Free Apache Vendetta by Jon Sharpe

her lonesome.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “Later I saw Skeeter and Pratt with him, and I figured they were tryin’ to convince him to vote to do her in. Turned out there was more to it.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œOstman found out they offered Williams a share of their gold if he let them have their way with her.”
    â€œBy have their way you don’t mean kill?”
    Samuels swallowed, and nodded. “It wasn’t until near suppertime that we sat back down again to hash it out. And that was when it turned ugly. Williams said he’d go along with anything Skeeter and Pratt wanted to do. Ostman and me argued that no real harm had been done except for her killin’ the dog. And if word ever got out, we’d have Apaches after us for sure.” He glanced at Cuchillo Colorado. “Turns out we were right.”
    â€œWhat did Skeeter and Pratt say to that?”
    â€œThat the girl was too pretty to waste.”
    â€œWaste?” Fargo said.
    Samuels did more nodding. “That was when I caught on to what they aimed to do. I told Skeeter and Pratt it was wrong. Apache or not, the girl didn’t deserve it. And do you know what they did? They laughed me to scorn. Said I was too high-minded. Said I was weak. I wanted to hit them but what could I do, me to their two?”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œIt was after supper that they got to it. Ostman walked off in disgust. Williams went over to the creek and I saw him with his fingers in his ears. I couldn’t stand to hear the doin’s, so I walked off, too.”
    â€œHow long did you stay away?”
    â€œOh, an hour or so. When I finally went back, Skeeter and Pratt were at the fire with Williams and all three were actin’ like nothin’ had happened. I looked in the tent, and I wish to God I hadn’t.”
    Fargo didn’t ask what he saw. Not with Cuchillo Colorado there.
    Cuchillo Colorado was as impassive as a statue.
    â€œThey’d stripped her bare—” Samuels began.
    â€œThat’s enough,” Fargo cut in.
    â€œNo,” Cuchillo Colorado said. “Say all of it. I want to hear.”
    Samuels gulped. “They’d had their way with her and then they must have beat her. She was bleedin’ from the mouth and her face was half swollen and one or both of them had cut her . . .”
    â€œCut where?” Cuchillo Colorado said.
    Samuels raised a finger to his chest and touched one side and then the other. “Here and here. They cut them off. I saw them lyin’ on the ground and about puked.”
    The prospector fell silent, bowed his head, and quaked at the memories.
    Fargo didn’t take his eyes off Cuchillo Colorado. He half-expected him to whip a knife from the folds of the robe and plunge it into the old man’s heart, but instead Cuchillo Colorado did the last thing he would have imagined.
    â€œThank you, white-eye,” he said.

21
    Samuels seemed just as surprised. “You’re welcome,” he said uncertainly. “I’m sorry for what they done. I have a girl of my own. Her ma died about ten years ago and she lives off in Ohio and I hardly ever see her but I care for her as much as I ever did and it would sicken me to have her die like that.”
    To change the subject, Fargo prompted, “Then what happened?”
    â€œI told Skeeter and Pratt and Williams that I didn’t want any more part of them. Ostman said the same. We were gettin’ the hell out of there before her kin showed up.” He uttered a short bark of mirth. “That rattled Skeeter, the weasel. Until that moment I don’t reckon he gave any thought to what the Apaches would do to him if they caught him. Suddenly he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He said as how we should stick together, how if the Apaches did come, the five of us could hold them off better than two or three of us.”
    â€œSo you packed up and ran for