John Carter Read Free Page A

Dalton’s departure. With trembling hands, I reached for the clasp, pulled it open. And began to read, with tears and wonder in my eyes.
    My dear Edgar. I remember how I used to take you on my knee and tell you wild tales, which you always did me the great courtesy of believing. Now you are grown; time and space have parted us. But I reach out across that distance to that same wide-eyed boy and ask him to believe me once more.
    This wild tale begins in 1868, thirteen years ago, in the Arizona Territory between the Pinaleño Mountains and the backside of Hell…

B Y THE TIME John Carter hauled himself back to Fort Grant Outpost, he was barely a human being. His beard was long and insect-ridden, his buffalo skins stank of sweat and dust. His saddlebags hung practically in tatters; his mule was half dead. His eyes glinted with the fire of madness.
    But none of that was the reason Dix, the general store keeper, rolled his eyes and turned away when Carter shambled inside.
    Two thick-bodied roughnecks sat drinking at the counter. One of them turned to smirk at him. “Come to stock up on spider bait, Carter?”
    Carter ignored him, strode up to Dix, and dropped two heavy saddlebags on the bar. Dix just shook his head.
    â€œNo more, Carter.”
    Carter smoothed his beard, peered at the shopkeeper. “There a problem, Mister Dix?”
    â€œYeah. You’re a loon.”
    The roughnecks laughed and slapped the bar. But Dix’s face was deadpan serious, even angry.
    â€œI done took all your money, Carter. Your tab’s a hundred dollars in arrears.”
    â€œI’ll pay,” Carter replied. “I’m close. This old Yavapai I met, he said he’d seen the cave up near—”
    â€œStop.” Dix held up a hand. “Not one more word about your cave of gold.”
    â€œNow, now,” one of the roughnecks said. “Show some respect, Dix. It’s the evil spider cave of gold.”
    The roughnecks howled again and clinked their glasses.
    â€œYou’re cut off, Carter.” Dix’s stare didn’t waver. “Now get on home.”
    Carter didn’t move.
    Slowly the roughnecks rose to their feet. The first one pulled out a knife and stuck his face up very close to Carter’s. “I believe he done told you to get out of here.”
    The second roughneck put a hand on his Colt.
    â€œI’ll leave when these bags are full,” Carter said.
    The first roughneck twitched. Carter grabbed a lid from a jar on the counter, blocking the knife thrust easily. The man grunted and dropped his knife, but Carter was already whirling around to grab the second man’s Colt barrel. Carter jammed both gun and hand up into the man’s own face, breaking his nose. Then in one swift motion he jabbed the jar lid up into the first man’s jaw with a sickening crack.
    Both men went down, unconscious.
    Carter grabbed the roughneck’s Colt and whipped around, sticking it right in Dix’s face. He knew what the shopkeeper kept hidden under the counter.
    â€œDrop the shotgun, Dix.”
    Dix swallowed. His gun clattered to the floor.
    Keeping the Colt trained on Dix’s head, Carter reached into his pocket with his other hand. He fished out a small object and tossed it to the stunned shopkeeper.
    â€œFound that two days ago, up by Bonita. Ought to cover my tab and then some.”
    Dix’s eyes widened. He stared at the object, a small Apache figurine about two inches tall. A nine-legged spider worked in shiny, glistening gold.
    Dix raised his head to Carter, staring in shock. “Whyn’t you just show me this first?”
    â€œDidn’t care for your attitude.” Carter lowered his gun, slammed a grocery list down on the counter. “Beans. First item is beans.”
    â€œJohn Carter?”
    Carter didn’t turn around, but he recognized the tone. Cavalrymen—more than one, by the sound of it. He swore under his breath. He’d