The Quantro Story Read Free

announcement offering bounties on Indian scalps as an incentive to decrease the Indian population in Mexico. Bands of men had sprung up who became known as Scalphunters, and it was one of these bands, led by Mustang Grey, who ambushed the Apache braves after they had taken possession of the bullion. When the battle was over, they scalped all the Apache, and then they realized during the fight all the horses and mules had escaped, and all the water bags were punctured, leaving them with neither transport nor water in a land where a man could only survive with both. The scalphunters were trapped. It was said they hid the gold in a secret cave up on the ledge and then waited until death showed up to take them prisoner. The Apache said from that day on, on each dark moon the voices of the Scalphunters could be heard crying out in the night for water, and their bad spirits had never escaped from that place.
    Quantro wondered if his ghost would call for water on dark nights. He determined if it did, then he would try his best to give a few travelers the horrors.
    The heat and pain were almost insufferable as he slipped into a fitful doze that stretched through the remaining hours of the afternoon and into the twilight.
    As the day began to ease into the black velvet shroud of the desert night he shook himself awake, angry he had forsaken his vigil. The thought he was still alive brought some relief, and he found himself shivering and staring up at the vast panorama of stars sprinkled across the sky. The sleep had done nothing to replenish his flagging energy. He could barely move, the slightest flexing of a limb sent spasms of pain shooting through his body.
    He almost wished it was over. The boy could have caught him easily while he slept, but had left him alone. Why? He could only think of two answers. Either the shot from the Colt had found its target, or the boy had pulled out. But, if the boy was so determined to avenge his father why should he quit now? Perhaps he was only waiting until darkness would cover his approach. Well, Quantro was going nowhere. At least not until light. It was too dark to chance tracking the buckskin. It would be difficult enough in daylight over this type of ground, never mind in almost pitch darkness. If the boy hadn’t made his move by sun-up, then Quantro was going to run slap into him. The odds were getting too short to wait it out any longer than that. If he did, he would be certain crow bait. The buzzards would find him much too easily.
    ***
    The buzzard found him not long after dawn.
    First light had laid its grey fingers across the sky, presenting the barren wasteland of the desert that stretched away bleakly to the far horizon. Quantro’s eyes were red-rimmed and sore, and the last of the water scarcely relieved the pain in his throat. The shoulder wound had congealed, but there was no strength in his aching bones so he merely lay and stared at the growing day. The Colt was in easy reach, ready for the boy, but he never came.
    It suddenly became important to watch the buzzard. If Willy Kilhern was lying dead on the other side of the rise, then the bird should have dropped in to eat his breakfast. Maybe the boy had caught the shot from the Colt but was still alive, maybe just maybe in as bad a state as himself?
    The buzzard, remote as it was, quartering the sky above, put a chilling fear into the pit of his stomach. It was the calling card of death.
    The cadaverous bird had all day to wait for his kill, but Quantro knew only too well his own time was fast running out. If he didn’t make his move soon, then he would make no moves at all.
    ***
    Wild-Horse squatted on the ridge, sniffing the morning breeze.
    He watched the buzzard in the north rise and dip in its timeless soar, slowly circling, finely balanced as it rode the hot air columns that rose from the Devil’s Plateau. He spent some minutes admiring the bird’s casual skill then came up off his heels and walked back