Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) Read Online Free Page B

rock where the flames could not reflect upward, although the sky was too light now to show any reflection. Over their coffee they huddled together, each busy with his or her own thoughts. Somewhere behind them, Jennifer thought, would be her father, probably with a dozen men, searching for her ... and somewhere to the east, perhaps near him, were the Indians.
    Jim Beaupre had his own thoughts and they were not attractive. A sheriff's posse was on his trail with hanging on their minds, and even if he were taken back for trial, a possibility which he did not consider likely, it would be doubtful if anyone on the jury would give them a break. Hometown folks were apt to consider such youngsters just harum-scarum boys, not giving due thought to the fact that the guns they carried were fully aged. A drifting buffalo skinner and a half-breed could expect no breaks.
    From time to time Lugo slipped away from the fire to study the surrounding country. The Pima was a good man, and could see things on the desert that only an Indian would see ... an Indian or a man who had lived there as long.
    The sun was just about to tip its eyebrows over the mountain when he called down. "Man coming ... riding alone."
    From the shelter of the rocks they saw the man on the zebra dun. The horse had a fast, shuffling trot and he came on fast, but circling as he came, taking advantage of every bit of cover. At times they saw him, then they did not, but Jim Beaupre muttered something to Lugo, then chuckled. "He's a smart one! Right now he knows exactly where we are, and I bet he knows how many there are! He also knows what shape our horses are in ... see him cuttin' for sign a while back?"
    "He's not very intelligent," Grant Kimbrough said. "From here I could drop him at any time."
    "Maybe, but don't try it. Notice how his rifle lays? My guess is he saw us as soon as we saw him and if you started to lift a gun you'd be combin' lead out of your hair. Right now he's just makin' sure this isn't a trap. I'll lay you an even dollar he gets off on the far side of his horse from where we stand."
    The rider on the dun walked the horse up through the brush and they went down to meet him. Kimbrough was in the lead, and when the dun stopped walking, the Winchester lay across the pommel with the muzzle centered on Kimbrough's chest.
    "How's for some coffee?" Logan Cates asked pleasantly. "I could smell it a quarter of a mile way."
    "Come on in," Kimbrough invited, and Cates swung down, his horse between them, the rifle always ready without being obtrusive. When he was on the ground, Cates led the dun into the trees and after a minute came toward them, carrying his rifle in one hand, his canteens and saddlebags in the other.
    "Picked up a smoke at daybreak," he told them, "and heard shooting off to the south."
    Cates's eyes met Jennifer's and slanted away. He accepted the coffee she offered him, aware of Beaupre's quick glance at the way he wore his gun, and the longer look at his face.
    As he sipped his coffee, Logan Cates tried to make sense of the little group he had joined. That the two parties had arrived separately, he was well aware, but he did not know which was which. Obviously the exhausted horse whose tracks he had seen had been ridden by either the man who first greeted him or the girl ... probably the girl.
    Beaupre explained about the Indians Foreman had encountered and the death of his two friends. "I think we've headed into trouble. The Indians know this place and they'll need water."
    "Best to sit tight, then," Cates advised, "we're safer here than running."
    "My name is Beaupre."
    The hesitation was just enough to be noticed. Jennifer glanced at Logan Cates and he said, looking at her, "I'm Logan Cates."
    Jennifer had heard the name but remembered nothing about it. Beaupre had smiled a little satisfied smile as if pleased with himself. Lonnie started to ask a question, then held his tongue.
    "We're going west," Kimbrough said. "The Indians we've heard