Born to Die (An Apache Cuchillo Oro Western #14) by William M James

Author:William M James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wild west, seventh cavalry, zane grey, louis lamour, the old west, western action, apache indians, laurence james, ebook westerns, pulp fiction book
Publisher: Piccadilly

By four the worst of the heat had slipped away and Cuchillo urged them to their feet. They had made less distance the previous day than he had hoped and he was beginning to see the old mine and the river at Hoffmann Forks as being nearer four than three days. And with their precious water and food, that extra day might mean the difference between living and dying for some of the party.

The wind was rising, whipping up the new sand and throwing it into the faces of the men and women as they trudged along. Pinner led, followed by Brittles, then the two women, ignoring each other. Duquesne and Carson walked together with Cuchillo Oro bringing up the rear.

“I was once in the Indies, Mr. Carson,” said the tall gambler. “This sand makes me recall a moment on a long stretch of a beach there by the bluest sea you ever did know.”

“I never seen the ocean,” said Carson, spitting in the dirt and cursing as he stubbed his toe on a concealed rock.

“It’s nothin’ much. Like a whole lot of blue-green nothin’. But it had sand like this and the wind was blowin’. I saw this great chief comin’ past in a procession with his counselors and minor lords. Trampling up the beach like you’d never believe. Real man of power, that chief. Could have you impaled on a sharpened stake just for sneezin’ in front of him. Nasty way to go.”

“Sure sounds it.”

“Well, my point, Mr. Carson, is this. Within fifteen minutes after they had passed by the wind had rolled the sand smooth again, and it was just like that great chief had never been there.”

Carson stopped and looked at Duquesne in bewilderment. “I don’t get it. Sand does that all the time. Look back yonder behind the ’pache and you can’t hardly see any trace that any of us have been here.”

The Southerner shook his head. “That’s just what I’m tryin’ to say, Mr. Carson, but let it pass, sir. Just let it pass.”

“Hey, I tell you what, Duquesne.”

“What is that, Mr. Carson?”

The plump man struggled along trying to keep up, ignoring the rebuke. “If’n old Farley Hitchcock had lived we’d not have had a damned Indian with us. Not even with that spunky marshal with us. He was a real good old boy was Farley. He said he’d never allow any strangers on his train.”

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