Free Trail of Golden Dreams by Stacey Coverstone Page B

she did not imagine horse hooves approaching from the side of the
canyon.  They were close!  The three Indians also looked that way.
 Her gaze must have revealed her fright, because the Apache brave raised
his hand and said, “You may pass.”
    She offered him a
half-smile and said, “Thank you.”  Then all hell broke loose. 
    She heard the gunshots in
the same instant she kicked Traveler and he lurched forward, nearly toppling
her off his back. Glancing backwards, she saw the four horsemen appear at the
crest of the hill, one after the other, like ghosts rising up from hell. Josie
clutched her gun tight and trotted the mule through a flurry of gunfire and
blue smoke as bullets whizzed by her face.  Later, she’d ponder at her and
Traveler’s luck in getting through the skirmish without so much as a scratch on
either of them. 
    Hiding behind the relative
safety of a big prickly bush, she peered out with wide eyes. If she could have
gotten to the other side, she would have.  But to try at that point would
have been suicide, so she waited and watched. 
    She could see why white
men considered the Apaches to be bloodthirsty and dangerous.  They had no
fear whatsoever. The Indians cocked their weapons, kicked their ponies and barreled
forward, firing in front of Kendall and his men’s mounts. The bullets struck
the ground, spooking the horses, and causing them to circle in confusion and
jostle their riders.
    It was obvious the marshal
and his men weren’t expecting an Indian welcoming committee.  They
returned fire, but their terrified horses had no intention of getting shot
at.  The animals turned and jockeyed for positions in order to get back on
the narrow path they’d just climbed.
    Amidst the chaos, one man
was yanked off his saddle.  Josie recognized him as Slim Jim
Garrett.  She wasn’t sure if he’d been shot or had been knocked off by one
of the Indians.  Either way, he fell and was stomped by thundering
hooves.  If he wasn’t already dead from a bullet, she knew he’d been
trampled to death.  She squeezed her eyes shut.
    Next time she opened them,
she saw the top of the big sombrero disappear over the ridge.  Two more
riders retreated down the side of the canyon behind Reno King, with the Indian
ponies chasing them and the Apaches continuing to shoot their guns.
    When the firing finally
stopped, Josie eased Traveler out from behind the bush and walked him to where
Jimmy Garrett lay.  She glanced down at Jimmy’s bloodied body. “You were
stupid to trust Wade Kendall,” she told her old school chum. 
    She wondered if Del, the
marshal or King was injured.  They’d all escaped down the hill, but that
didn’t mean they hadn’t been shot.  If they’d gotten lucky and escaped
injury, she pondered whether this little battle would deter them.  She could
only pray they’d been spooked enough by the Apaches to forget about her and
turn back for home—but she didn’t count on it. 
    The Indians reined their
ponies back off the ridge and approached.  Josie was no longer afraid of
them. They’d fought off the posse for her, so she didn’t expect them to kill
her now. Her gaze moved from one to the other, staring into their dark eyes.
The one who’d communicated with her moaned softly.  His shirt was ripped,
and he was bleeding from the shoulder.  “You’re hurt,” she said.
    “Mexican,” he replied,
wincing from pain.  It was the first expression of emotion she’d witnessed
from any of them.
     “Are either of you
injured?” she asked the other two.
    One shook his head. The
other drilled a hole into her, which she ignored.  Neither seemed winded,
for having just fought a quick but violent gun battle.
    “That bullet needs to come
out,” Josie told the bleeding Indian.
    Without a word, he swung
off his pony and dropped the reins on the ground, and then stuck his hand under
the hem of his breeches and drew out a large jackknife. She thought it must
have been strapped around