Twisted Hills (23 page)

Sam ducked down, rifle in hand, and ran in a crouch toward his two watering horses. He got there just in time. A small, bent figure had taken the reins to the two horses and turned to lead them off to the rocky hillside. But this was no warrior, Sam realized at once. It was an ancient relic of a woman in a ragged checked dress and a straw skimmer hat. Upon seeing Sam rise up with his rifle, she stumbled and fell and let go of the horses' reins. With guns roaring behind him, Sam saw that the silence on the desert floor was broken.

Sam had brought his rifle to his shoulder. Yet upon seeing that it was an elderly woman instead of a warrior, he held his shot. He watched as her terrified face looked at him from thirty yards away. She stumbled to her feet, her toothless mouth agape, and scurried off out of sight.

An arrow slid across the ground at Sam's feet. He ducked and swung his rifle in the arrow's direction. Again, he held his shot, seeing a half dozen children racing away like young jackrabbits across stone and brush in the same direction as the old woman. They carried bows and arrows in hand.

Babies . . . ,
Sam told himself. But babies whose arrows could kill a man.

He released a tense breath and hurried to the two horses as they stood milling about where the old woman had turned them loose. Leading the two horses hurriedly back to the crest of rocks surrounding the water hole, Sam kept himself and the animals covered by a large boulder as he called down to Burke and the others.

“Hold your fire,” he shouted. “It's only kids and old folks. They're gone.” He stood in the ringing silence after the final shot was fired. Had there been any question of the Apache across the sand flats knowing they were here, the gunfire had answered it.