Free Scalpers by Ralph Cotton Page B

you?”
    â€œI do indeed,” Pridemore said. “If I felt like doing it, I could convince the
capitán
that my mercenaries showed up just in time to chase away the Apache and save him and what few men he’s got left.” He chuckled as they moved down toward the trail.
    Bertha giggled and ran her hand back over her tangled hair, straightening it as best she could.
    â€œWhat they don’t know,” Pridemore said, “is that the Wolf Hearts and the rest of the Mescaleros have moved on out of here. We whupped them bad. They’ve rode south to lie up and lick their wounds. No telling when they’ll be back.”
    They stopped for a moment while three scalpers ran in behind a stand of rock and finished off three soldiers.
    â€œWill you go after them?” Bertha asked.
    â€œNaw, we’ll wait, get them when they come back this way. When the Mescaleros move out, the Lipans get a little bolder, start thieving horses and goatshere and there.” He shrugged. “They’re Apache too—hair pays the same.”
    Bertha shook her head.
    â€œI’m impressed,” she said as they walked out on the trail, the firing all but over. Farther along the rock hillside, halfway up, a voice cried out in terror. Bertha winced.
    Pridemore grinned.
    â€œThere’s a man I’m betting should have seen a barber before riding out here,” he said.
    On the trail, scalpers gathered on either side of Pridemore and walked forward slowly with him, keeping quiet as they approached a place where the soldier’s heavy gunfire had resounded earlier. Half circling the spot, Pridemore raised a hand, holding the men back as he grinned listening toward the rocks. Then he turned the grin to Bertha.
    â€œCapitán Penza? Are you in there?” he called out. They all listened for a silent moment. After a tense pause the wounded captain replied.
    â€œYes—yes, I am here,” he said, sounding stunned at hearing the words of a white man. “Who . . . is out there?”
    â€œHell, it’s me, Bigfoot, and my mercenaries, Captain,” Pridemore called out. “Lucky we came by. We just run off two dozen heathen Apache before they made dinner out of yas.”
    â€œPridemore, thank God it’s you!” the captain called out, almost sobbing with gratitude. He stood up from behind a waist-high rock, his bloody hands clasped together as if in prayer.
    Pridemore turned to Bertha and grinned.
    â€œSee? What’d I tell you?” he said just above a whisper. “This world is mine.”
    Around Pridemore his mercenaries laughed at the easily duped captain.
    Captain Penza looked confused.
    â€œWhat is funny, Bigfoot?” he said. “Many of my men are dead. Why do your men laugh?”
    â€œHell, they’re all crazy,
Capitán
,” said Pridemore. “I should have told you.”
    â€œ
Sí
, loco,” Penza said indignantly. He looked at Bertha Buttons, her clothes ripped and hanging, one large breast almost completely bare. “What is she doing here?”
    Pridemore reached around and pulled Bertha forward, prisoner-style, and held her forward roughly for the captain to see.
    â€œI lured her out here,
Capitán
,” Pridemore said causally. “I figured you might want to see me cut her throat—no extra charge for watching, of course.”
    Bertha gave Pridemore a look of terror as he raised a big knife from his boot well. She tried to jerk away from him, but he held fast.
    â€œI did not
want
to,” said Penza, recovering quickly from the ruse Indian attack. “But since you brought her . . .” He looked back and forth, the scalpers having settled down from laughing, serious now. “What about Jim Ruby?”
    â€œNext place you’ll see Diamond Jim is in hell,
Capitán
,” Pridemore said. “Watch close now.” As Bertha tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on her and laid