THERE WERE EIGHT of them in total. Junaco Apache from far to the south, their skin baked until it was almost brown, with warpaint markings across their faces and arms. They came out of the heat haze like phantoms, stopped their ponies atop a sandy crest and silently watched the trio of white men fifty yards below their vantage point. It was Buffalo Benson who first saw them as he was about to kick the man he and Peters had staked out in the blistering sun.
The large bounty hunter gave his partner a sly glance and spoke from the corner of his mouth.
‘We got us company, Snake!’
Peters’ jaw dropped when he looked to where Buffalo Benson was staring. ‘Apache!’
‘Yeah!’ Benson muttered.
‘What you figure they want?’
‘Scalps!’
‘Damn it all!’ Peters snarled. ‘Just when we was getting this little bastard to spill the beans!’
Benson knelt beside the brutally tortured Duke Layne. He grabbed the outlaw’s sweat-soaked hair and dragged his head up from the sand until both sets of eyes were locked on to each.
‘You gonna talk?’
‘Nope!’ Layne spat defiantly. ‘Ain’t worth my getting on the bad side of Klute Varney! Kill me if you like! Klute would do a damn sight worse if he found out I spilled the beans about his stash!’
Benson raised the outlaw’s head even higher. He shook it with venom.
‘See them, you damn fool?’
‘Barely!’ Layne gasped as sweat and blood trickled into his eyes.
‘Them’s Apaches, Layne!’ Benson told him. ‘You ever tangled with Apaches? They make me and Snake seem like Sunday-school teachers! You want we should leave you here for them to finish the job? Or maybe you might tell us what we wanna know!’
‘Which is it, boy?’ Peters added. ‘Tell us where Klute’s got his money hid or we leave you and head on after your pal! Craven ain’t gonna be so loyal! He’ll talk!’
‘Apaches got ways of killing that can take days, Layne!’ Benson drooled. ‘Mind you, it’ll seem like years by the time they finish you off! I’ve seen them varmints gut a man and then leave him to the vultures! Some things can be worse than dying!’
Layne closed his eyes. ‘Okay! I’ll tell you! Just cut me free and I’ll take you there if that’s what you want!’
‘Now you’re seeing sense!’ Benson pulled out his knife and slid its blade across the leather bonds. He hauled the pathetic outlaw off the ground and threw him at the horses. ‘Get on that nag fast!’
Peters pulled his Winchester from its scabbard and cranked its mechanism into action. He waited until his companion had mounted before throwing himself on to his own saddle.
Benson gathered up his reins. ‘You figure that they’re gonna attack us, Snake?’
‘Yep!’ came the simple reply. ‘They ain’t painted up just to look pretty, Buffalo!’
Duke Layne pushed his boot toes into his stirrups and held tightly on to his reins. He wiped the bloody sweat from his face and saw the Indians clearly for the first time. His throat tightened.
‘They are Apaches!’
Buffalo Benson dragged his horse’s head back until the animal had turned full circle. He surveyed the terrain and felt his heart start to pound. There was plenty of cover but it was a quarter of a mile from where their horses nervously pawed at the ground with their hoofs. Brush and rocks capable of giving sanctuary to a hundred horses was within view but also within the range of the Apaches’ arrows.
‘Which way we headed, Buffalo?’ Peters held his rifle across his lap with its barrel resting upon the saddle horn. His eyes never left the eight horsemen on the sandy rise.
‘There!’ Benson pointed to the rocks and brushland.
Peters eyes flashed at his partner. ‘They’ll cut us down for sure before we gets halfways there!’
‘Not if you gives me and the kid plenty of cover!’ Benson growled.
‘What about me?’ Snake Peters felt the hair on the nape of his neck start to tingle. ‘I’m gonna be stuck here while you two ride into them bushes and rocks! I don’t like it!’
‘That’s the way it’s gonna be!’ Benson snapped and reached across to the bridle of Layne’s horse. His massive hand ripped the reins from the outlaw’s grip. Without uttering another word, Benson spurred and started to ride towards the rocky outcrop with the outlaw in tow.
Peters felt his own mount shy as the two others thundered away. He steadied it and then saw the raised bows.
Arrows flew through the air. The whistling sound chilled the bounty hunter. He fired his Winchester. He just had time to see one of the Apaches fall from his pony before half the arrows tore into him and his horse.
A chilling death cry came from the horse.
Peters felt the animal crumple beneath his saddle. When it hit the ground he realized that one of the deadly projectiles had also found his flesh. He lay on the sand with his rifle in his hands. Pain ripped through him. His eyes focused on the arrow protruding from his guts. It was in deep. Too deep ever to be withdrawn without tearing out his innards.
The bounty hunter glanced to his side. He saw the two horsemen fleeing at pace towards the place he knew would protect them as more arrows landed all around his fallen body. Anger swelled inside him. He rose up on his elbow and pushed the rifle lever down and back up again. His finger curled around the trigger and he fired. Again his aim had been true. One of the young Apaches was punched off the back of his pony.
‘I might be finished but I’m gonna take you all to hell with me!’ Peters vowed.
Then the sound of the Apaches’ war chants filled his ears. It was a sound he had heard long ago and had never forgotten.
The riders tore through the dust and heat haze straight at him. He attempted to prime the rifle again but his strength seemed to be leaving him as fast as the blood which pumped from his stomach.
Peters dropped the hefty rifle, drew his Colt and managed to pull its hammer back with his thumb. He blasted at the sound of the approaching warriors. Suddenly the unshod horses rode out of the dust and haze. Their masters forced the animals straight at the helpless bounty hunter.
The unshod hoofs crushed Peters’ body deep into the sand. The Apaches continued on to chase Benson and Layne towards the distant rocks. Riding with their legs gripping and guiding the ponies’ bodies, the Apaches used their bows to keep the arrows shooting at the pair ahead of them.
What was left of Snake Peters on the blood-splattered sand behind them, was dead.