Apache Ambush by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

12

Bullwhips had been around for as long as anyone knew. In Revolutionary War times, and before, they were used to drive stock. Other countries had them. Fargo once talked to a professor who claimed whips had been used by the ancient Greeks and Romans.

Bullwhips came in different sizes and lengths. Those on the frontier tended to be heavier than those in the East. Some whips had wooden stocks; others had leather. Most stocks were weighted with lead. The whip itself could be anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five feet, or more.

Bullwhips were formidable weapons. The snap of a bullwhip was like the crack of a gun, and the whip as fast as a bullet. They could take out an eye, as Cleopatra had just done to Dawson. They could take off an ear. They sliced flesh as easily as a sword. They could even break bones.

Small wonder, then, that as Cleopatra’s arm moved, so did Fargo. He threw himself at the ground and the whip passed over his head, missing him by a whisker.

Cleopatra instantly snapped the whip back.

Rolling onto his side, Fargo saw her cock her arm. Cranmeyer shouted something. Then the lash flashed, whizzing over Fargo. He saw it strike, saw Dawson’s throat rupture and blood gout in a bright spray.

Blinded, screeching his head off, Dawson clutched at his throat, and staggered. No one moved to help him. The men were in shock. Myrtle was on the ground. Mavis was smiling.

Cleopatra was not done. She cocked her arm to wield the whip again.

‘‘Enough!’’

The command did not come from Cranmeyer. It came from Ezekiel Stack. He stood apart from the rest, his hand close to his holster and his pearl-handled Remington.

‘‘He shot my sister!’’ Cleo raged.

‘‘You have done enough,’’ Stack said.

Cleo tore her gaze from Dawson, who had pitched to his knees. ‘‘Stay out of this, damn you! I do not aim to stop until he is dead.’’

‘‘You have done enough,’’ Stack repeated.

‘‘To hell with you.’’ Cleopatra swept her arm back and sent the lash snaking toward her victim.

If Fargo had blinked he would have missed Stack’s draw. The man was that fast. And accurate, ungodly accurate. His shot severed the lash as neatly as a knife and the severed half fell to earth. It was a marvelous shot. Fargo was not sure even he could have done it.

The tableau froze. Cleo stared at her broken whip in baffled fury. The drivers and guards were astounded.

Only Mavis moved, drawing her arm back with her own bullwhip raised.

Stack spun toward her, his Remington steady in his hand. ‘‘Don’t,’’ he said quietly.

Mavis froze.

‘‘I could have shot her but I shot her whip,’’ Stack said. ‘‘It is over. Tend to Myrtle.’’

Mavis glanced at her stricken sister and slowly lowered her bullwhip. ‘‘It is over,’’ she agreed.

Cleopatra was not as forgiving. ‘‘Like hell! Look at what he did!’’ She shook what was left of her whip. ‘‘I will need a whole new lash, thanks to him!’’

‘‘Dawson will need a new life,’’ Stack said, and slid the Remington into his holster.

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