Golden Hawk 6: Scalper's Trail (A Golden Hawk Adult Western) by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2023-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Though Elias Hogwood had been cautious enough to camp in thick willows and had not even lit a fire the night before, when he awoke that morning, he found he had two Indian visitors—all the way from another planet, by the looks of them.

Bare-chested, dressed in breechclouts and moccasins that reached to their knees, they were short in stature, bowlegged, with wide, stocky bodies. They pushed through the willows cautiously, their raisin-black eyes staring down at him out of wide, impassive faces. That they had not killed him while he slept was a good sign. But he saw at once that they already must have found his tethered mounts, for one of them was holding the rifle he had taken from Golden Hawk.

The one holding the rifle limped slightly as he stepped closer to Hogwood. “Where you get this rifle?” he demanded.

Hogwood was startled at the question, and the English spoken by the Indian. It was English, all right, but with the hint in it of a southern or Texan drawl. His first instinct was right. These were Comanche, come all the way from Texas.

“Golden Hawk,” Hogwood replied. “I got it from Golden Hawk. He gave it to me.”

The Comanche stepped closer, brought the stock of the Hawken around swiftly, smashing the side of Hogwood’s face and sending him tumbling clear of his blanket.

“Hey!” he cried, holding his hand up to his face. “I ain’t got no quarrel with any Comanche!”

“Golden Hawk not give you this rifle!”

“All right! All right! I took it from him!”

“You take from Golden Hawk?” The Comanche was obviously astounded at such a possibility.

“Sure,” Hogwood insisted. “I took it from him.”

The Comanche’s eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, even though Hogwood’s stench obviously repelled him. “You killed Golden Hawk?”

“Well, no,” Hogwood replied nervously. “Not exactly. I didn’t kill the son-of-a-bitch. I traded him to the Gros Ventres and they gave him to the Blackfoot. They must’ve killed him by now. I’d say his hair is likely hangin’ from a Blackfoot scalp pole.”

“Blackfoot kill Golden Hawk?”

“That’s right. Black Feather’s band. Them Blackfoot devils don’t like him worth shit.”

The two Comanche looked at each other. They understood Hogwood only partially, he realized. He had seen disappointment first, then anger cross their faces. They must have come a long way to find the son-of-a-bitch, Hogwood realized. And then Hogwood recalled dimly the stories he had heard in trading posts and around campfires—wild tales of Comanche warriors coming all the way from Texas to find and kill Golden Hawk.

The two Comanche stared grimly down at him. In their cold glances Hogwood read a chilling resolve. If they couldn’t have Golden Hawk’s scalp, they were damned well going to take his as a consolation.

In that instant he realized he had been a fool to tell them Golden Hawk was dead.

He laughed. Loudly. The feigned madness he had used for so long as a defense against these credulous savages burst from him as easy as exhaling. Standing up, he flung his head back and laughed still more, his eyes wide, alight with madness.

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