Drifter 4 Read online

  Savage fired at Eldred and the slug took him high in the chest. The Yellow Boy roared again and the bullet struck near the first, this time knocking him on his ass.

  He just sat there slumped forward, a line of bloody drool seeping from his mouth.

  Savage climbed down from his horse and walked over to check them. Even though Eldred was sitting up, he was dead, and Roy, missing part of his skull, being dead was a given. There was no mistaking that. Waymore, however, still had life in him.

  He was on his back moaning and trying to hold his guts in. The slug had ripped a ghastly hole in his stomach and the loops of his intestines had started to ooze through.

  He looked up at the Drifter with pain-filled eyes and said hoarsely, ‘You gotta … help me, stranger.’

  ‘You fellers would have killed me,’ Savage snorted. ‘Why the hell should I help you?’

  ‘It was … Roy’s idea,’ Waymore pleaded. ‘He said we … we should steal your horse.’

  Waymore coughed, a wet, hacking sound that sent his body into a shudder.

  ‘God, that hurts. Surely you can do …’

  He got no further before the slug from the Yellow Boy smashed into his forehead and ended his suffering.

  Savage looked down into the hillbilly’s sightless eyes and said curtly, ‘I guess I’m gettin’ soft with age.’

  Two

  ‘Aww, hell,’ Savage cursed bitterly. ‘Shoot me now.’

  It had been an hour or so since the incident with the three would-be killers and the pinto was picking its way along the narrow, rocky trail when it balked at an unseen threat.

  At first, Savage saw only trees and rocks. Tall pines and short clumps of brush dispersed amongst rock outcrops and the sand-colored boulders.

  The Yellow Boy was in Savage’s right hand resting across the saddle. He thumbed back the hammer, thankful he’d taken the time to reload it after the earlier action.

  His brown eyes scanned the landscape, looking for whatever it was that made his spine tingle. Last time it was hillbillies. This time something told him he wasn’t going to be so lucky.

  The emergence of an Apache warrior from the trees to his left proved that the feeling was right. Savage shifted the Yellow Boy so that the muzzle of his weapon settled upon the Indian’s muscular chest, partially visible under a stained and faded shirt.

  ‘You would kill a friend?’ Cochise asked him.

  ‘That depends,’ Savage said honestly. ‘Are you here as a friend?’

  The Apache chief nodded. ‘I do not wish to kill you.’

  Savage moved the Yellow Boy and lay it across his thighs. ‘I met your sons a few days ago. The young one impressed me greatly.’

  He was talking about Naiche and the toughness he’d showed in the face of adversity.

  ‘My sons told me about you,’ Cochise allowed. ‘Thank you. Now I will ask you to come with me.’

  ‘I got plans,’ Savage told the Apache chief. ‘I’m headed to Albuquerque.’

  ‘I need your help, Jeff Savage,’ Cochise pushed him. ‘Lives depend on it.’

  ‘Whose lives?’

  ‘The lives of the white captives we have,’ Cochise informed him. ‘Whether they live or die is up to you.’

  Savage’s blood ran cold. It was an ultimatum. Come with us or the hostages will die.

  ‘It sounds as though I don’t have much of a choice,’ the Drifter said resignedly.

  ‘There is always a choice, Jeff Savage,’ Cochise told him. ‘But which one do you want to make?’

  The Apaches were camped three miles off the main trail in a secluded location that had fresh water and all the food they required. They had built numerous wickiups around the campsite, but the one thing that Savage noted was the absence of women and children.

  ‘They are not here,’ Cochise said, reading Savage’s mind. ‘They are in Mexico.’

  ‘Why is my help so important to you?’ Savage asked the chief.

  ‘It has to do with Mangas Coloradas,’ Cochise explained.

  ‘What about him? He’s dead.’

  ‘Wait,’ Cochise ordered him and then spoke to one of his warriors who immediately turned away and walked off.

  A few moments later he returned with two people. A man and a woman, both disheveled, the woman’s dress looking a little worse for wear.

  ‘Are these them?’ Savage asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Cochise said, nodding.

