‘A long way from here, Colonel.’

  Best was about to press the point when Sergeant Clem Turner entered the office. He was a middle-aged man with slightly graying hair.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ he asked Best.

  ‘Not me, sergeant. Savage here.’

  Turner shifted his gaze to look at the Drifter. He took in everything about Savage’s appearance and frowned as he asked, ‘Do I know you?’

  Shaking his head, Savage said, ‘Nope.’

  ‘What can I do for you then?’

  ‘I want to ask you about Fort McLane,’ Savage said and waited for a reaction.

  He had to hand it to him, Turner kept his face relatively calm. His eyes, however, gave it away. A flicker told Savage that this was the right man.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Turner said.

  ‘You were at Fort McLane the day they brought Mangas Coloradas in,’ Savage said.

  Shaking his head, Turner said, ‘Nope. You must have me confused with someone else.’

  ‘What’s this all about, Savage?’ Best asked, realizing that all was not as it seemed.

  Savage ignored him and stared at Turner briefly before continuing, ‘I know you were there, Turner. I also know that you were the one who shot Mangas in the head. Under orders of course.’

  ‘Is this true, sergeant?’ Best asked.

  The Drifter thought Turner would lie but instead, he said, ‘It’s true, sir.’

  Best smiled. ‘Good man. Well now. Isn’t that something?’

  ‘Why are you wantin’ to know anyway?’ Turner asked caustically. ‘We did the territory a favor that night by killin’ that bastard.’

  ‘I’m lookin’ for his head,’ Savage explained, ignoring his previous comment.

  Shock registered on both men’s faces.

  ‘I was told you would know where it was or who had it,’ Savage continued.

  ‘Who said that?’ Turner snapped.

  ‘Feller called Tobin. He saw what happened. He was there.’

  ‘I have no idea where it is,’ the sergeant said quickly, wanting this interrogation to be over.

  ‘What about the surgeon? The feller who cut it off. Where can I find him?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if I don’t find it, two people will die.’

  Right before he spoke, Savage saw the change in his eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

  The Drifter moved forward swiftly and grabbed the startled man by the shirtfront. ‘Where is he you lyin’ sack of shit? Two people will die if you don’t tell me where he is.’

  ‘That’s enough, Savage,’ Best barked. ‘He says he doesn’t know.’

  Retaining his hold, Savage snarled, ‘He’s lyin’, Colonel.’

  ‘Let him go, Savage, before I shoot you,’ Best warned. And then Savage heard a gun hammer going back.

  He turned his head and looked at Best. The colonel stood there with a six-gun rock-steady in his fist.

  ‘Let the man go,’ Best ordered.

  Savage released Turner and stepped back.

  ‘Sergeant, get some men and have Savage escorted from the fort,’ Best snapped. ‘He’s finished here.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Turner said and hurried from the room.

  ‘I need to know, Colonel. People will die if I can’t complete my mission.’

  ‘Not my problem,’ he said dismissively.

  Turner returned with two negro troopers and Best snapped abruptly, ‘Escort Savage from the fort. Make sure he doesn’t return. At all.’

  It was dark when they emerged from the office and already the heat of the landscape was dissipating quickly into the clear night sky.

  One of the privates grabbed up the reins of the pinto and passed them to Savage.

  ‘I’ll take it from here,’ Turner said to them.

  ‘But the colonel said …’ one of them started to protest.

  ‘Just shut up and go away, boy,’ Turner growled derisively.

  ‘Is there a problem here?’ Washington asked as he emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Get lost, Washington,’ Turner growled. ‘This ain’t nothin’ to do with you.’

  ‘You men go about your business,’ Washington told the two privates. ‘I’ll help out here.’

  ‘I don’t need no help from the likes of you or your men, Washington,’ Turner snapped.

  ‘And you’ll treat my men with the respect they deserve,’ Washington said in a low voice.

  ‘The only thing your men deserve is to be livin’ out there with the savages.’

  The infantry sergeant turned away and walked off, leaving the obvious animosity behind him.

