forward several feet. He advanced through the night as silently as the clouds overhead. As he came closer to the Apache on guard, he pulled out his Arkansas toothpick.
The Indian shouted something toward the camp, and one of the ones around the fire lifted a chunk of cooking meat and looked at it, then shouted back. Evidently the Indian was hungry.
Well, Falcon would take care of that.
Falcon moved closer, ever closer, until he was but inches behind the rock the guard had chosen to use as his backrest. The guard sat back down, then leaned back against the rock.
The rock only came halfway up the Indian’s back, which was very good for Falcon’s purposes. Falcon raised up, put his arm around the Indian, and clamped his hand down on the Indian’s mouth.
The Indian tried to shout something, but Falcon had him so clamped down that only a very muted sound escaped.
Falcon drew his knife across the Indian’s neck in one quick slice, severing his jugular. Falcon jerked his hand away as blood gushed from the wound. The Indian fell back, flopped a few times like a fish out of water, then died.
Falcon cut around the base of the Indian’s scalp, then turned him over on his belly. Putting his foot in the middle of the Indian’s back, Falcon grabbed the Indian by his hair, then jerked. The scalp came off cleanly.
Falcon debated for a moment or two as to whether he should take the scalp with him. Then he decided against it. Instead, he cut a coup stick, put the scalp on the stick, then rolled the Indian over on his back and forced open the dead man’s mouth. He then stuck the bottom of the coup stick into the open mouth, using it as a support mount for the stick.
Falcon left then, creeping away as quietly and as carefully as he had arrived.
Let them find their brother, neatly and expertly scalped, with no sign of who did it.
CHAPTER 18
The sun was high overhead, a brilliant white orb in a fixed blue sky. It beat down mercilessly on the four men who rode slowly across the desert floor.
“Hey, Fargo, are you sure you know where we are?” Casey asked.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You sure? ’Cause I don’t want to get lost out here, maybe have somebody find our bones about a hundred years from now.”
Dagen laughed.
“What you think’s so funny?” Casey asked.
“Somebody findin’ our bones a hunnert years from now,” Dagen said.
“I don’t think that’s funny. I don’t think that’s funny a’tall.”
“Will you three shut the hell up? It’s too damn hot to be listenin’ to the three of you palaverin’ all the damn time,” Fargo said.
“Well, I’d like to know just where the hell we are. I mean, we was headin’ north when we left town; next thing you know we started curvin’ aroun’, we was going west for a while; now damn me if it don’t seem we’re goin’ south. If you ask me, we’re just ridin’ in circles. And when a fella starts ridin’ in circles, that means we’re lost.”
“We ain’t lost,” Fargo said. “We’re doublin’ back is all.”
“Doublin’ back? Doublin’ back for what? If you hadn’t shot that son of a bitch back in Mesquite, we wouldn’t have to be out here and we wouldn’t be hot. We’d still be sittin’ in a nice, cool saloon,” Dagen said. “Drinkin’ beer and talkin’ with the women ...”
“And eating,” Monroe said, interrupting Dagen.
“Yeah,” Dagen agreed. “And eating.”
“What the hell did you shoot that son of a bitch for anyway?” Casey asked.
“I told you why I shot him. I thought it was Ponci,” Fargo said.
“What if it had been Ponci and he had hid the money somewhere?” Dagen asked. “Then he would be dead and we wouldn’t have no money, or no idea where it was. Did you think of that?”
“No, I reckon I didn’t,” Fargo admitted. “All I could think of was that the son of a bitch stole money from us and I wanted to kill him.” The four men rode on for a while longer before Dagen spoke again. “Hey, Casey, you got ’nything left to eat? Jerky or somethin’?”
“No.”
“How ’bout you, Monroe? You got ’ny jerky? Anything to eat?”
“I ain’t got nothin’ a’tall left,” Monroe said.
“Well, son of a bitch, I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, me too,” Casey said. “I could damn near eat this saddle.”
“Quit your bellyachin’, all of you,” Fargo said. “Do you think I ain’t hungry? But you don’t hear me bitchin’ about it, do you?”
“Well, what are you goin’ to do about it?” Dagen asked.
