The Black Trail by James W. Marvin

Author:James W. Marvin [Marvin, James W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western, crow, pulp western, frontier fiction, piccadilly publishing, james w marvin
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

That night, after they had all met up again, and the stories of the day had been told, Crow came close to a cataclysmic row with the Zulu chief. He had told him that in his opinion they were all in great danger from the surrounding Mescalero Apaches, and that they should immediately strike out for Crossworld Springs and a chance of safety.

He knew well enough that the killing of the three young braves would not go unnoticed by the rest of the tribe and that a party would be sent out for vengeance. With four wagons and sixteen of them riding along, they wouldn’t be hard to find.

He might as well have suggested to Mavulamanzi that he should creep on his belly and lick up dirt from the trail. The Negro’s eyes almost started out from his head in anger and he clenched his fingers as if he wanted to rend the impudent white man limb from limb.

‘No good throwing a tantrum like a whore findin’ someone’s torn her second-best chemise,’ said Crow, quietly. Having decided that there was no point in trying to humor the giant black any further. The situation had become so oppressively dangerous that he was reaching the edge of simply riding away and not looking back.

‘You have temeritous suggestions that we awesome for Indian buggers, Crow!’ exploded the chief. ‘That is too damned bloody fuckin’ insult!’ In his rage the black’s command of English was trickling away from him.

Lavinia Woodstock sat across from the evening fire, with Mikalawayo next to her, his face terrified, contrasting oddly with the jaunty angle of his yellow derby.

‘I’m telling you that you must give out guns to all of your men. All of them. And we should now keep together and head back along the trail. Ifn we don’t then we’re going to have the whole damned Apache nation screamin’ around our necks.’

‘No.’

‘You’re making the biggest damned mistake that you ever…’

‘You bloody white bastards of ...’ he lapsed for a few moments into his own tongue, then checked himself, visibly fighting for control. Breathing hard. His massive chest heaving so that Crow expected to see him burst clean out of the fancy lace shirt and silk jacket.

‘You hire me to scout and ride shotgun for you. I’ve done that so far. Saved your woman…’

‘And I am in your debt, Crow. Do you wish for more money? Have another thousand dollars.’

‘I’ll take it…’ Crow hesitated, seeing the shock on the Zulu’s face. Smiling inwardly at having called the chief’s bluff. ‘But only when we get safe back to that township.’

‘All of us?’

‘Nope. Haven’t signed on for that. To protect you. That’s all.’

‘Very well. But we will hunt for one more day, Crow.’

‘Might not get another day.’

‘We hunt. Today we saw the finest and largest lion of the mountains that I have ever glimmed with these peepers of mine.’

Now that the anger had subsided, Mavulamanzi had slipped back into the strange English slang that he generally affected.

‘Chief Mavulamanzi…’ began Crow, when the Zulu held up an imperious hand.

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