  Savage fixed his gaze on them. ‘Are you OK?’

  They nodded and the woman asked, ‘Are you here to take us home?’

  Savage could see the fear in her eyes. ‘Not just yet. Apparently, there is somethin’ I must do first before we get that far. What are your names?’

  They told him what he wanted to know then went on to tell him about the stage they had been traveling on.

  Savage looked at the chief. ‘Where do I come in?’

  Cochise nodded at the man he now knew as Jake Tobin. ‘He will tell you.’

  Savage let his eyes linger on Tobin’s face. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I know where the head of Mangas Coloradas is,’ he said.

  ‘You what?’ Savage asked, not sure that he’d heard him right.

  ‘His head,’ Tobin repeated. ‘I know where the head is. Or rather who does.’

  Savage still didn’t quite grasp what he was being told. He knew the rumors. The great Apache chief had been murdered back in ’63 by soldiers. It was said that his head had been removed for experimental purposes. Other than that, he knew very little.

  ‘How do you know?’ Savage asked him.

  ‘I was there,’ Tobin answered. ‘I – I saw it happen.’

  ‘Saw what happen?’

  ‘I saw them kill him,’ Tobin explained. ‘I saw them jab him with hot bayonets and then shoot him down. The surgeon that was there was the one who cut off …’

  His voice trailed away.

  Savage turned to face Cochise. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘Bring me his head,’ Cochise answered. ‘Bring it back to be buried with the rest of him.’

  Savage’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that all? Just go out there and find a head?’

  Cochise nodded.

  ‘You gotta help us, mister,’ the woman named Suzy pleaded. ‘They said they’d kill us if’n you don’t.’

  ‘Of course, I’m goin’ to help you,’ Savage snapped. ‘There was never any doubt about that.’

  He saw relief come to both of their faces. He looked again at the Chiricahua chief. ‘Where am I supposed to take this head to? Providin’ I can find it, that is.’

  ‘To the Dragoon Mountains.’

  ‘Christ,’ Savage swore bitterly. ‘You want it taken to Arizona Territory?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cochise grunted.

  A few more expletives escaped the Drifter’s lips. He looked at Tobin and the disheveled Suzy.

  ‘All right, I’ll do it,’ he told the Apache. ‘If I can find it, I’ll take it to the Dragoons. If I can find it.’

  Cochise’s voice grew cold. ‘You will find it, and you will kill the man responsible.’

  ‘Whoa. Hang on a minute,’ Savage told the chief. ‘I ain’t agreed to kill no one. I said I would find the head, that’s all.’

  ‘If you will not kill him, then bring him to us,’ Cochise demanded. ‘We will do it.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘You already know answer to that.’

  Savage shook his head once more.

  Cochise snapped a few words at one of his warriors who then disappeared momentarily before returning with another. The second warrior was tall and his torso rippled with defined muscle tone.

  His cold, black eyes studied Savage with undisguised contempt.

  ‘Who’s the tree?’ the Drifter asked.

  ‘His name is Bipin,’ Cochise answered, using the Apache name for forest.

  Knowing this, Savage nodded and said, ‘It suits.’

  ‘He will go with you,’ Cochise told him.


  Surprise showed on Savage’s face. His expression then changed to reveal his displeasure. He growled, ‘The hell he is.’

  ‘He will go with you,’ Cochise said in a firm voice. ‘You have no choice.’

  That much was obvious to Savage. ‘He ain’t goin’ dressed like that.’

  ‘He will wear something more …’ Cochise searched his mind for the right word. ‘More white.’

  ‘Just as long as I don’t get strung up for havin’ him along. You know how things are at the moment with the Apache and whites at each other’s throats.’

  Cochise shrugged. ‘I’m sure you will overcome.’

  ‘Yeah, or I’ll be dead.’

  Later that evening, Savage was sitting with his back against a large rock, talking to Tobin. The chill air pricked at his exposed skin. Overhead in the clear, night sky, millions of sparkling diamonds illuminated the dark canvas.

