Survival-instinct! (Part 4 of 8)

 Ole Rufe had been with the man for several-years; he more than earned his keep and behaved “pretty”-well for a stubborn-critter born of independent-nature who could choose to be obnoxious. The animal had even once saved Buck’s-life! Literally! Aided by a little-training.

Buckskin had traipsed just a bit too far west out of New Mexico Territory one fine spring as he searched rivers in the southwest for any trace of gold or silver color; he had recovered a bit.

“Guess I sure-enough got the fever,” he sorely reminded himself, later. It had nearly cost him his life. Had it not been for the “little”-trick Buck had taught the mule, Rufe---Well?...Curtains!?

Mules had a reputation for being stubborn, but, also for being loyal and somewhat intelligent.

Buckskin had trained Rufe to respond to the master’s three quick-jerks on the lead-rope as the mule followed along behind the rider’s horse. Whenever Buck triggered the signal with a trio of instantaneous-pulls on the tether, ole-Rufe brayed an alarm and bucked, kicking-out with both hind-legs. Such kick is not anything one ever wanted to experience; could take a head clean-off.

Buck practiced the “trick” with ole Rufe every so-often, just to keep the “knot-head” aware.

The training paid off one fine evening, unexpectedly.

In the southwest desert everything is “washed-out” as far as color goes save the late winter into early spring when a pale “yellow” permeates the landscape. That happenstance characteristic of the desert personality, along with Rufe’s “trick” and Indians’ love of “red” color, saved Buckskin’s life.

He noticed a swatch of “red” among the grey dust and bleached-out rocks of the desert; Apaches had a distinct attraction to the color “red”. The cloth was only an inch long but stood out in the bland surroundings like a lightning bolt on a dark night.

The Indian was laying in-wait covered in dust and concealed behind a low rock ready to ambush the “white-eyes”; a great plan and “deadly” save the telltale “red” patch give-away.

Buckskin spied the assailant and rode on by watching in his peripheral vison. When Rufe cleared the hiding Indian, the savage jumped from his hiding place and fell in behind the mule making ready his attack.

Buckskin jerked the lead rope three quick tugs and Rufe brayed and kicked out with his rear legs.

Wham! “Bye! Bye!” Would-be ambusher!

Buckskin was off his mount and on the miscreant in a flash with knife in hand to finish the job; he could have easily shot the attacker but that would have been a wasted bullet and powder, and, too, a firearm report could carry up to twenty miles on calm evening air in the desert; no point announcing his presence to the Indians’ friends or other interlopers. Best keep caution on one’s side.

Sure enough, the dead Indian had a piece of red cloth tied in his dirty hair; it had been his undoing.

Native-Indian tribes nurtured a society of personalities diverse as was the physical appearance of the nomads; some were “friendly” to the interloper “white”-man; others showed a healthy-skepticism; some avoided any contact with the “white”-eyes. Some hated him outright!

Ogallala-Sioux openly and habitually warred with settlers and raided wagon-trains offering little compassion for women and children captured or outright killed in the altercations; the Sioux were not of a “prisoner-of-war” persuasion. Comanche-Indians liked to steal horses from their red-brother enemies and especially the newly-arrived hated “blue-bellies” of the United States Cavalry; it was rumored around myriad campfires, Indian and white, that these thieves could slip into camp like grey-wraiths in the midnight-dark, walk among the sleeping inhabitants, take anything they wanted, at their leisure, and get away without a sound; seemed they “carried” the horses away on silent-clouds. Such fantasy-“entertainment” tales delighted both red-man and white audiences, alike! In any legend resides a fair-modicum of truth!

Navajos of the southwest seemed mostly tranquil; they would fight, but, preferred Peace!

Mescalero Apache stretches across the southwest from Texas to the Llano Estacada and down into old-Mexico eventually into Arizona-Territory; theyhated all-people, regardless of color. Often, these rapscallions fought just for the pure-pleasure of breaking the boredom-of-Peace. They stole from neighboring tribes; occasionally, an Apache would slay another member of his own tribe just to acquire the other’s horses or weapons or wives; even brother against brother!
Sturdy-built of muscular-short stature, they were pernicious-adversaries who would die, rather than yield or quit the altercation. They could run all-day, going without food or water for a week.

(Part 5 of 8 Tomorrow)