Texas Killing (An Apache Cuchillo Oro Western #16) by William M James

Author:William M James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: us cavalry, peter brandvold, louis lamour, western series, apache indians, james reasoner, laurence james, piccadilly publishing westerns, edge the loner, ralph compton
Publisher: Piccadilly

It was in the middle of the afternoon that Cuchillo saw the ominous cloud of dust moving fast toward them from the north.

Chapter Seven

THERE WERE EIGHTEEN of them.

At a barked order, they all slowed down from a trot to a walk, finally halting in a column of twos, some twenty paces from the wagons, drawn up alongside each other.

“That them? They look like Rebs.”

Cuchillo shook his head at Goane’s comment. “No. It is Texas dust that covers them. Look.”

The men were all sitting easily in their saddles, casually slapping at themselves, beating the grayness from their breeches and jackets. Revealing that their uniforms were a brilliant red, bordered with ornate gold lace. Seeming as if they were loosely modeled on the Southern cavalry. None of them said a word.

There was something about them that Cuchillo immediately mistrusted. Something that wasn’t natural. They were too well drilled. He had never seen soldiers like them. Coming up on them and bringing them to a stop, with just a single word of command. And now the silence, broken only by the jingling of harness, and the occasional snuffle from one of the horses. And all of them were fine-looking mounts, the Apache noticed.

Finally, the officer walked his horse forward, stopping and saluting.

“Mr. Goane, I believe?”

He had the soft, rounded voice of a Southern gentleman, and he took off his plumed cap and swung it low against his mount’s flank.

“Yes. What do you want? And who in Hades are you, comin’ and stoppin’ us like that?”

“Two questions, Mr. Goane. That is two questions too many. Please do not ask. It is sufficient that you know that Colonel Tarrant wishes to see you.”

“Me?”

“That is another question, suh. But perhaps I can forgive you that. I’ll lay it against your surprise and your ignorance.”

“Threatens real bleedin’ polite, don’t ’e?” hissed Pearl Windsor from behind Harry Goane’s shoulders. “Smile and chiv your gullet open in the same breath.” Urgency in her voice. “Be careful, ’arry. Don’t like the cut of ’is jib at all.”

“I greet you, Ms. Windsor, on behalf of Colonel Tarrant. He hopes you have not been tired by your journey and looks forward greatly to your company when he dines tonight.”

It rolled too easily from the tongue. There was no spontaneity in it. Like a child reciting a carefully learned speech. Cuchillo felt less and less happy about the sudden appearance of these toy soldiers in their silly uniforms. What was the point of dressing men in bright red if they were to fight? So, if they were not real soldiers, then what were they?

“This Colonel Tarrant …” began Pearl Windsor, smiling disarmingly at the young officer. But he interrupted her with a movement of his gauntleted fist.

“I am sorry, ma’am,” he said, in a voice that made it clear he wasn’t. “I said no questions to Mr. Goane, and that applies to you as well. The Colonel will answer all your queries when we reach Fort Paine.”

“But I must just ask whether you mean for us all to accompany you,” said Harry Goane, putting on his better English accent.

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