Death Stage by James A. Muir

Author:James A. Muir [Muir, James A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action heroes, Angus Wells, Cowboy fiction, Piccadilly cowboys, Piccadilly Publishing, Pulp fiction writing, revenge, Western series, Westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2022-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

BREED REACHED ENDURANCE without spotting any more of Sibley’s patrols.

He found Ma Harvey waiting at the H & T depot, fussing irritably about an equally ill-tempered Mose Curran. Both oldsters broke off their bickering when he walked in, anxious to know what was going on.

‘Where’s Nate?’ Ma barked. ‘That ride-prove too much for him? He soakin’ his backside in a hot tub?’

She shut up fast when Breed told her what had happened, worry damping her temper so that suddenly she seemed her age. And very lonely.

‘So what now?’

Breed shrugged. ‘If the marshal survived the fall, then he’ll talk.’

‘You don’t know Nate Whitman,’ remarked Ma. ‘He’s obstinate as all hell when he wants to be.’

‘I know how to make men talk,’ replied Breed simply. ‘He will.’

The way he said it persuaded Ma that he was right.

She sat down, looking tired. ‘So what d’you think will happen.’

‘Hard to say,’ murmured Breed. ‘It depends on why Sibley’s gang is hiding out in the canyon. Could be they’re plannin’ to raid the town.’

‘Why?’ Mose asked. ‘What’s here fer it to be worth their while? We ain’t got a bank worth speakin’ of, nor enuff saloons to draw big money. You don’t need an army to stick-up stages. If he was fixin’ to raid anywhere it’d be Tucson or Yuma. Maybe Gila Bend.’

‘Might be he’s just holin’ up a bit,’ suggested Ma. ‘Layin’ low fer a whiles.’

‘No.’ Breed shook his head. ‘If he wanted to hide somewhere, he’d stay south of the border. They got less law down there and the country’s wild enough to get lost in.’

He grinned, remembering how many times he had hidden down there.

‘No. It has to be somethin’ else. He’s got an army hidden up there, and you don’t hide an army without plannin’ to use it.’ He paused, thinking. ‘How far to the nearest big town?’

‘Three days o’ hard ridin’ on a good pony,’ answered Mose.

‘So if he made for Tucson or Yuma,’ said Breed, thoughtfully, ‘he’d most like be spotted. That wagon would slow him down. Could be more like five, six days.’

The oldsters waited, baffled as the tanned forehead wrinkled in thought, unable to suggest any alternative reason.

Breed’s own thinking was a curious, very individual mixture of white and Indian logic. In white man’s terms, there was no reason for Sibley’s presence. But Sibley wasn’t pure white, so—like Breed himself—his thinking might well be transformed by Indian logic. And why would an Indian—any Indian, Apache or Cherokee—hide a large raiding party near a settlement?

The answer was unbelievable. But he had to believe it: it was the only one possible.

‘He’s planning to take the whole town.’

He said it quietly, his voice almost matter-of-fact, so that Ma Harvey and Mose could scarcely credit their ears.

‘Why?’ Ma was the first to recover. ‘Fer what?’

‘Money. Revenge.’ Breed shrugged. ‘Sibley is part Indian, so he’ll think like an Indian. There’s no other reason for him to be here. Maybe he thinks to settle a score for the Trail of Tears. Maybe he’s still fighting the Civil War.

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