Apache Death Read Free

cautious speed, Edge had closed the gap by almost half.
    “Unless, of course, you've come to jump my claim, which is what I first figured.” He laughed and tried to inject confidence into the sound. But it was as hollow as the most distinct echo. “Some others have tried it, mister. But Silver Seam is mine. This whole damn mountain is mine, so you just get the hell out of here.” There was a smaller patch of darker shadow in the area of blackness and Edge realized it was the entrance of a mine tunnel sunk into the side of the sharply rising ground.
    “Now you answer me, mister,” the jealous miner yelled on the edge of a scream, “If you don't say something I'll know what you've come for and I'll plug you good next time.”
    The mesa wall had reversed its slope as it became part of the bluff proper, which the old miner maintained was his mountain. It was steep, but its surface was roughened by centuries of weathering and Edge was able to find more hand and footholds than he needed to climb up the face. But the Spencer was an encumbrance and he lodged it in a narrow cleft before beginning to work his way along the cliff face, aiming for a narrow ledge some four feet above the mine ad-it
    “I didn't hit you, did I?” the miner said after a long pause, “I never mean to hit nobody unless they've come to rob me. If you're hit, mister, you yell and I’ll come out and fix you up.”
    There was a tremor in his voice now, clearly audible from this distance and Edge allowed his lips to curl back in a grin. The old man repeated his instructions in Mexican and the trembling words provided enough cover for Edge to cross the final few feet and reach his objective. He had made the trip with his face toward the cliff, but the ledge was wide enough to allow him to turn around and for several moments he pressed his back against the rough surface, taking time to recover from the exertion of the climb as he peered down the long length of his body toward the area immediately in front of the mine entrance. The miner was not in sight, but when Edge held his own breath he could just discern the rapid, frightened panting of the man below him. Edge eased the Colt from its holster and waited for his adversary to start shouting again.
    “Speak, you bastard!”
    It was enough to cover the faint click as Edge eased back the hammer.
    “'I couldn't have killed him,” the miner said softly, to himself, the words magnified by the confined space of the mine tunnel. “But maybe I got in a lucky shot. Jesus, I hope if I killed him, he was after me claim.”
    Edge raised his arm and Hung the revolver high and wide. It clunked to the ground a hundred feet down the trail, bounced twice and exploded into sound when it hit a third time.
    “Holy cow!” the miner yelled and stepped out of the mine, raising his rifle to shoulder level and going into a half crouch.   
    Edge jumped forward off the ledge, left hand streaking to the back of his neck. The man squeezed the trigger of the rifle and his high-pitched shriek of alarm was lost in the report as the dead weight of Edge hit him. Edge locked his legs around the man and with one hand jerked his head back as the other, fingers curled around the handle of the razor, snaked to the miner's throat. The man pitched forward under the weight and power of the lunge, the rifle clattering away. His knees hit first and his scream of pain was cut off as he went full-length, with the wind knocked out of him. The sharp edge of the razor merely nicked the grizzled, slack skin of his throat.
    “'You didn't get in no lucky shot,” Edge whispered, close to his ear.  
    The man was gasping for breath, the effect of the fall and the continuing weight of Edge on his back demanding his entire strength to force air into his lungs. Edge let him suffer like that for perhaps half a minute before he eased his weight off. But he left the razor close against the throat. Then, with his free hand, he grasped the man's hair and