Apache Moon Read Online Free

with Dawes, but she's still a-livin’ in the house right now. They say her daddy was one of the richest planters in South Carolina afore the war.” Mr. Gibson winked lasciviously. “I reckon you'll want to talk withher, Marshal, but you'd better watch yer step. We don't see women like Vanessa Dawes very often in this part of Texas, and yer liable ter fall in love with her, too.”
    The sun kissed the mountain range in the distance, casting long shadows across the sage, as Duane and Phyllis approached a circle of heavy foliage. It looked like a water hole, an ideal spot for an Apache bushwhack. Darkness fell rapidly, and one of the horses might break a leg in a gopher hole if they didn't stop soon.
    They drew closer to the foliage, and Sparky's head appeared beside a clump of strawberry cactus. He was grinning, which meant that the coast was clear. Duane and Phyllis advanced among the trees, and the temperature dropped perceptibly. Ahead, twinkling in the last light of day, was the water hole. Duane held his Colt in his right hand as he glanced about, to make certain no Apaches were creeping up on him. The horses came to a stop in front of the water and lowered their great heads to drink.
    Duane and Phyllis climbed down from their saddles and waited for the horses to finish. It grew darker every moment, and they didn't want to spend the night next to a water hole. They could hear Sparky dashing through nearby underbrush, dutifully scouting the area.

    Duane touched his lips to Phyllis's sweaty forehead, and she melted against him. He touched his palm to her glorious rump.
    â€œDon't get any ideas,” she said.
    â€œIf there are Apaches in the vicinity, I'm sure they would've found us by now.” Reluctantly, he removed his hand. “We'll move off a ways.”
    â€œMaybe we can take a quick bath.”
    Just then Sparky exploded into the clearing, obviously agitated about something. His body shook nervously, he licked his lips, and his eyes seemed to say, Follow me.
    â€œHe's found something,” Duane said. “Let's see what it is.”
    Duane yanked the rifle out of its scabbard, and Phyllis drew her Colt .44. They followed Sparky among Biznaga cactus and Standley rosebushes as the desert grew dark, Venus twinkling impudently in the sky. A coyote yowled in a far-off cave as Sparky plunged ever deeper into the oncoming night.
    Duane's legs felt bowed, after long hours in the saddle, and his high boot heels pushed him forward, giving him a cowboy swagger. Phyllis followed, gazing at his long legs. Despite danger, hardship, and Apaches, she wanted to perform certain acts that could probably get her arrested in Texas. Meanwhile, Sparky stopped at the edge of a reddish-purple Krameria shrub and pointed his nose at the lower branches. Something dark and human was lying among the driedleaves. Duane wouldn't have noticed if Sparky hadn't pointed it out. The Pecos Kid and his woman dropped to their knees beside the shrub. They saw long black pigtails and a buckskin dress covered with blood.
    â€œIt's an Apache squaw,” Duane said. He touched her shoulder and she felt dead. “She must've got hit in the shooting we heard this morning.” He rolled her over and his eyes widened at the sight of a little boy in her arms.
    Phyllis reached for the child, and his skin was warm. He was approximately three or four, wearing his little breechcloth, moccasin boots, and a red bandanna around his head, and he, too, was covered with blood. She pressed her ear against his chest. “He's alive.”
    The boy was well formed, brown as a nut, and limp as a noodle, with his eyes closed. There was no discussion about whether or not to help him. Duane picked him up tenderly and carried him toward the water hole. Phyllis paused a moment with the woman and noticed a necklace lying in the dried blood. The boy might want some memory of his mother someday, Phyllis thought. She untied the leather thong that