“No, I’m not a cartographer.”
“But you wrote the numbers on it?”
“I might have.”
“Let’s take a look,” Trask said, grabbing O’Hara by the arm and leading him over to the table. He spread the map out, pointed to a spot marked with an X, west of the San Simon River.
O’Hara stared down at the map with its X’s and numerals.
“That spot there, for instance,” Trask said. “You write down them numbers?”
O’Hara drew in a breath, moved his head as if to clear it.
“Yes, I wrote the numbers there.”
“Is that an Apache camp? One of their hidden strongholds?”
“Yes, it is,” O’Hara said tightly, as if the words were being forced out of his mouth.
“What’s this twenty-five mean? Right under the X, and the number under that, ten?”
O’Hara didn’t answer right away.
“Means twenty-five braves. Number under it designates women and children.”
“Can you find this place?’ Trask said.
“Maybe.”
“Well, you’re damned sure going to, O’Hara,” Trask said.
He turned to Ferguson.
“It’s all laid out here, Hiram. All the Apache camps. We could sneak up on ’em and do what the army won’t do, kill every damned one of ’em.”
“I don’t know if we have enough men, Ben.”
“Won’t take many. We pick up the men you got at those relay stations and swoop down on the camps and clean out every nest of rattlesnakes on this here map.”
“Tall order.”
“We have the advantage,” Trask said.
“How’s that?” Ferguson said.
“The Apaches won’t know we’re coming.”
“What if we run into soldiers?”
“We tell ’em we’re a hunting party. They can’t cover all that ground, and they don’t have the map. We do. And O’Hara here is going to lead us right to them.”
“What if they recognize him?” Ferguson asked.
“I can take care of that, Hiram. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him when I get through with him.”
“What do you mean to do, Ben?”
Trask smiled. “Dress him up like one of my Mexicans, put a sombrero and a serape on him, sandals, dye his hair coal black.”
“It might work.”
Trask looked at O’Hara. He touched a finger to his blond hair.
“You’re going to make one hell of a Mexican, Pedro,” Trask said.
Then he laughed as O’Hara’s eyes sparked with anger.
O’Hara shot out an arm, reached for the map on the table.
Trask drove a fist straight into O’Hara’s temple, knocking him to the floor.
“Don’t get up too quick, O’Hara,” Trask said. “Or I’ll give you an even bigger wallop.” To Cavins he said, “Tie the bastard back up until morning. That’s when we’ll do the decorating and turn this soldier into a peon.”
Ferguson shrank away from Trask, sucked in a breath.
He had seen violence before, but Trask really liked it. The man was like a coiled spring, ready to lash out at anyone who stood in his way. Yes, he wanted the Apaches cleared out of the country, but he began to wonder if he hadn’t made a mistake in bringing Trask out from Santa Fe. The man had a thirst for blood that was insatiable.
Trask fixed Ferguson with a look.
“Don’t worry, Hiram. The end always justifies the means.”
And there was that smile again on Trask’s face.
It sent shivers up and down Ferguson’s spine.
Chapter 12
