White Apache 9 by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins [Robbins, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: winchester rifle, colt 45, piccadilly publishing, white apache western series, clay taggart the white apache, ebook by david robbins, ebook on the wild west, jack mcmasters
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

William Randolph had tossed and turned most of the night. Sleeping outdoors, in his estimation, was a barbaric practice, fit for country bumpkins and simple savages, but certainly not for a man of culture and refinement. Lying on the ground was torture compared to the wonderfully soft king-size bed he customarily slept in back in New York.

Even having three blankets under him and two on top did not help. Each morning he got up to find bruises everywhere. His skin was just too delicate for him to live primitively for any length of time. Yet that was exactly what he had been doing for the better part of a week.

The reporter frowned and sat up. Since he couldn’t sleep, he might as well rise and get a pot of coffee brewing. Sunrise could not be far off, and a piping hot cup of Arbuckle’s would go a long way toward restoring his spirits.

Stretching, Randolph surveyed the camp. Ten feet away slept the accursed woman, a blanket pulled clear up to her chin. In repose her features were angelic, almost beautiful, and for a moment he almost forgot all the trouble she had given him. Almost, but not quite.

Randolph smirked. Little did she know that he had outsmarted her, that her plea to Governor Goodwin had been wasted effort. The governor’s safe-conduct pass would not save her precious cousin now.

One of the three men hired in Tucson to accompany Randolph and Amelia was over by the horses, keeping watch. Smoke curled from a pipe in his mouth.

The reporter regarded the trio as typical border ruffians. Their clothes were largely unkempt, their chins coated with rough stubble. Their sole redeeming grace was Quid’s assurance that all three were proficient gunmen and knew how to live off the land.

Randolph knelt next to the smoldering embers of their campfire and added fuel to rekindle it. He had to hand it to Benjamin Quid. The bounty hunter had proved to be as good as his word.

The day they met, across from the Park Theatre in Tucson, Randolph had sensed a kindred soul. Like him, Quid worshiped the almighty dollar. Like him, Quid would do anything to fill his pockets. And like him, Quid could be as devious as a fox when it came to getting his way.

Once Randolph had heard the bounty hunter’s tale of being made a fool of by the White Apache, Randolph knew he had his man. He had made his pitch and been overjoyed when Quid readily agreed to a 60/40 split. Quid’s partner, Plunkett, had complained that he thought their cut should be more until Randolph pointed out that he was the only one who could get Amelia to do as they wanted, and without her unwitting help, they had no means of luring Clay Taggart into a trap.

For over an hour that day, Randolph and the two bounty hunters had sat in a murky corner of the saloon, plotting. Quid had agreed to find several reliable men to accompany Amelia and him.

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