The Ghost of Apache Creek

Chapter 16

Beau Harcourt was worried. It was now full dark and Heap Leggett should’ve gotten back hours ago.

Hell, did the crazy man bushwhack him?

“Did the crazy man bushwhack him, boss?” Ben Trivet echoed Leggett’s thought.

“Ain’t likely,” Harcourt said. “Heap is no pilgrim. He can take care of himself.”

Trivet smiled. “Maybe he found himself a wil-lin’ woman.”

“In a ghost town?”

His slow brain turning, Trivet said, “Maybe a ghost woman.”

“Trivet,” Harcourt said, “you’re an idiot.”

If the puncher was offended, he didn’t let it show.

“You sure the deacon said he’d have his herd here tomorrow?” Harcourt said.

“Them’s his exact words, boss.”

“How does his herd look?”

“A bit winter-worn, but in fairly good shape. It’s mostly young scrubs, maybe only a third of them beeves.”

“The army will pay ten dollars a head, no matter what they are.”

Trivet nodded. “The herd is good enough for Apache beef and most of them are strong enough to make the drive.”

“When he gets here, you’ll take all the hands and drive the deacon’s herd to the Rio Puerco. You’ll meet up with the army there.”

“I take our thousand head along as well?”

“Of course. What do you think I’m gonna do? Leave them here?”

“I dunno, boss.”

Harcourt sighed. “Get out of here, Ben. You’re giving me a goddamned headache.”

Heap Leggett preyed on Harcourt’s mind.

Where the hell was the man?

There was nobody around faster than Heap, and sure as hell the crazy man couldn’t shade him.

Or could he?

Finally, dark or no, he decided to go look for Leggett.

He saddled a good night horse, a slate-colored grulla, and told Trivet and the other riders that if he wasn’t back by sunup to come looking for him.

The moon was full up, the sky ablaze with stars, when Harcourt took the trail to Requiem, coyotes yipping around him in the lilac and silver night.

He rode with his Winchester across the saddle horn, his searching eyes ranging far. Something about the moon-dappled darkness made him uneasy and the wind smelled like lead.

Was he going to find a dead man in a dead town?

Did Leggett discover, too late, that the crazy man was still good with the iron?

Harcourt spat away the bad taste in his mouth and the concern in his belly.

Ol’ Heap had probably found whiskey in one of the saloons and gotten drunk.

Yeah, that was it.

He was drunk, damn him.

And loco Sam Pace was dead.

That was how it could only be. How it had to be.