper's neck. The Paymaster, seeing his only chance, made a lunge towards Miller, knocking him to the ground. They grappled, but Miller had the knife and the advantage of physical fitness. He jerked the knife up and the Paymaster gasped, his eyes widening in shock and final realisation, and he fell on top of Miller, the knife piercing his heart. Miller got out from under the dead man. He quickly changed out of his blood-spattered Army uniform into his newly-purchased civilian clothes, transferred the saddlebags containing the money onto his own horse and rode out in the opposite direction from the route the detachment had taken, heading towards the trackless badlands after covering his tracks the best he could.

When he was sure he was not being followed, he stopped at a gnarled old tree and buried most of the money, only taking with him enough to last him a year, after which time he intended to return for the remainder, once the heat was off. He made a map of the area and put it in his jacket pocket. Later, he buried his Army uniform in a deserted arroyo.

The detachment returned at noon and discovered the two dead men and the loss of the payload. Despite Miller's care at making it look as if it had been an Indian attack, he had left behind him a vital clue. The Paymaster, fighting for his life, had torn a button from Miller's Army jacket, and the button was found clasped tight in the dead man's hand.

The Army proclaimed Miller a deserter and killer and issued a 'Wanted' poster. Miller the bounty hunter had become a hunted man.

---oo0oo---

He rode into a small border town and laid low for a while, taking a room at the town's only taverna. He had kept his Army issue pistol and Winchester rifle. In the privacy of his room, he erased the Army brand and serial numbers on the guns and sawed half the barrel off the Winchester. He wore it at his hip. He put the pistol into his saddlebags for a backup. After buying some rounds of ammunition, he returned to his room and lovingly polished and oiled the Winchester to enable it to perform at peak efficiency.

The senora who ran the taverna was an excellent cook and, for the first time since he had joined the Army, he enjoyed home cooking. Miller learned that the senora has a daughter and four sons. His hatred for Mexicans still burned brightly and the family, sensing the hostility emanating from Miller, left his to his own devices.

However, the tall, dark, mysterious gringo fascinated the senora's teenage daughter, Bonita. Drawn to him like a magnet, she took every opportunity she could just to see him - she made up his room every morning, brought him up food when he stayed in his room, and fussed about in the corridor in the hope that he would come out and she would see him. She was curious why he stayed indoors all day and only went out for a walk at night to tend to his horse in the stables.

A week after Miller had arrived, a group of vaqueros came noisily into the dining room after he had been served. Miller's first instinct was to leave and take his food upstairs, but he decided against it after they settled down and ate their dinner. Two of them had musical instruments with them, and they started to play after they had eaten. Bonita, finished her duties for the evening, got up and started to dance. She went to Miller and danced in front of him, for him, spinning, stamping, hand-clapping, all around him. Annoyed at the unwelcome attention being drawn to him, he pushed back his chair abruptly and left the dining room, going straight to his bedroom, anger and hatred fermenting inside him. He tore off his shirt and lay on the bed, forcing his emotions to calmness.

A little while later, there was a light knock on his door.

"Senor?" a girl's voice spoke. He recognised it was Bonita's.

"Get away from me!" he growled.

"Senor, please let me talk weeth you!"

"No!" Go away!" he barked.

"Please, senor!"

He wrestled with his thoughts for a moment. He didn't want further attention to be drawn to himself, so he jumped off the bed and jerked the door open. Bonita stood there, with her red Mexican dress and flashing black eyes. He stood, towering over her, physically barring entrance to his room. "What d'you want?"

"You are angry weeth me, senor?"

"Leave me alone, will ya?" and he made to shut the door in her face, but she put her foot in the door. He opened the door again.

"You not want to speak weeth pretty Bonita?" she asked, her dark eyes looking up at him invitingly through long, black eyelashes. The smell of her cheap perfume wafted towards him.

"Now, what would I want to say to a Mexican senorita?" he asked, speaking the word 'Mexican' as if it was a foul word.

"I not a senorita, I a senora."

"Well, go talk to your husband, senora." and again he tried to close the door in her face, but she put her hand up, stopping him.

"My husband, he ees dead, senor - a riding accident. I mees heem, so much." She lifted her hand to his bare chest, but his big hand gripped her wrist, stopping her touching him.

"Please ..." she moved alluringly in front of him. "Please talk to me, senor."

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him - another way of getting back at the dirty Mexes who killed everyone he had loved. The more he thought of it, the more he liked it. Quickly, he looked up and down the corridor, saw there was no-one around and, still gripping her by the wrist, pulled her roughly into the room and closed and locked the door. He then released her and indicated that she sit on the bed, the only seating in the room. Standing tall over her, she suddenly realised the danger that she was in. "Now, what do you want, Bonita?"

Trying to conceal her sudden fright, she stammered "D-do you like me, senor?"

"Like you? Why would I like you?" He leaned over her and pushed her roughly onto the bed. Before she could cry out he put his hand over her mouth. "OK, honey," he murmured. "You want it, you'll get it ..." He had deprived himself of women for too long - she was his, now, and suddenly he was desperately hungry ...

When he was finished using her he threw her out the room with the threat "One word about this to your kinfolk and, I swear, I'll kill you!"

She completely avoided him for three days afterwards, but on the third night, she knocked on his bedroom door again ...

---oo0oo---

Their nocturnal activities went unobserved for two months, and Miller began thinking it was time to hit the trail again. Suddenly, Bonita stopped visiting him at night. Puzzled, he awaited his opportunity to speak to her, and saw his chance when she went out shopping for provisions. He was standing in an alley as she walked by, and he stepped out in front of her, barring her way.

"Now, Bonita, are you gonna tell me what's bugging you?"

"Please let me pass, senor." and she tried to push past him, but he stepped in front of her again.

"Senor!" he said in surprise. "It sure wasn't 'senor' a few nights ago!"

"I must go."

"Not till you've told me what the matter is." and he pulled her into the alley, gripping her wrist tightly, his dark eyes flashing angrily.

"I'm afraid of my brudders, Orveelle.'" she said, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh? And what the hell have they got to do with it?"

"Orveelle, they do not yet know ..."

"Know? Know what, Bonita?"

She took his hand in hers, then gently placed it against her stomach. He felt a glow of satisfaction as he realised the meaning of her action.

"Orveelle, when my brudders find out, they weel keel us both!" Her eyes were wide with alarm.

"Whaddaya you want me to do?' he asked, cynicism in his voice.

"You must go, Orveelle, but please, take me weeth you!"

The glow of satisfaction grew within him till he felt malevolent laughter bubbling in his throat. His face, however, remained impassive, as he thought "They'll maybe kill you, baby, but they sure as hell won't be killin' me!"

He thought fast. "OK, honey." he said. "Tell you what. Tonight, just after midnight. Pack your bags, I'll come for you."

Her eyes lit up. "Orveelle, we shall be so happee together!" and. she skipped away from him, happily, out of the alley.

Midnight saw Orville Miller five miles out of town, spurring his horse towards Tucson.

---oo0oo---

CHAPTER 10

CONTENTS