  ‘Where do I find this surgeon you were talking about?’ Savage asked. ‘And what’s his name?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tobin whispered, afraid he would be overheard.

  Savage’s face grew hard in the flickering, orange glow of the firelight. ‘You what?’

  ‘What I mean is, I do know that the surgeon took it,’ Tobin explained.

  ‘Where’s he at?’

  ‘I don’t know that either.’

  Savage gave him a bewildered look.

  ‘I know who will though,’ Tobin added quickly. ‘The sergeant who killed him. He’s at Fort Selden.’

  ‘What good is that to me?’ Savage asked.

  ‘It’s a place to start,’ Tobin pointed out.

  ‘Too bad for you if it’s no good,’ Savage said. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Turner. Clem Turner. You know you could always tell the cavalry and they can come get us.’

  ‘Get you killed you mean,’ Savage told him. ‘Besides, Cochise ain’t goin’ to hang around here while I’m gone. He’ll head on over to Arizona. To the Dragoons. Your best chance at survivin’ is if I can get this head back. Yours and the woman’s.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Tobin said and climbed to his feet. ‘I’m goin’ to turn in.’

  ‘Don’t wander too far,’ Savage warned him.

  ‘Where could I go?’

  Savage watched him move away from the fire-glow.

  ‘How do we know that you won’t just up and leave us to die?’ Suzy asked as she walked out of the darkness.

  Looking at her the Drifter said, ‘You don’t.’

  ‘For all we know you might leave and never look back.’

  Savage shook his head. ‘Not me. If I say I’m goin’ to do somethin’ I generally do it.’

  Suzy closed the gap between them and in the firelight, Savage couldn’t help but notice the swell of her breasts.

  She saw him looking and smiled. ‘At a time like this and you’re checking me over like a prize horse at a sale.’

  He dropped his gaze as embarrassment overcame him. Then he looked up to see her standing over him.

  Suzy opened what remained of her bodice to show him her breasts. Their milky whiteness turned amber in the flickering glow of the fire. Her rose-colored nipples stood proud in the cool, night air.

  She lowered herself onto his lap and fumbled with his pants.

  Savage reached up to push her off but his urges began to override his inner turmoil. Instead, he felt himself begin to respond.

  When he sprang free of his blue, cavalry pants she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. ‘Relax.’

  He grunted as she mounted him; her warmth all enveloping.

  ‘What are you doin’?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘Makin’ sure you come back for me,’ she said breathlessly, starting to rock slowly.

  Savage swallowed hard. ‘I … ahh … I …’

  ‘Yes?’ Suzy half moaned and thrust her breasts at his face.

  ‘I … I don’t think …’ he stammered as he closed his eyes at the sensations coursing through his body.

  ‘Yes?’ Suzy gasped. This time her voice was more urgent, the rhythm of her movements quickening. ‘Damn it, yes.’

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ Savage growled as he felt himself rise to his peak and tumble over the edge.

  They both shivered violently from their own releases, Savage’s growl met by Suzy’s own.

  When she came back down she rested her head on Savage’s shoulder, panting. Between gasps, she said, ‘Damn, cowboy. That was quick. I ain’t never had that happen so fast before. But never you mind none. There’s more where that came from.’

  ‘Just give me a chance to catch my breath, will you?’ Savage said.

  Suzy lowered her hand and grasped at his flacid manhood. She started to massage it back to life and once she’d succeeded she said seductively, ‘You’ll have to catch it later.’

  Three

  It took two days for the riders to reach Fort Selden. Late in the afternoon, the setting sun had turned the gathering of reddish-brown adobe buildings to a deep orange. The Fort had been constructed to provide travelers with protection from bandits and Indians. It was twelve miles north of Las Cruces and was established in 1865 not far from the Rio Grande River.

  Bipin had remained silent for most of the ride. Now, apart from his leggings, he wore a faded cotton shirt, a Bandolero of ammunition across his chest and a hatchet and knife tucked into his belt. He also carried a battered Spencer carbine which Savage presumed had once belonged to a soldier.

  ‘You want to wait here while I go and have a word with the man in charge?’ Savage asked the big Apache.

