Quick Killer (A White Apache Western Book 4) by David Robbins

Quick Killer (A White Apache Western Book 4) by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western, david robbins, jake mcmasters, white apache, western novel ebook, western novel online, quick killer, us frontier historical novel
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing


Chapter Seven

Clay Taggart’s first impulse on seeing the cavalry escort was to vault erect and flee. He wouldn’t have gotten five feet before the troopers spotted him, and realizing that, he did the next best thing. Picking up handfuls of dirt, he covered his legs and sprinkled some on his back. Then he put his head as close to the saguaro as he dared, tucked his arms close to its base, and went as rigid as a rock.

The buckboard moved at a snail’s pace. Both occupants wore suits and bowlers. Beside them rode a captain in a dusty uniform who was listening to the older of the pair.

“—damned nice of you, Forester, to ride with us the rest of the way. Not that we’d need the protection. We haven’t seen a lousy Apache the whole trip.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not around, Mr. Walters,” the captain responded.

“Then why haven’t they ambushed us?”

“If you had lived in Tucson longer, you’d know the answer,” Captain Forester said. “Apaches only attack when it’s in their best interests. Nine times out of ten they do it for the spoils.” He gestured at the buckboard. “They don’t have any use for wagons, so they’d likely figure the two of you weren’t worth the bother.”

“But wouldn’t they want to lift our hair?”

“Not necessarily, sir,” the officer said. “Apaches aren’t like the Sioux and Cheyenne and other Plains tribes. They don’t count coup, and as a rule they don’t do much scalping. It has to do with their beliefs about the dead.”

“I don’t follow you,” Walter said.

“Apaches want nothing to do with those who have died. When one of them passes on, right away the body is wrapped in a blanket and buried at a secret location, then all the deceased’s belongings and wickiup are burned.” Forester scratched at the stubble on his chin. “If a warrior takes a scalp, he has to go through a long purification process before he can keep it. Most think it’s not worth the bother.”

“Where did you learn so much about their heathen ways?”

“From the scouts at Fort Bowie. Some of them are Apache.”

“I must say, I never thought when I left Illinois that—”

Distance and the rattle of accoutrements on the cavalry mounts prevented Clay from hearing the rest. He saw tired trooper after tired trooper go by, and only after the last quartet had disappeared to the east did he rise and rejoin the Chiricahuas.

Once across the road, Clay struck to the northwest. The band came on scattered ranches and gave them a wide berth. Occasionally, they encountered roving herds of cattle in which the Apaches showed no interest. They preferred horseflesh to beef and only resorted to stealing cows when there was a shortage of horses.

Clay couldn’t wait to reach the spread of the man he was going to kill. He imagined the horrified look Jack Bitmer would wear when they came face to face, and relished the thought of making Bitmer’s death an agonizing one. So distracted did he



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