Apache Moon by Len Levinson Read Free Book Online Page B

while Duane and Phyllis held each other's hands tightly and tried to be hopeful. They'd arrived at the residence of somebody important, who presumably would pass judgment.
    A flap of antelope skin at the door to the hut was pushed to the side. Delgado emerged and stoodrespectfully to the side, like a guard at Buckingham Palace. Duane's eyes were drawn to the tent flap, from which a great personage would doubtless come forth. A gnarled brown hand appeared, the flap exploded, and a tall, husky Apache came into view, with the face of a cruel old man, the corners of his mouth turned down. He wore the standard knee-high moccasin boots and white breechcloth, with a blue cavalry officer's shirt and a belt that supported a knife and a pistol of strange manufacture. He peered intently at Duane, who braced himself for the worst.
    The old man opened his semitoothed mouth and delivered an oration in his exotic tongue. Duane didn't know whether it was a welcome to Apache Land or a death sentence. It went on for some time, and Duane glanced at Delgado, to catch a hint of what was being said, but Delgado was expressionless, like a statue carved from mahogany.
    Then the old chief reached forward, and Duane realized with a jolt that he wanted to shake hands. Duane expected a sneaky Apache trick, but all he could do was reciprocate. The old chief clasped Duane's hand warmly in both of his and muttered something unintelligible.
    Delgado interpreted the statement. “He thanks you for saving the life of his grandson, and wants to give you five horses. He is Pinotay, our chief.”
    Duane had no need of five horses, but all he could say was “Tell him that we thank him for his generosity.”

    Delgado relayed the message, and the chief smiled. Then he launched into another oration as the crowd listened devoutly. Once again Delgado interpreted. “He says that you and your woman can stay here as his guest, until the posse stops looking for you. Then you can go on your way.”
    â€œDo you think we could have our guns back?”
    Delgado spoke with the chief, who issued orders. The warrior who'd jabbed his knife into Duane's throat stepped forward, with Duane's Colt jammed into his belt. He drew the gun and protested vigorously. An argument ensued among several warriors, the chief, and Delgado. It appeared that the warrior didn't want to give up the gun.
    Duane looked at Delgado. “What does he say?”
    â€œThat is Gootch, and he says that the gun is rightfully his, since he won it from you.”
    â€œBut he didn't win it from me,” Duane protested. “He stole it from me while I was asleep.”
    Delgado relayed the message, and Gootch jumped up and down furiously, slammed his fist into his palm, glowered at Duane, and issued a statement in a bloodcurdling voice.
    â€œHe says that you have insulted him,” Delgado interpreted. “If you want the gun, you will have to fight him for it.”
    Duane looked at Gootch, who was two inches shorter than he, but with thick corded arms and a barrel chest. He appeared as though he could breakDuane in half, but Duane had fought bigger men before and knew that you had to maintain your distance, pick your shots, and systematically beat them down. But fighting an Apache wouldn't be a mere barroom brawl. Apaches were said to be even worse than Comanches.
    â€œDon't even think about it,” Phyllis cautioned. “You wouldn't stand a chance.”
    Duane felt more like a coward every moment. He looked at Gootch and imagined blood dripping from his fangs. This is the kind of Apache who burns people upside down on wagon wheels. Duane wasn't afraid of white men, because white men had a certain code that he understood, but an Apache was unknowable. He wanted to back down but couldn't say the words.
    Then the chief spoke again and proceeded to deliver another major statement. It went on at some length, and Duane wondered what he was saying. It was like President