Free Spanish Gold by Kevin Randle Page B

Around it were half a dozen Indians and their ponies. They seemed to be unconcerned that white men might be close. They seemed to care about nothing, other than drinking the water and letting their horses drink their fill.
    Davis shoved himself back away from the edge and slipped to the rear where the others waited. He leaned close to Culhaine who stood holding a Winchester lever-action carbine.
    â€œApaches down there. Not doing much of anything.”
    â€œExcept keeping us away from the water,” whispered Culhaine. “That’s all they’ve got to do.”
    â€œWe could take them,” said Davis. He waved a hand indicating the others with him. “Each man pick a target and we let fly. They’d be down before they knew what hit them.”
    â€œBut the others would know,” said Culhaine.
    Davis was about to ask what others, but he knew. This small group had been detached to guard the watering hole. It was the only place in fifty miles that water could be found. Any white men in the region would have to swing by it for water and that would alert the Apaches about them.
    â€œWe need the water,” said Davis. His mouth was filled with cotton and he was sweating heavily. There was water in his canteen. A little water. Just enough to get him through the night, but the next day would be hell without water, and he had none for his horse. Without his horse, he’d be on foot and the little water left would not be enough.
    Kincaid slipped away from the main group and asked, “What’s happening?”
    â€œKeep your voice down,” snapped Davis.
    â€œThere a problem at the water hole?”
    â€œHell yes,” said Davis. “Six or seven Apaches are down there.”
    â€œWe can take them,” said Kincaid.
    â€œThat’s not the trouble,” said Culhaine. “We kill them and every Apache in the territory is going to know about it in a day, day and a half.”
    â€œWe can’t turn back now,” said Kincaid. He pointed at the rest of the party, now grown to fifteen men. All were armed with repeating rifles, there were a couple of shotguns, and each man had one pistol and a couple of them had two.
    â€œWe can defend ourselves from any war party the Apaches can mount,” said Kincaid. “We’ve got them out-gunned.”
    Davis wiped a hand over his face and rubbed the sweat on his faded flannel shirt. “I don’t like this.”
    â€œHell man,” said Kincaid. “There’s enough gold around for all of us for the rest of our lives. You said so yourself. Now you want to stop because there are some Apaches around the water hole.”
    Culhaine spoke up. ‘There’s no reason to assume they’re hostile. A couple of us could ride in and see what happens. The rest filter in among the rocks to protect us in case things go wrong.”
    â€œYou want to do that?” asked Davis.
    â€œNope, but I don’t see any way around it, except to just open fire from the rocks.”
    Davis stood there for a moment, thinking rapidly. The last thing he had wanted was to end up leading the party, but it was he who had heard the old prospector tell the story of the gold, and he was the one who knew the last piece of information for finding it. The others had naturally looked to him for the decisions as they had ridden across the desert.
    â€œCulhaine, you and one volunteer will ride up to the water to see what the Apaches do. They let you water your horses and fill your canteens and ride out unharmed, then we’ll send in another party.”
    â€œAnd if they don’t?” asked Kincaid.
    â€œWe cut them down.”
    Culhaine nodded slowly and then said, “But don’t let them have the first shot. They even look mean, you shoot them.”
    Davis wiped his face again. “Give us some time to get into position before you ride in. Who you going to take?”
    Culhaine grinned and said, “Kincaid