Hangman's Knot (White Apache Book One) by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: old west, pulp western fiction, wild west action, david robbins, jake mcmasters, native american indians 1800s, white apache
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Eight

Warm. Springs, the Apaches called it, a natural fortress located high in the Chiricahua Mountains, one of the two ranges forming the backbone of the Chiricahua Reservation. There was just one way in or out, through a narrow cleft in a cliff. Inside, a narrow grassy valley afforded an ideal hiding place, ringed as it was by towering, unscalable rocky heights. Only the Chiricahuas knew of its existence. They had never told anyone outside their tribe about it, not even anyone from another Apache tribe. It was one of their most zealously guarded secrets.

So it was that Fiero, Ponce, and Amarillo argued heatedly against allowing Lickoyee-shis-inday to enter the refuge. To all their protests, Delgadito responded that they needed somewhere to lay low for a while and there was no better spot in all of Arizona. He noted that others might have survived the massacre, and if so, Warms Springs was where they would eventually come. If no one arrived within half a moon, then Delgadito would go elsewhere. Fiero, Ponce, and Amarillo reluctantly agreed to wait there that long for the sake of any survivors.

Clay Taggart guessed that he was the reason for the many arguments he witnessed, an easy guess to make in light of the frequent glares shot his way by three of the warriors. He had progressed enough in learning the Apache tongue to enable him to catch occasional words here and there, so it was plain to him that all three wanted him dead. More fully than ever he realized his life was in Delgadito’s hands, and if anything should happen to Delgadito, his fate would be sealed.

Clay began to regret tagging along with the Apache. In his estimation he would have been better off on his own, even if he had to face the specter of starvation or dying of thirst. He became eager to get clear of the band, but he saw no way of doing so since he doubted they would just let him walk off on his own. It occurred to him that maybe the Apaches were afraid he would report the hideaway to the Army, so on the sixth day of their stay he broached the subject to Delgadito by saying, “This is some hideout you have here. I don’t see how you can find it again once you leave. I know I couldn’t.”

“Plenty safe here,” the warrior responded. “But not safe enough.”

“How so?”

“Chiricahua Army scouts know Warm Springs. So far they not tell.”

As Clay knew, Apaches from several tribes had signed on to work for the government in various capacities. A few worked for the agent. Others, those who couldn’t abide the dull reservation life, had donned Army uniforms and became scouts. It was the only job an Apache could take that promised some adventure and excitement.

“One day one will,” Delgadito had gone on. “Then Warm Springs not safe again.”

“I’d never tell,” Clay declared. “Not after all you’ve done for me.”

Delgadito sat staring into the distance.

“No, sir,” Clay stressed.

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