  The blank stare on Bipin’s face said it all.

  ‘I guess you’re comin’ then,’ Savage commented. ‘This should be interestin’.’

  When the pair rode into the fort, the first thing Savage noticed was that most of the soldiers were colored. He’d heard of these regiments during the war but had never seen one until now.

  A big sergeant approached the two riders as they crossed the parade ground on tired horses. He came to a halt in front of their horses, effectively blocking their path.

  ‘No savages allowed on the post,’ he growled in a deep voice.

  ‘What about him?’ Savage asked, indicating Bipin.

  The sergeant looked confused.

  ‘I want to speak to your commanding officer,’ Savage told him.

  ‘And I told you that no savages were allowed on post,’ the sergeant grated.

  ‘It’s a good thing that he isn’t then ain’t it, sergeant,’ Savage said.

  The sergeant opened his mouth to speak when a voice shouted, ‘Sergeant Washington! What’s that damned savage doing on my post?’

  The Negro sergeant rolled his eyes before turning to face the white officer who was approaching.

  ‘I was just explainin’ the rules of the post, sir,’ Washington said.

  The officer, a colonel, stopped beside the sergeant and spoke in sharp tones.

  ‘You can stay,’ he said to Savage. ‘But that murdering bastard you have with you has to go or I’ll lock him up.’

  ‘We won’t be here long, Colonel,’ Savage told him. ‘I just want to ask you a couple of questions and we’ll be gone.’

  The officer looked pointedly at Bipin. ‘He’ll be gone now.’

  Savage shook his head at the officer’s stubbornness.

  When Bipin didn’t move the colonel barked, ‘Sergeant, get him off my post!’

  ‘Try it sergeant and he’ll kill you,’ Savage warned.

  Washington stopped abruptly, uncertainty on his face.

  ‘Shoot the damned savage then, sergeant,’ the colonel barked.

  ‘Try it and I’ll kill you,’ the Drifter said with a mirthless grin.

  ‘By Christ, I’ll not stand for this on my post,’ the colonel fumed.

  Before it got any further out of control, Savage said to Bipin, ‘You need to wait outside the fort before these two start somethin’ that they can’t finish.’

  The big Apache gru
nted and turned his wiry Mustang around and rode away.

  ‘Is that satisfyin’ enough for you, Colonel?’ Savage asked, aware for the first time that the small disturbance had attracted some onlookers.

  The color that was in the officer’s cheeks started to fade as he calmed down some. He nodded abruptly and asked, ‘What is it you want? Make it quick and then leave.’

  ‘You got a sergeant here by the name of Clem Turner?’

  ‘I do,’ the officer allowed. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d like to ask him about certain events that occurred a spell back if I can?’

  ‘What kind of events?’

  ‘It’s to do with the death of a friend of mine a few years ago,’ Savage lied. ‘I was told he was there. He might be able to shed some light on what happened.’

  The look of disbelief was obvious and the colonel thought about it for a long moment. He asked, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Jeff Savage.’

  ‘I’m Colonel Bartholomew Best,’ the officer said. ‘I’m commander here at Fort Selden. If you come across to my office I’ll send for Sergeant Turner and you’ll be able to ask your questions.’

  ‘I’d sure appreciate it, Colonel.’

  Best nodded. ‘There’s a hitch rail near my office and a water trough too. You can tie your horse there. Sergeant Washington, get Turner.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The colonel’s office was small to the point of being cramped. It had a potbellied stove in the corner for heating in the cold winter months, along with a desk and two chairs. In the opposite corner to the stove was a filing cabinet.

  ‘Welcome to Fort Selden, Savage,’ Best said as he took a seat. ‘Home of the 38th Infantry. For the moment.’

  Savage remained silent.

  ‘Where did you find the Apache that rides with you?’ Best inquired.

  ‘He’s kind of on loan,’ Savage replied.

  Best was confused. ‘He what?’

  ‘Cochise gave him to me.’

  ‘You know that murdering bastard?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘My God, I’d like to get my hands on him,’ Best snapped. ‘Where is he?’