Edge: Apache Death

"You've been going to night school," Edge put in. The Englishman was unmoved by the sarcasm. "What you're holding, old boy, is a brass-framed 1866 Winchester one of the first models of its kind to come from New Haven Anus. You load it from the rear, so you can feed in the shells a damn sight faster than a Henry."

"Same cocking action?" Edge asked and jerked the trigger guard down and forward to test it for himself.

"The same," the Englishman confirmed as he finished harnessing the horses and started back toward the stable. "Gun's named for Oliver F. Winchester who runs New Haven Arms."

"As fast?"

"A shot every two and a half seconds it says in the specifications. You could be faster,"

"I am," Edge said softly to the retreating figure, and replaced the rifle in the box seat as he waited for the Englishman to return with another two work horses.

"Would it Interest you to know that Colonel Murray is guarding ten thousand of those rifles?" the Englishman asked when he did reappear.

"I heard about an arms shipment," Edge answered. "Why don't he break them out and issue them?"

"Murray's a soldier by the book, old boy," came the reply as the Englishman coaxed the two lead animals between the shafts. "Rainbow's a supply fort. His job is to distribute the new Winchesters to other forts throughout the territory. And the whole army's been told they can't use the guns against the Indians until Washington decides the uprisings can't be contained by talking. Like I said about the Yankees, talk, talk, talk."

"How d'you know all this; English?" Edge asked.

The gentle smile was highlighted by the moon. "I know a man who knows a man. Played poker with him and he lost." He checked the tension of the bits and sighed with satisfaction.

"Ready to roll?"

"Think so, old boy. If you still have the map."

"I've got it," Edge answered and hoisted himself up on to the box seat, holding out a hand to help the Englishman aboard. But he withdrew it quickly as a rifle shot rang out and wood splintered from the edge of the seat. Before the splinters hit the ground Edge had cocked the Spencer and the Englishman had spun around the double-barreled pistol nestling in his hand.

"Move another inch and you'll both take a step into hell," a voice barked out from the roof of the stage depot, the tone leaving no doubt that the speaker meant what he said.

Edge and the Englishman did as they were told, moving only their narrowed eyes as they saw a line of uniformed figures come erect on the roof. They heard scrabbling sounds on the roof of the lawyer's office behind them and knew they were covered from both directions.

"I think some bastard figured us," Edge said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Spell Drucker with an F," the Englishman answered as the rancher stepped from the alley, beside Colonel Murray.

"Drop your weapons," Murray commanded as Drucker struggled to contain an evil grin of triumph.

They complied and at another command from the army man Edge climbed down easily from the wagon. It was Drucker who came forward, his own guns holstered but confident of the cover provided by the soldiers. He halted first before the Englishman and ran his hands expertly over the elegant suit, searching for other concealed weapons. The bulk of the man seemed to dwarf the Englishman.

"You don't ought to talk so loud in hotels," Drucker taunted.

"I didn't know there were worms in the woodwork," the Englishman retorted with a soft, venomous tone.

The insult failed to provoke Drucker, who moved over to Edge and removed his Colt and the knife but missed the razor. Edge could see the rancher was immune to words so held his peace and fixed the man, with a slit-eyed stare which spoke a thousand threats. But this did not prevent Drucker delving his hand inside Edge's shirt and quickly withdrawing the map, which he transferred to his own shirt while his back was toward the colonel. "Hear there's gold in them there hills," he murmured with a grin.

''I'll arrange for your coffin to be lined with it," the Englishman said as Drucker backed away to stand beside Murray again.

"Mr. Drucker here reported you planned to desert  Rainbow," Murray said gravely. "I've told you already that we can't afford to lose any men, with the Apaches sitting on our doorstep," He glanced up at the stage' depot roof. "Sergeant Horne!" he shouted. "March these men to the stockade and detail a guard. They're to be shot if they attempt to escape."

"Doesn't that rather defeat the object, Colonel?" the Englishman asked as some of the soldiers climbed down from the roof.

"Cowards aren't any use to me," came the response and then the colonel's expression became pensive as he studied both men. "But 1 know you aren't yellow."

"But we just abhor killing," the Englishman said, emphasizing his cultured tones.

"There are exceptions," Edge said, fixing Drucker with a steady stare.

"Let's go," Sergeant Horne ordered, jerking a gun muzzle into Edge's back. He moved forward under the insistence of the pressure.