Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) by Louis L'amour Page B

force if he could keep them together, and their position was excellent. Despite the falling of the water, there was enough for several days even if the terrible heat continued. It was far over a hundred degrees, but with food they could make it.
    The mountain sheep, a type of bighorn slightly different from those far to the north, were excellent eating, and it was likely they had never been hunted. He had noticed them on the ridges looking toward the wells several times, and they might still be there.
    If he could get a sheep there was a good chance they could last out the week. By that time there might be a relief expedition sent out. It was true that such a force would be likely to go along the route to the north, but when they reached Bates Well and found it dry, then there would be time to start putting two and two together. In Yuma they knew of Papago Wells, and they would come south and find them. Everything depended on keeping the party intact.
    He dared not let Zimmerman realize he was absent or the big soldier would be stirring up trouble. Sheehan would try to keep him in line, but tough as the sergeant was, he would be no match for the younger, tougher Zimmerman.
    It was well after dark when Logan Cates made his move. Kimbrough was on watch in the rocks, and Lonnie was asleep. Zimmerman had turned in also, lying near Big Maria, yet far enough off so she would not be suspicious. The other men were scattered on watch or sleeping, and Cates had told no one but Lugo what he intended to do.
    He left his pistol, and took only the bow, half a dozen arrows and his Bowie knife.
    Lying flat, he eased his way under the lowest limbs of the smoke tree and into the rocks. When there he lay still for several minutes, listening. Then with infinite care he snaked down into the rocks and out on the edge of the sand. Again he paused to listen. When half an hour had passed he was no more than fifty yards from the barricade, and he had seen no one. Then, just as he was about to move, there was a subdued rustle of movement.
    Not ten feet from him a dark form moved from the shadow of some brush and started up the wash toward the barricade. Waiting until the Indian had gone on, Cates rose soundlessly from the ground and moved out.
    Another hour passed, and then he saw the first of the bighorns. He heard it before he saw it, heard it cropping grass upwind of him but against the side of a bluff and invisible. Notching an arrow, he settled back to wait. He was close. The slightest sound might startle the bighorn into a run, and it might be impossible to get so close to another, so he would not move. He would not move at all.
    The minutes ticked slowly by, and several times he heard the movement of the bighorn's feet on rock. Yet he could see nothing. Yet, on his left there was a place where the bluff fell away and when the sheep got that far he would be skylined.
    He waited. Over the bluff in the distance there was a lone star hanging in the dark sky. He heard the bighorn step lightly, and then other sound--it was another sheep, further back. Or was it?
    He held very still, listening. Somewhere, not a dozen feet away, he could hear the faint breathing of another man! He hesitated, and suddenly the sheep moved and Cates heard the sharp twang of a bowstring, heard the thud of the arrow striking home and the startled grunt of the bighorn! The sheep lunged, then fell to its knees and rolled over, the horns striking on the rock with a metallic sound. Instantly, an Indian arose from the rocks and started forward.
    For a breathtaking instant the Indian was himself outlined, and Logan Cates turned his bow, loosed his arrow and missed! In the instant of turning some sound had warned the Apache for he turned swiftly and instantly sprang at Cates. Knocked over backwards by the hurtling body, Cates could only throw up his knees to protect his stomach. The Indian struck them with his body and Cates threw him off with a convulsive jerk, then rolled over,