  ‘Now, let’s get you off the post,’ Turner said, drawing his sidearm. I always knew someone would come lookin’ one day.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Savage asked. ‘Everybody knows the rumors about the head.’

  ‘Move,’ Turner snarled.

  Savage walked towards the perimeter leading the pinto. Once they were clear, the Drifter stopped.

  ‘Keep walking,’ Turner ordered.

  A cold shiver ran down Savage’s back as he realized what the sergeant had in mind. The man meant to kill him. But why?

  ‘You plan on killin’ me because I came lookin’ for a head, sergeant?’ Savage asked.

  ‘Somethin’ like that,’ Turner allowed.

  They walked further into the night, dimly lit by the crescent moon overhead.

  Turner stopped him. ‘That’s far enough.’

  ‘Are you sure you really want to do this?’ Savage asked him.

  ‘Got no choice,’ Turner replied.

  Savage frowned. There it was again. Why no choice.

  ‘Where’s the doctor?’

  ‘You don’t need to know,’ Turner sneered and raised his six-gun.

  Savage braced himself for the killing shot.

  ‘If you pull that trigger, Turner, I’ll kill you for it,’ Washington’s voice came from the surrounding darkness.

  A small sense of relief washed over Savage.

  ‘Go away, Washington, and mind your own damn’ business or I’ll shoot you too.’

  ‘Put the gun down, Turner,’ Washington warned him. ‘You haven’t gone too far, yet.’

  Like a wraith, Bipin suddenly emerged from the darkness. He snaked his arm around Turner’s forehead and with his other hand placed the razor-sharp point of his knife against the sergeant’s throat.

  ‘Bipin, wait!’ Savage snapped urgently.

  ‘I kill him,’ came the guttural reply.

  ‘No! He needs to tell us where to find the doctor or we can’t find what we want,’ Savage said.

  By this time, Washington had his own six-gun out.

  ‘Let him go, Redskin,’ he ordered. ‘Or I’ll plant a slug in you.’

  ‘Wait,’ Savage urged Washington.

  ‘Talk,’ Bipin ordered Turner.

  ‘I got nothin’ to say to you,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

  The Apache warrior applied more pressure to the knife so that it pierced the skin. ‘Talk or die.’

  Turner remained silent.

  The warrior added more pressure and blood started to run.

  ‘All right! All right!’ Turner shouted. ‘He’s in Mesilla.’

  ‘Doin’ what?’ Savage snapped.

  ‘Doctorin’.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Patterson.’

  ‘What about the head?’

  ‘I don’t know nothin’ about it,’ Turner said in a frightened voice.

  ‘Wait a minute, what head?’ Washington asked hurriedly.

  ‘Have you ever heard about the head of Mangas Coloradas, sergeant?’ Savage asked.

  ‘Only rumors around the fort,’ Washington allowed. ‘But that’s all they are, aren’t they?’

  There was a heavy silence.

  ‘You mean it wasn’t? You mean it really happened?’

  ‘Yeah, it did,’ Savage confirmed.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Washington gasped.

  ‘He was a red son of a bitch who murdered white folks,’ Turner snarled.

  There was a wet sound as blood gushed and ran down the sergeant’s front. Bipin had heard enough and dragged the finely-honed knife-blade across Turner’s throat, opening a ghastly wound.

  He then let the body fall and it jerked spasmodically as it bled out.

  ‘What the hell,’ Washington blurted out in shock.

  Before he could recover, Savage moved and placed himself between the two men.

  ‘Just hold up before you do anythin’ stupid, sergeant,’ Savage warned. ‘I’d say he got off lightly. If the Apache hadn’t killed him then I just may have. After all, he was goin’ to kill me and you.’

  ‘What makes you say he was goin’ to kill me?’ Washington snapped in anger.

  ‘Do you think that he was going to kill me then let you just wander back into Fort Selden and tell your colonel about it?’ Savage said. ‘Think about it man.’

  Washington knew that Savage was right of course. If Turner had killed the Drifter then he, of course, would be dead too.

