thieves, counterfeiters, cutthroats, bank robbers, rapists, assassins, and madmen. Nothing was strange or unusual to him, and sometimes he thought that was why he'd become a lawman, because the darker shadows of life contained iridescent glimmers that he found appealing.
He'd sensed perversity beneath Vanessa Dawes's cool outward reserve, but he'd never sip from that delicious well. The expression in her eyes had been unmistakable. She doesn't find me attractive, and there's not a fucking thing that I can do about it.
He chewed a cheroot in frustration but didn't dare light it. What is it that I lack, he wondered, and how can I get it? Charm isn't something you buy at Gibson's General Store, and I guess you have to be born with it, like Duane Braddock.
Marshal Stowe wasn't bitter about the Pecos Kid's romantic advantages, because a man has to play thehand he's dealt. If I bring Duane Braddock back alive, perhaps Mrs. Dawes will reward me. And with two thousand dollars in my pocket, she might even go to London with me. He turned down the corners of his mouth as he rocked backward and forward on the saddle. Sure she will, Marshal. Don't hold your breath.
The haunch of an animal roasted over the fire, sending savory fragrances spattering into the air. Duane and Phyllis approached as Delgado rose to greet them. âI hope you don't mind horse meat,â said the Apache, a twinkle in his eye.
Duane and Phyllis sat among warriors, women, and mischievous children. The chief wasn't there yet, but Duane spotted, on the far side of the circle, the old crippled man who'd scrutinized him earlier. He sported a scar from his hairline to his chin, evidently struck in the face with a cavalry saber, half closing his left eye permanently. His features were kindly as he nodded to Duane.
Duane nodded back. It was a treacherous world, and he was trying to feel his way. The warriors were silent, and he'd never before felt so alien among other human beings. But were Apaches really human? He turned toward Delgado, who didn't become the leader of the savages because he was reluctant to kill white people.
Delgado grinned, and a beam of firelight glinted off a tooth. âDon't worry, White Eyes. We will not poison you tonight.â
Did he read my mind? Duane wondered, a chill passing up his back. There was something superhuman about them, as though they lived in worlds beyond his comprehension. He placed a protective arm around Phyllis's shoulder, although he couldn't defend her from Apaches. These people can do anything to us they want.
The wickiup flap was pushed aside suddenly, and the old chief appeared, wearing his U.S. Cavalry blue shirt with the gold leaf insignia of a major on the shoulder straps. Everyone rose to greet the chief, who nonchalantly sat at the fire next to the old man with the scarred face and crippled leg.
Duane found himself wondering what had happened to the major, because the Apache chief didn't buy the shirt at a rummage sale. Apaches weren't farmers and owned no factories. If Apaches wanted guns, saddles, or army shirtsâthey stole them.
An old woman emerged from the tent, wearing the same two-piece buckskin billowing blouse and skirt as the other women. Her hair was medium gray, tied with a red bandanna, and she wore a blue bead necklace. Duane thought her picturesque, and she moved with immense grace as she cut slices from the dead horse. No plates, silverware, or napkins were provided, and the table was nonexistent. They're nomads and travel light, Duane realized. That's why the Fourth Cavalry can't catch them. He looked at stars glittering overhead, and the moon appeared to belaughing at him. They roam this beautiful land, and their main problem is us.
Duane held up his hands as a hot slab of meat was handed to him. He nearly dropped it, and a strange succulent odor wafted to his nostrils. He tried to think friendly thoughts, but it was difficult with so many armed savages in attendance. He glanced
He'd sensed perversity beneath Vanessa Dawes's cool outward reserve, but he'd never sip from that delicious well. The expression in her eyes had been unmistakable. She doesn't find me attractive, and there's not a fucking thing that I can do about it.
He chewed a cheroot in frustration but didn't dare light it. What is it that I lack, he wondered, and how can I get it? Charm isn't something you buy at Gibson's General Store, and I guess you have to be born with it, like Duane Braddock.
Marshal Stowe wasn't bitter about the Pecos Kid's romantic advantages, because a man has to play thehand he's dealt. If I bring Duane Braddock back alive, perhaps Mrs. Dawes will reward me. And with two thousand dollars in my pocket, she might even go to London with me. He turned down the corners of his mouth as he rocked backward and forward on the saddle. Sure she will, Marshal. Don't hold your breath.
The haunch of an animal roasted over the fire, sending savory fragrances spattering into the air. Duane and Phyllis approached as Delgado rose to greet them. âI hope you don't mind horse meat,â said the Apache, a twinkle in his eye.
Duane and Phyllis sat among warriors, women, and mischievous children. The chief wasn't there yet, but Duane spotted, on the far side of the circle, the old crippled man who'd scrutinized him earlier. He sported a scar from his hairline to his chin, evidently struck in the face with a cavalry saber, half closing his left eye permanently. His features were kindly as he nodded to Duane.
Duane nodded back. It was a treacherous world, and he was trying to feel his way. The warriors were silent, and he'd never before felt so alien among other human beings. But were Apaches really human? He turned toward Delgado, who didn't become the leader of the savages because he was reluctant to kill white people.
Delgado grinned, and a beam of firelight glinted off a tooth. âDon't worry, White Eyes. We will not poison you tonight.â
Did he read my mind? Duane wondered, a chill passing up his back. There was something superhuman about them, as though they lived in worlds beyond his comprehension. He placed a protective arm around Phyllis's shoulder, although he couldn't defend her from Apaches. These people can do anything to us they want.
The wickiup flap was pushed aside suddenly, and the old chief appeared, wearing his U.S. Cavalry blue shirt with the gold leaf insignia of a major on the shoulder straps. Everyone rose to greet the chief, who nonchalantly sat at the fire next to the old man with the scarred face and crippled leg.
Duane found himself wondering what had happened to the major, because the Apache chief didn't buy the shirt at a rummage sale. Apaches weren't farmers and owned no factories. If Apaches wanted guns, saddles, or army shirtsâthey stole them.
An old woman emerged from the tent, wearing the same two-piece buckskin billowing blouse and skirt as the other women. Her hair was medium gray, tied with a red bandanna, and she wore a blue bead necklace. Duane thought her picturesque, and she moved with immense grace as she cut slices from the dead horse. No plates, silverware, or napkins were provided, and the table was nonexistent. They're nomads and travel light, Duane realized. That's why the Fourth Cavalry can't catch them. He looked at stars glittering overhead, and the moon appeared to belaughing at him. They roam this beautiful land, and their main problem is us.
Duane held up his hands as a hot slab of meat was handed to him. He nearly dropped it, and a strange succulent odor wafted to his nostrils. He tried to think friendly thoughts, but it was difficult with so many armed savages in attendance. He glanced
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