The Ghost of Apache Creek

Chapter 20

Jeptha and Enoch Santee were camped north of Requiem in a stand of wild oak and pines tall enough to brush the stars.

The hunt for Jess had worn them out and they were dirty, tired, and mean enough to kill anybody or anything just for the hell of it.

“Damn it, Enoch, there it goes again,” Jeptha said.

“I hear it.”

“You reckon it’s Apaches?”

“If they was close enough for us to hear their flute, they’d know we were here. And if they knowed we were here, we’d be dead.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ain’t we gonna find out? Maybe the girl is with the flute player. Women cotton to . . . what do you call them?”

“Musicians.”

“We got to find that damn . . . musician, Enoch. I’m pretty sure we’ll find the girl with him.”

“I’m studying on it.”

Enoch, a huge, bearded man with matted hair hanging over the shoulders of his buckskin jacket, poured himself coffee, rolled a cigarette, then said, “This here’s how I figure it—”

“Tell me, Enoch. If we don’t find that uppity gal, Pa’s gonna kill us.”

“I’m about to tell you if you’ll keep your big trap shut long enough.”

“Sorry, Enoch.”

The big man lit his cigarette with a brand from the fire, then said, “The way I figure it, that flute playing is coming from a cabin nearby. It could be a farmer and his old lady, and maybe the girl came on the place and she’s still there.”

“So we’re gonna find out, huh?”

Enoch grinned, black teeth in a foul-smelling mouth. “Sure we’re gonna find out. I can smell women on the wind and I reckon we’re gonna have us some fun before this night is out.”

“What about their menfolk?”

“What about them?”

Jeptha thought about that, but couldn’t find an answer that would not draw his brother’s wrath.

In the end, Enoch answered the question for him. “We gun ’em, you idiot. Then we grab the women and do some humpin’.”

“You got it all planned,” Jeptha said, pleased.

“That’s because I’m smarter than you and a sight more refined.” Enoch rose to his feet. “Piss on the fire, then saddle up.”

“Damn, it ain’t a cabin; it’s a town, Enoch,” Jeptha said.

“I can see it’s a damned town.”

“But there’s nobody to home.”

“There’s a light down there.”

“If that’s where the girl took shelter, we’ll never be able to find her. We can’t gun a whole goddamned town.”

“Who says we can’t? Kill a few people, and then tell the rest we’ll kill a few more if’n they don’t hand over . . . what’s her damned name?”

“Jessamine, Pa calls her.”

“Yeah, Jessamine.”

“Do we wait for first light?” Jeptha said.

He was a youth with a slack mouth, a face covered in yellow-tipped pimples, and the dull eyes of an ox.

“No, we won’t wait. We’ll ride down now and take a look-see. Catch them folks early when they’re still half asleep and won’t put up a fight.”

“Enoch, can I do some of the killin’?” Jeptha said. “Seems like it’s always you and Pa does the killin’.”

Jeptha smiled. “Sure you can, boy. Do all the killing you want.”

“A woman? I’ve never killed me a woman afore.”

“Sure.”

“I want a pretty one with bows in her hair, the kind that don’t ever want to talk to me.”

“Plenty of those around.”

“Then maybe I’ll make it two. I ain’t never screwed a pair of gals with ribbons and gunned them when I got through.”

Enoch kneed his horse into motion.

“There’s a first time for everything, boy,” he said. “Let’s go.”