Free The Shadow Man by F. M. Parker Page A

the things it had swallowed.
    â€œGoddamn,” Kirker cursed. “I just lost a hundred dollars.” He swung his attention back to the Indian camp. Eight bodies lay in crumpled mounds on the ground. Both ways along the river, women and children were running in frenzied flight.
    â€œMount up,” Kirker shouted.
    The men ran to meet Connard who, mounted, was spurring his horse up the slope and dragging the saddled horses after him. All the men jerked themselves astride. They charged down from the caliche hill and onto the river bottom.
    As Kirker gouged his horse ahead, an old woman jumped up from some bushes. He killed her with a shot from his pistol. A boy of seven or eight tore off at an angle, bounded over the trunk of a fallen tree, and then straightened out in a flat-out, dead-streaking run. The little brown bastard sure could travel, thought Kirker.
    Lashing his horse, Kirker drew close to the boy. He slashed down with the heavy iron barrel of his revolver, clubbing the child to the earth. Kirker dragged his mount to a halt, whirled it around, and ran it back to the small, still body of the boy.
    The firing dwindled and stopped as Kirker stepped from his mount. He deftly cut a circle around the top of the boy’s head and ripped away a large segment of scalp and hair.
    He halted at two other bodies as he returned to the camp, each time cutting away the victim’s scalp.
    Connard, carrying a handful of bloody scalps, came to meet Kirker. “Mighty fine target practice,” he said with a laugh.
    â€œStretch and dry these with those you have,” directed Kirker, and handed Connard the scalps he carried. “Did anyone get away that you saw?”
    â€œNo,” Connard said, separating the scalps to see how many had been given to him. “That makes twenty of them,” Connard added in a pleased tone. “That’s every Indian we saw, counting the two girls Rauch and Wiestling caught.”
    â€œGood,” Kirker replied. He walked to the men gathered around the two frightened girls huddled on the ground near the river.
    â€œNow, ain’t they pretty?” Rauch said. He reached down, clamped a brutal hold on the hair of the two young women, and roughly raised their faces so the men could see them.
    â€œYes,” agreed Kirker, “but there had better not be any fighting over them or I’ll take a hand to stop it,” he warned. “Rauch, you asked to save the women, so now you see that their scalps are lifted and drying right along side all the others come morning.”
    Kirker took the prettiest girl by the shoulder, raised her to her feet, and led her into one of the lodges. He slapped her into obedience and took her on a pile of furs.
    When he had finished, he brought her back outside and flung her at Rauch.
    The bandit chief almost laughed when he saw the hate in Rauch’s eyes. I am the leader of these men, thought Kirker. I will always have first choice of horses and women.
    Taking an arm load of furs from the lodge, he climbed up to the top of the caliche hill. He sat listening to the voices of his men, muted in the distance, and watched the last trace of sunlight die away to nothing. He lay down on the soft furs and drifted off to sleep. It had been a very profitable day.

CHAPTER 7
    Tamarron drank his first beer with Tim and Deek in the big cantina on the edge of the plaza. The brew had a delicious, tangy flavor and was icy cold from being immersed in a tub of snow brought down from the mountain above town. He took another long pull from his mug and let the savory liquid trickle delightfully down his throat.
    â€œThe first one is always the best,” Tim said, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “But we may not be drinking many more beers in Santa Fe.”
    Tim paused, reflecting within himself, and then continued to speak in a matter-of-fact tone. “There’ll soon be a war with Mexico.”
    â€œI heard some