  ‘Christ!’ he hissed vehemently and put his gun away. ‘You two get the hell outta here and I’ll take care of this.’

  ‘How?’ asked Savage.

  ‘I’ll have a couple of men I can trust get rid of the body,’ Washington explained. ‘When he is missed, I’ll report seeing him riding off. It’ll look like he’s deserted. It’ll be fine, he wasn’t much liked around here anyway.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re bein’ straight with me about that head, yeah?’ Washington asked. ‘About what happened?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘All right, get gone.’

  ‘Thank you, sergeant.’

  Four

  Mesilla was a half-day ride from Fort Selden and it wasn’t quite mid-afternoon when they reached its outskirts. The adobe constructions stood in stark contrast against the landscape before them, as they halted their horses to observe the town.

  ‘It might pay for you to wait outside of town,’ Savage told Bipin.

  ‘I come,’ he grunted in a deep tone.

  ‘All I aim to do is find out where the doctor lives and ask him a few questions,’ Savage explained. ‘That’s all. Maybe buy us a few supplies.’

  ‘I come,’ the Apache warrior insisted.

  ‘No, Damn it! You wait out here. Once I’m done I’ll be back.’

  Without waiting for a response Savage heeled the pinto forward and rode into Mesilla.

  The stares were openly suspicious. He could understand that, considering he was a stranger in town. But there was something else. Something told Savage that scratching the surface would expose a hidden truth.

  The Pinto walked lazily along the street past many stained Adobe buildings. He wasn’t far into town and had already passed three cantinas.

  Outside one he saw a young Mexican woman in a black dress with red frills. She blew him a kiss in the hope he would stop, and when he didn’t, she spat in the dust of the street and sent a string of choice words after him.

  Savage ignored the outburst and kept moving.

  He decided to get supplies first and drew the horse up to a hitch rail outside a squat building adorned with a sign that said: Trader.

  Inside was dim and a single lamp struggled to illuminate the space but managed to cast its dull light throughout part of the store. Savage made his way to the counter and the short man behind it asked him, ‘What can I do for you, stranger?’

  ‘Need some supplies,’ Savage told him. ‘Beans, bacon, coffee, the usual stuff.’

  The man nodded. ‘Sure. Not stopping at all? Just passing through?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘Probably best,’ his throw-away comment puzzled Savage.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Savage asked.

  ‘The new sheriff isn’t a likable character if you know what I mean.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He’s a bit rough on strangers to town,’ the store owner supplied. ‘Both him and his deputies. I only tell you this to warn you of what happened to the last stranger who passed through wearing clothes like yours.’

  ‘By wearin’ clothes like mine, you mean …?’

  ‘The blue britches and shirt.’

  Savage nodded. He’d been meaning to buy new clothes for an age now, and it seemed that this would be the time to do just that.

  ‘What have you got in the way of duds?’ he asked the owner. ‘Seems to me it might be wise to get me some new ones.’

  ‘What size are you?’

  Savage told the man who nodded. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll fix you up.’

  While he was going through the clothing, the door opened and three men walked in. Savage turned to look at them and knew instantly that they were trouble.

  ‘What have we got here?’ the big man in front asked. ‘Stranger in town.’

  Savage looked him over. He was solidly built with dark hair and a week’s worth of stubble sprouting from his face. He wore a Remington six-gun on his left hip.

  Those with him looked just as untidy as their leader. They both held Henry rifles canted across their bodies.

  What drew Savage’s undivided attention, however, were the badges pinned to their chests.

  ‘I take it that you fellers are the law,’ Savage observed.

  ‘You got it in one,’ a deputy sneered.

  ‘What are you doin’ in town?’ the big man asked.

  ‘And you’d be the sheriff?’ Savage proposed.

  ‘I am,’ he acknowledged. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Jeff Savage,’ Savage answered.

  ‘Are you the feller that people have been callin’ “Drifter”?’

  Savage shrugged. ‘I don’t know, have they?’

  ‘Don’t smart-mouth me saddle-bum,’ the sheriff snapped.

  Suddenly there was a commotion outside, an uproar that served to draw the lawman’s attention away from the situation that Savage thought was headed down a bad path.

