The Copper City by Chris Scott Wilson

Author:Chris Scott Wilson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780917990540
Publisher: Boson Books
Published: 2011-11-15T10:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Pete shucked out of his blanket, eyes wide. He was on his feet with his rifle in his hands before he realized he wasn’t still dreaming. Automatically, he had fallen into a straddle-legged crouch, ready to fight.

“Quantro?” he called softly, looking around.

“Over here. Come and look at this.”

Relaxing, Pete set off toward the bend from where Quantro’s voice seemed to be coming. Dawn was upon them now, a rosy glow haloing the canyon. The first rush of adrenaline petered out and Pete’s emotions leveled off as he came within sight of the horses. Spying Quantro by the big boulder, he went over.

“Look at this.”

Pete’s eyes roamed over the two bloody bodies, one piled on top of the other in the shadow of the rock.

“Upton’s men?”

“Could be.”

“Bickering among themselves now.”

“Looks like Upton won. You know them?”

Pete scowled at the sight of Jeffers’s shattered skull, then switched his attention to Webster. He shook his head. “Don’t reckon so. Wouldn’t know ’em if I found ’em dead in a canyon.” He turned his head and spat. “If they are Upton’s men, this is the best place for ’em. I won’t lose any sleep.”

“Me neither,” Quantro agreed, “but if that bank manager back in Santa Cruz was right, now we know there’s only two of them left. Upton and Dobey. What d’you reckon on Dobey?”

Pete took a last look at the bodies, then turned to walk away, motioning Quantro to join him. “Dobey seemed okay. Not the sort to have a hand in anything like this. Clean country boy type, y’know?” He scowled. “Nowadays you can’t tell. Put a gun in a kid’s hand and let him grow a moustache, an’ show him a pile of money and all of a sudden he’s a big desperado. You never can tell. After all, look at you.”

“I ain’t got a moustache,” Quantro growled. “Besides which I can do without funnies this time of the morning, ‘specially when I’ve slept on cold ground. Makes me stiff.”

Pete’s eyebrows went up. “What about me? Way I remember it, I’m the old one in this partnership.”

“You know what they say, the old ones always know how to make the best campfire coffee. They’ve had more practice.”

Pete snorted. “Good thing, too. Couldn’t drink the swill you dish up, no how.”

Quantro slapped his back. “You get the fire going while I hunt up some sign.” Before Pete could answer, Quantro walked away, clucking his tongue for the buckskin to come. With quick, economical movements, he saddled and bridled the stallion. When it puffed out its chest, he smiled to himself, then elbowed it sharply in the ribs. As it deflated, he pulled the saddle cinch two notches tighter.

***

The skillet was sizzling over the tiny fire when Quantro rode back into the canyon. Since he had been tracking he had taken to wearing his kabuns, knee-high Apache style moccasins, mainly for comfort. Now he slid noiselessly out of the saddle and padded towards Pete’s back.

The older man was hunched over the skillet, turning the slabs of spitting bacon.

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