Free Tom Horn And The Apache Kid by Andrew J. Fenady Page A

too.”
    “I’m prepared to raise the offer to three thousand dollars.”
    “That’s more than the store’s worth.”
    “Probably, but not to me. I have plans, Shana. I intend to be a power in this territory.”
    “You already are.”
    “Not the kind of power I have in mind. Arizona’s the crossroads of the country. Whoever controls this territory is a man to
     be reckoned with from the Mississippi to California. Give me five years, and I’ll be...”
    “Governor?”
    “I don’t
want
to be a governor.” This time Van Zeider’s smile wasn’t forced. “Or a general or even a president.”
    “You just want to
control
all those people?”
    Van Zeider’s smile grew to a grin. “Let’s just say I want to make sure all those people in high places are friends of mine.”
     Van Zeider’s voice assumed an intimate tone. “And Shana, I’d like you to be a friend of mine. More than a friend.”
    Good God, Shana Ryan thought to herself, is this one proposing too? Will I end up with suitors from one end of the country
     to the other? Suitors who don’t suit me? Or is it part of a promissory ploy by an ambitious, worldly man playing a game to
     get something from a vulnerable, guileless woman? But this was no time to weigh and analyze Karl Van Zeider’s intentions.
     And at the same time shecaught a glimpse of Tom Horn and Al Sieber walking toward the guard house. Their step was neither jaunty nor light. There
     was a thundercloud look in both faces. Her thoughts were broken by the sound of Van Zeider’s voice.
    “Shana, if you do sell, you don’t have to go back to Massachusetts. There can be a fine future for you here in Arizona. But
     not as a storekeeper trying to grub out a living among soldiers and savages.”
    Fortunately for Shana, Mrs. Dockweiler entered the store at that moment and promptly let loose a long-winded litany while
     waving several spools of thread and railing about being sold the wrong colors. They didn’t at all match the other thread she
     had purchased six months earlier from the dearly departed Mr. Ryan, and Miss Ryan ought to learn how to run a store or find
     someone who did.
    Karl Van Zeider shrugged and smiled his charming smile, whispering to Shana, “Besides the soldiers and savages, I forgot to
     mention the over-weight, bellicose female customers who are spoiling for a fight. Please think it over.”
    Shana nodded and as Mrs. Dockweiler discharged her declamation without so much as a beat for breath, Van Zeider left.
    At least, Shana thought to herself, Karl Van Zeider has a sense of humor.

Chapter Thirteen
    The long, narrow stone guard house was built along the western slope of Fort Bowie’s compound. A few slim slits embedded with
     iron bars served as windows but didn’t afford the residents much of a view. The barred, unglassed apertures did allow the
     sizzling summer wind and dust to make the structure insufferably hot in summer and the ragged, ice-edged wind and grit to
     make it shivering cold in winter.
    If a prisoner had to pick a season of residence, autumn or spring were the times. But that was little consolation to the Apache
     Kid. Horn and Sieber had no trouble getting in to see him. The guards were old friends. The trouble came in telling the Kid
     of Miles’s decision. Both men leaned hard against the bars confining the former scout. Horn and Sieber tried to appear casual,
     even optimistic, but as Geronimo stood in the nearby cell and stared across at his infernal enemies, the words came in short,
     harsh whispers from the two scouts.
    No matter how soft their whispers, they knew that Geronimo would hear—if he hadn’t somehow got word of the Kid’s fate already.
     Secrets wereshort and few around Bowie, especially where Geronimo was concerned.
    “Miles says he’s shipping you to Florida,” Horn said in a low voice.
    “On the same train as…” Sieber motioned his head almost imperceptibly toward Geronimo.
    The Apache Kid was stunned. He tried not