  ‘What in the hell is all that damned noise out there?’ the sheriff snarled. ‘Buck, get out there and see what on earth is goin’ on.’

  ‘Sure, Jess,’ the deputy named Buck acknowledged then turned and walked towards the door.

  The sheriff turned back to face Savage and said, ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘You were about to welcome me to your little town,’ Savage said with sarcasm.

  ‘He’s a bit of a smart ass, Jess,’ the remaining deputy observed.

  ‘Yeah, well, he ain’t goin’ to smart-mouth us much longer,’ Jess growled. ‘Get on your horse and keep ridin’.’

  ‘As soon as I do what I came here to do,’ Savage said defiantly.

  ‘And what might that be?’ Jess asked abruptly.

  ‘I’m here to see Doc Patterson,’ Savage told him.

  Jess looked at him suspiciously. ‘What do you want to see him for?’

  ‘My business,’ Savage said in a blunt tone.

  ‘The hell you say,’ the Mesilla sheriff scowled, taking a threatening step forward.

  Savage dropped his hand to his six-gun.

  ‘Hey, Jess,’ the deputy called in through the open front door. ‘You’d best get out here and take a look at this. Some fellers have gone and caught themselves a damned redskin.’

  Savage felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his guts. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.

  Savage followed the Mesilla sheriff and his deputy outside the store. He watched as they joined Buck in the street along with a gathering crowd. The Drifter moved along the boardwalk a few yards and stopped. He dropped his hand to the butt of the Remington in its holster. He would have preferred the Yellow Boy but it was still on his horse.

  Bipin had been pulled into town behind a chestnut ridden by a rough-looking man with a good growth of whiskers. His face also had what looked to be a mean disposition. The rope that he’d used was attached to his saddle then tied around the Apache’s wrists.

  There were two other men with him. Both looked like they’d been dragged through a briar patch somewhere from the number of holes in their clothes.

  ‘Lookee what we got here, Sheriff,’ the bearded man boasted. ‘A genuine ’Pache son of a bitch. The damned murderin’ devil he is. Almost kilt me tryin’ to capture him.’

  Jess stared coldly at Bipin before turning his gaze to the rider.

  ‘Why in the hell did you capture him?’ he growled. ‘Have you got no common sense, Grigg? Why not just shoot him where you found him?’

  The rider named Grigg let the hostility from the sheriff go over his head.

  ‘We figured he might be part of that bunch who kilt old man Perry and his family over by Miners Wells,’ Grigg explained. ‘Thought maybe you might want to make an eggs … eggs …’

  ‘Example,’ Savage said from where he stood leaning against an awning post.

  Grigg hipped in the saddle and cast a harsh gaze in Savage’s direction. ‘I know what I damned well mean.’

  Savage nodded and remained silent.

  ‘Who the hell are you anyway?’ Grigg scowled.

  Savage shrugged. ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Well, Mr. Nobody, how about you keep your mouth shut.’

  Savage let it ride and Grigg turned his attention back to the Mesilla sheriff.

  ‘Well, do you want the red son of a bitch or not,’ Grigg asked. ‘If you don’t, just say so and we’ll take him outside of town and shoot him there.’

  Savage’s blood turned icy at the callousness of the man. He could pull his Remington and cut maybe two or three of them down in his bid to free the Apache, but after that, they would have him cold. Best to wait.

  The sheriff thought for a moment before saying, ‘Buck, bring him here. We’ll lock him up for a few days before we have a hangin’ party. Give the folks a chance to come to town for it. Give ’em somethin’ to look forward to.’

  The two deputies took the rope from Grigg and straight away the big Apache started to struggle. He grasped the rope and dragged Buck from his feet onto the hard surface of the street. The other deputy moved in on Bipin and the Apache waited until he was close enough before snapping his head forward, catching the white man across the bridge of his nose.

  Blood squirted from the mashed appendage and the deputy staggered back, crying out in pain. Bipin tried to turn and flee but Buck still had hold of the rope.

 

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