Dead River by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2022-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

They had their horses at a slow walk when the eastern skies began turning gray instead of ink black. Matt McCulloch called out to Blood Moon, “Stop.” The Apache obeyed and twisted in the saddle. Matt rested the Winchester on his thigh and tilted his head toward the west.

“There’s a water hole that way.”

The Apache straightened as if insulted. “I not need water.”

“Horses do,” McCulloch said. “And I bet you’d drink, too, even if you ain’t human.”

Blood Moon turned to look to the west, but did not kick his horse into a walk. McCulloch thought the renegade was testing the white man to see what he would do, how he could force the Indian to obey. Instead, Blood Moon looked back at McCulloch and asked, “How do you know this water hole?”

McCulloch shifted in the saddle and felt a weary grin crack his face. “You chase mustangs, you learn where most water holes are. Especially in this country.”

The Apache did the damnedest thing. He uttered what McCulloch had to take as a grunt of stunned respect.

“I thought no White Eye knew of that watering place,” Blood Moon said, his voice almost a whisper.

McCulloch almost chuckled. “Hell,” he said, “I’m more mustang than white man anyway.” He nodded again in the general direction of the watering hole. “Don’t worry. As far as I know, I’m the only white man who knows where that water is.” He pointed the rifle barrel toward the southwest. “It’s—”

But the Indian was shaking his head. It was light enough now for McCulloch to make that much out.

“One does now,” Blood Moon said. “And he will be coming after you . . . and me . . . and the bloody money you Tejano dogs put on my head.”

McCulloch whispered Jed Breen’s name.

“Yes,” Blood Moon said, and explained. “The white baby needed water. So did your friend. And the mule we rode.”

“So you took them there.” McCulloch’s head shook. “You could have outlasted them. You left the damned kid out in the sun to die. Breen thought, but he can’t go without water as long as you could. Why didn’t you just let them die, as much as you hate white people.”

The Apache did not look at McCulloch as he answered. “Your friend would not die before I would. He would have put a hole the size of the mule in my belly before he crossed to the other side.”

McCulloch felt his head moving up and down. “Yeah.” He shoved the Winchester in the scabbard, but moved his right hand toward the holstered Colt. “I reckon he would have at that.”

Now he considered the situation in silence. Breen would follow, probably with Keegan. If they could get out of jail, and as well as McCulloch knew those two men, they were likely well on their way south by now. So would a posse or several posses from Purgatory City, and before long, surrounding settlements. Twenty thousand dollars could bring out even town loafers and saloon rats, probably even a struggling businessman or two.

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