Devil's Creek Massacre Read Free

instantaneously in the shrubbery. Nestor snorted—he'd seen it too— and trembled all over. The prospect of another tour with Apaches scared him to death.
    Duane realized with dismay that his worst fears had been realized. Apaches were out there; he didn't know how many, but they wouldn't stalk him if they didn't think they could take him easily. Oh-oh, he thought as he broke out into a cold sweat.
    Nestor gazed at Duane solemnly, and a thought traveled from Nestor's mind to the Pecos Kid's. If Apaches killed Duane, they'd get Nestor. Now wait a minute, Duane admonished himself, as he looked at his transportation. I paid a hundred dollars for that horse, and I'm not turning him loose now.
    Nestor continued to peer into Duane's eyes, and Duane's resolve weakened. I should give him a fighting chance, because that's what I'd want. Then Duane caught a glimpse of brown Apache flesh in another direction. It's a war party, and they're maneuvering for position. If I try to get away in broad daylight, they'll run me down and shoot me out of the saddle.
    Nestor was silent, although fur twitched all over his body. His head swung from side to side and he tried to raise his front hooves in the air, but the pin held him down. It was time for Duane to make another decision, but this time he didn't hesitate. He pulled the pin out of the ground, removed the halter, and slapped Nestor on the haunch.
    â€œYou're on your own,” said Duane. “If I get out of this alive, I hope you'll come back and take me to Monterrey.”

    Don't hold your breath, the horse seemed to reply as he beheld Duane one last time. Then he turned away, broke into a lope, and went crashing through the underbrush, his hooves rumbling across the morning stillness, and then he was out of sight, gone, and useless to the hapless desert traveler.
    Why'd I do that? Duane asked himself in mystification. I paid a hundred dollars for that horse! He noticed a red Apache bandanna for a brief moment in a new direction, and now three warriors were tightening the noose around him. He imagined them cursing angrily, because they'd already lost their biggest prize, Nestor. “Come on, you sons of bitches,” muttered Duane through his teeth. “You want a fight—I'll give you one that you'll never forget.”
    Kateynah heard Nestor galloping off and at first couldn't believe his ears. He raised his head for a brief moment and saw the riderless animal streaking toward distant mountains. The white eyes has seen us, Kateynah realized. But why has he turned his horse loose?
    Kateynah couldn't fathom the reason, and the unexpected incident stopped him in his tracks. He knew it was a trick, but couldn't divine its purpose. The white eyes had tried to obscure his tracks, but not well enough to fool Kateynah. The white eyes was straight ahead, and the warriors probed for his exact location.
    Kateynah searched the foliage, but nothing moved. The white eyes was hiding like a desert rat, fully armed, and Kateynah had to get low like a snake, then crawl forward silently on his knees and elbows,cradling his rifle in his arms. His sharp eyes examined every spear of cactus and blade of grass, looking for the black pants and black shirt of the white eyes.
    Kateynah hated all white eyes, because they were stealing the Apache homeland, killing game, pushing the People all across the desert, and committing unspeakable atrocities. Yet he was jealous of their knowledge concerning rifles and pistols. The manufacture of such implements was incomprehensible to his Stone Age mind, though he could shoot a mule deer through the eye at two hundred yards.
    He crawled forward silently, sniffing the air, his eyes sweeping back and forth continually. He was confident that he'd find the white eyes before the white eyes saw him, because everyone knew how weak and stupid the white eyes were. Kateynah recalled the rifle that he intended to claim for himself, now that the horse was gone. From