Devil's Creek Massacre Read Online Free Page A
Author: Len Levinson
ex-Charleston belle, and decided to marry instead the dashing Lieutenant Clayton Dawes. Now, despite the lieutenant's untimely demise, Duane Braddock continued to occupy a considerable portion of her waking hours.
The former Miss Vanessa Fontaine was by no means inexperienced with men. If the truth be told, she'd slept with too many gentlemen, rogues, and liars, but she'd been weak and helpless on numerous occasions. There'd been mornings, during her saloon singing days, when she'd awakened next to individuals whose names she didn't even remember and, in the cold dawn light, didn't want to remember.
Last thing she'd heard about Duane Braddock, he'd shot a professional gunfighter named Otis Puckett, plus several other people, in Shelby, Texas. Some said Duane was a kill-crazy outlaw, while others claimed he was a decent cowboy who'd stuck up for his rights. When last seen, according to eyewitnesses, the Pecos Kid had been alive and well and headed for the Rio Grande.
Vanessa's home consisted of three large rooms with a small kitchen. She filled a glass half with water, then opened the mahogany cabinet and pulled out a bottle marked LAUDANUM . She poured a shot into the water, then mixed it with a spoon. The contents rolled down her throat; she returned to the sofa and waited for the opium derivative to kick in.
It was her medicine for whatever ailed her, and she was unhappy most of the time. Sometimes she wondered if she could ever exist in the new Yankee world. Vanessa Fontaine was an unrepentant Southerner, a member in full standing of the great Lost Cause, and she missed the old plantation back in South Carolina, with a colonnade of great oaks leading to white Corinthian columns of the main house, while slaves did all the dirty work.
Poppy juice invaded Vanessa's brain; she saw vast fields of fluffy white cottonballs, dashing cavaliers on prancing stallions returning from a hunt, and the orchestra playing chamber music in the gazebo. The lost paradise returned in all its splendor as she languished on the sofa, a faint smile on her curvaceous lips.
CHAPTER 2
T ANDOR THE APACHE SAW THE white eyes lying cold and still in the bushes straight ahead. The white eyes appeared dead, the rifle and pistol lying nearby, blood everywhere. Tandor sang his victory song as he drew closer to the modern new weapons. No longer would he have to load a cartridge every time he wanted to shoot somebody.
Suddenly a fusillade of lead screamed through the air around him. He was so astonished, his song caught in his throat, but in the next second he dived toward the ground. In the distance, a large number of white eyes on horseback were attacking, sending forth terrific volleys of fire! Tandor had been so concentrated on the lone white eyes, he didn't consider that someone might stalking him. He crawled with his nose close to the ground and peered cautiously around a boulder. Fifteen white-eyes riders chargedacross the desert in his direction, firing steadily, and he didn't like the odds. âGet out of here!â Tandor hollered to his comrades.
He leapt to his feet and sped through the underbrush, heading for the horses. His cohorts joined in the mad rush while the air sang with whirring bullets. Blue Feather shrieked in pain as a bullet pierced his spine; he dropped to the ground, but Tandor didn't have time to gather him up.
Tandor ran fleet-footed across the desert and leapt onto his horse. A bullet zipped past his left ear as his horse galloped away. Where did they come from? wondered Tandor bitterly as he rode toward the Apache camp in the hills. And why didn't we see them earlier? He recalled the white-eyes rifle that he couldn't steal; a dark cloud passed over his heart, and he cursed beneath his breath. Maybe, on another day, I'll be the victor and you'll be running from me, if you're lucky, Tandor thought with a grim smile, as his horse scampered across the cactus plain.
Tandor and his warriors had been attacked by a gang of
The former Miss Vanessa Fontaine was by no means inexperienced with men. If the truth be told, she'd slept with too many gentlemen, rogues, and liars, but she'd been weak and helpless on numerous occasions. There'd been mornings, during her saloon singing days, when she'd awakened next to individuals whose names she didn't even remember and, in the cold dawn light, didn't want to remember.
Last thing she'd heard about Duane Braddock, he'd shot a professional gunfighter named Otis Puckett, plus several other people, in Shelby, Texas. Some said Duane was a kill-crazy outlaw, while others claimed he was a decent cowboy who'd stuck up for his rights. When last seen, according to eyewitnesses, the Pecos Kid had been alive and well and headed for the Rio Grande.
Vanessa's home consisted of three large rooms with a small kitchen. She filled a glass half with water, then opened the mahogany cabinet and pulled out a bottle marked LAUDANUM . She poured a shot into the water, then mixed it with a spoon. The contents rolled down her throat; she returned to the sofa and waited for the opium derivative to kick in.
It was her medicine for whatever ailed her, and she was unhappy most of the time. Sometimes she wondered if she could ever exist in the new Yankee world. Vanessa Fontaine was an unrepentant Southerner, a member in full standing of the great Lost Cause, and she missed the old plantation back in South Carolina, with a colonnade of great oaks leading to white Corinthian columns of the main house, while slaves did all the dirty work.
Poppy juice invaded Vanessa's brain; she saw vast fields of fluffy white cottonballs, dashing cavaliers on prancing stallions returning from a hunt, and the orchestra playing chamber music in the gazebo. The lost paradise returned in all its splendor as she languished on the sofa, a faint smile on her curvaceous lips.
CHAPTER 2
T ANDOR THE APACHE SAW THE white eyes lying cold and still in the bushes straight ahead. The white eyes appeared dead, the rifle and pistol lying nearby, blood everywhere. Tandor sang his victory song as he drew closer to the modern new weapons. No longer would he have to load a cartridge every time he wanted to shoot somebody.
Suddenly a fusillade of lead screamed through the air around him. He was so astonished, his song caught in his throat, but in the next second he dived toward the ground. In the distance, a large number of white eyes on horseback were attacking, sending forth terrific volleys of fire! Tandor had been so concentrated on the lone white eyes, he didn't consider that someone might stalking him. He crawled with his nose close to the ground and peered cautiously around a boulder. Fifteen white-eyes riders chargedacross the desert in his direction, firing steadily, and he didn't like the odds. âGet out of here!â Tandor hollered to his comrades.
He leapt to his feet and sped through the underbrush, heading for the horses. His cohorts joined in the mad rush while the air sang with whirring bullets. Blue Feather shrieked in pain as a bullet pierced his spine; he dropped to the ground, but Tandor didn't have time to gather him up.
Tandor ran fleet-footed across the desert and leapt onto his horse. A bullet zipped past his left ear as his horse galloped away. Where did they come from? wondered Tandor bitterly as he rode toward the Apache camp in the hills. And why didn't we see them earlier? He recalled the white-eyes rifle that he couldn't steal; a dark cloud passed over his heart, and he cursed beneath his breath. Maybe, on another day, I'll be the victor and you'll be running from me, if you're lucky, Tandor thought with a grim smile, as his horse scampered across the cactus plain.
Tandor and his warriors had been attacked by a gang of
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