MacKinnon by Johnny D. Boggs

Author:Johnny D. Boggs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2018-11-05T23:23:59+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Mort said: “My head is overcooked.”

Davis said: “So’s mine, and I’m wearin’ a black hat.”

“That’s your own fault,” Mort said.

“Well, it ain’t my fault that we ain’t caught up to ’em robbers yet,” Davis said. “And I shot my man. Killed him dead.”

“Did not,” Mort said.

“Did, too,” Davis said.

Mort said: “Well, maybe you did.”

Davis said: “Ain’t no maybe to it, Mort.”

Said Mort: “It’s too hot to bicker.”

Said Davis: “At least your hat ain’t black.”

Nelson Bookbinder turned in the saddle. He didn’t have to say a word. Mort and Davis fell silent and began studying the ground in front of their horses.

They climbed a hill, crested it, and Bookbinder reined in. He took in the scene below in an instant, and stood in the saddle to study the land beyond.

“Criminy,” Davis said.

“Is that a dead horse?” Mort asked.

Davis said: “Maybe one of the robbers is under the horse.”

Bookbinder did not look at the two posse members at his left. He kicked his horse into a walk, moved down the easy incline, and pushed him into a lope to cover the three furlongs to where Nikita stood over a dead horse.

“How long?” Bookbinder asked.

The Mescalero pointed at the sky. “No buzzards yet. Two hours.”

“By jingo,” Mort said, “we’re gainin’ on ’em, and now they’s ridin’ double. Let’s get a-movin’.”

“Go on,” Bookbinder said. “You want to be afoot in this country, get a-moving.”

The man frowned. Davis grinned, but only until Bookbinder turned to him.

“Juarez Spring?” the lawman asked.

The Apache shrugged. “Maybe so.”

Staring off to the east, Nelson Bookbinder saw the afternoon haze, the distant mountains, the heat shimmering. He kicked his horse into a walk. The Apache swung onto his horse, and they rode on. They rode as if they were in no hurry.

* * * * *

The sun had started to sink when they came to the entrance to Juarez Spring. Pointing at the tracks, Nikita said: “Rode in. Rode out.”

Bookbinder’s head bobbed. “Catch them tomorrow.”

“If they’re still alive.”

“Let’s let our horses get their fill. This is probably the last water we’ll find till we get closer to Roswell.”

When they reached the spring, Bookbinder spit into the wind.

Davis swore.

Mort groaned. Said: “I don’t want to die like this.”

Davis said: “You reckon ’em swine dynamited the well so we’d die of thirst.”

Bookbinder cursed the two posse members for fools, then dismounted. Keeping his left hand on the reins, he stepped closer to the Apache who knelt in front of this ancient cistern old man Juarez had built years and years earlier. Nikita pressed his hand into the sand.

“What do you think?” Bookbinder asked.

The scout nodded. “Fool white men,” he said, unsheathed his knife, and sank the blade into the sand. Bookbinder found his own Bowie knife and knelt across from the Mescalero and dug into the ground. After a minute, he looked up at Davis and Mort and said: “If you want water, start digging.”

* * * * *

When the night sky began turning gray, Nelson Bookbinder tossed off his blanket, and stretched his stiff muscles.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.