Free Ambush on the Mesa by Gordon D. Shirreffs

window. Dan Pearce looked up at him. “What’s on your mind, Dan?” asked Hugh.
    Pearce flushed. “Water,” he said.
    “You’ll have to wait.”
    “Willis says there’s water around here somewhere.”
    “There is. But it isn’t in that first-floor room.”
    Pearce looked down. “Hell,” he said. “I thought there might be something a man could pick up and take along with him.”
    “Such as?”
    “Gold, maybe.”
    Hugh grinned. “These people were farmers, Pearce.”
    Pearce squinted his eyes as he looked up. “You find anything?”
    “Pottery. Arrowheads. Matting. That’s all.”
    “They must have had something of value.”
    Abel Clymer entered the passageway. He stared at Pearce. “What are you doing in here?”
    Pearce straightened up. “I’m next on guard, sir.”
    “Then get up in that tower!”
    Pearce glanced sideways at the big officer. He entered the tower and came up beside Hugh. “Sonofabitch,” he said. “He’s been poking around these ruins himself. Always was looking for something to lay his hands on back at Fort Ayres.”
    “Such as?”
    “Money. Women. Liquor. What else is there?”
    Hugh handed Pearce the glasses. “Keep away from the water,” he said.
    Pearce glanced out of the side window. “Ain’t enough there to wet a blotter,” he growled.
    “Just the same … leave it alone.”
    Pearce spat dryly as Hugh went down through the opening.
    Clymer was still in the passageway. He eyed Hugh. “You’ve got influence with the captain,” he said. “Get him to give us orders to move on.”
    “We’ve been through this before.”
    Clymer flushed. “Mrs. Nettleton isn’t standing this heat too well.”
    “Who is?”
    Clymer gripped Hugh by the shirt front and drew him close. “Damn you! Don’t get me riled, Kinzie!”
    Hugh dropped his carbine butt on one of Clymer’s feet. Clymer grunted in pain and stepped back. The carbine muzzle prodded the big officer in the belly. “Get out of my way,” said Hugh softly.
    Clymer limped backwards. His eyes were filled with feral hate as he watched Hugh walked out onto the terrace. A soft laugh came from high above Clymer. He looked up to see the grinning face of Dan Pearce. “Damn you, Pearce!” said Clymer. “I won’t take anything from
you!
”
    Pearce shoved a stone over the edge of the window. It hitClymer on the head. Clymer clawed for his Colt but Pearce leisurely rested his carbine barrel on the bottom of the window. He cocked the hammer. His eyes met Clymer’s. Clymer released his hold on his pistol and limped back into the passageway. Pearce touched the partially healed scar on his head, then spat dryly down into the passageway.

Chapter Nine
    M YRON G REER sat in a narrow space between two buildings. It was shadowy in there, but it was still hot. He could feel the sweat running down his thin body. He ran his tongue about inside his dry mouth. But it wasn’t water he wanted; he needed something far stronger than that.
    Strange thoughts went through Myron Greer’s mind. He felt as though he should get up and walk to the edge of the terrace, climb over the wall, then slide down the slope to the vast canyon floor. Somewhere out there he might find a drink.
    Maybe the scout, Hugh Kinzie, had a bottle. Those men usually had one, although they didn’t drink when they worked. Too dangerous. But it was handy for cleansing wounds and easing their pain.
    Above him a lizard scuttled about, dropping bits of mortar down on Greer’s bare head. He didn’t move.
    Maybe the people who had built these crazy cliff dwellings had learned how to ferment corn. But these people had been gone for generations. Anything they had left would have been long dried up by now. Still, if it had been well sealed and buried in the ruins, there might be a little bit of it left, and it would have a wallop like a dose of canister.
    Greer raised his head. A hammer started thudding inside his skull while an iron band seemed to tighten around the