Free Apache Vendetta by Jon Sharpe Page A

your lives,” Fargo said.
    â€œPacked, hell. We left our tents, the pack animals, the works. Even left our picks and shovels. I don’t mind admittin’ how scared I was. And the others, they got just as scared once it sunk in. We rode all that night and the next day besides. I didn’t hardly sleep a wink until we got to San Lupe.”
    â€œThat’s where you parted company.”
    Samuels nodded. “It ate at me, them doin’ her that way. I made the mistake of sayin’ as how I aimed to go to the law. Skeeter and Pratt didn’t like that. Not one little bit. They called me a turncoat to my own kind. Warned me that if I went, they’d hunt me down and bury me.”
    â€œIs that when you were shot?”
    â€œHeard about that, did you?” Samuels said glumly. “I got up from the table and told them they could go to hell and I was doin’ as I damn well pleased, and that Skeeter cursed and pulled out his six-shooter and drilled me in the leg.”
    â€œYou were lucky.”
    â€œIn that he didn’t shoot me in the head or the heart? I suppose. But we were in the saloon and there would have been witnesses. So he shot me in the leg and then came around and grabbed me by my shirt and said so only I could hear that if word got out what he’d done, him and Pratt would do worse things to me than they done to her.”
    â€œWhat about Williams and Ostman?”
    â€œWilliams didn’t say a damn thing. I figured Ostman would help me, but Skeeter said that if he knew what was good for him, he’d be shed of me. And damned if he didn’t up and go with the rest.”
    Fargo had heard enough but Samuels wasn’t done.
    â€œI figured to lay abed a few days until the bleedin’ stopped and I could ride and then light a shuck for Ohio. But I came down with fever and the shakes. My leg got infected. I would have died if not for a kindly old Mexican lady who took me in and nursed me. Once I could think straight, I got to worryin’. I hired a pair of cowpokes to keep an eye out for strangers and I came here to lie low until I was all the way healed.”
    â€œHold on,” Fargo said. “How did you know about this cabin?”
    â€œIt was the old Mexican gal who told me about this place. I needed a hidey-hole, and she mentioned that no one ever came here.” Samuels looked down at his left leg. “I can’t hardly ride yet.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œSomethin’ is wrong inside. The bone is chipped or a nerve was hit. When I get on my mule, I can’t go fifty feet without havin’ to get off, the pain is so bad. I was hopin’ that if I waited it would go away. But each day I climb on Mabel and each day it’s the same.”
    â€œHow are you on a wagon?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. I ain’t climbed on one since I was shot. Why?”
    â€œWe have to get you back to Fort Union.”
    â€œI’ve told you all you wanted. Why can’t you leave me be?”
    â€œYou know better.”
    Samuels frowned and smacked the table in anger.
    â€œYou were planning to go to the law anyway,” Fargo reminded him.
    â€œThat was before Skeeter shot me. I’ve had time to ponder some, and I’m not hankerin’ to die over a girl I didn’t even know.” Samuels glanced quickly at Cuchillo Colorado. “No offense.”
    â€œWhere did the others go?” Cuchillo Colorado asked. “Skeeter. Pratt. Ost-man. Williams.” He said each name sharply, as if he were stabbing it.
    â€œOstman went to the town he’s from. Williams is likely back with his family.” Samuels shrugged. “The others, hell, it’s anyone’s guess. They could be bound for Texas, for all I know. I doubt you’ll ever find them.”
    â€œAs you white-eyes like to say,” Cuchillo Colorado said, “care to bet?” Wheeling, he stepped to the door and gripped the