Edge: Apache Death

"There are kids in that line."

"People had no right to bring kids into this wilderness," Murray shot back.

Edge lapsed into silence. It was an opinion with which he agreed. One of the leading braves released an arrow. It struck home between the shoulder blades of one of the three Chinese laundrymen in the center of the line of prisoners. His body slumped, dragging against the ropes around the necks of the men at each side of him. The line hesitated, but moved on again as the drum beat continued, uninterrupted, the other Chinese having to carry their dead companion.

"They don't speak our language, but they sure make their meaning clear," Edge said softly.

"And then there were nineteen," the Englishman said lyrically. "One at a time until we open up, sir," Sawyer said in horror.

Murray's young face revealed the same kind of horror, but it was evident to a greater extent, as he struggled with the agony of decision. An arrow swished, through the pregnant air and all at the fort could see the point burst through a woman's throat a moment before she fell, to be immediately scooped up by the man beside her. The line of prisoners was close enough now for the desperation on their faces to be vividly displayed for the defenders.

"Open the goddamn gate, you sonofabitch," a voice called from a turreted position at a comer of the fort.

"Put that man …" Murray began.  

"No, sir!" Sawyer cut in, his tone as hard as rock, his eyes shining with defiance.

Murray's face suddenly blossomed purple with rage and Sawyer stepped back a pace in full expectation of a blow.

"You may live through this, Colonel," the Englishman said softly. "But not for long. Man's got to have sleep."

The familiar, awesome sound of the swishing arrow cut across the verbal silence and a boy of no more than ten years was lifted off the ground by the shaft piercing his back.

"Sergeant Home!" Murray rapped out sharply.

"Sir!"

"Open the gates."

"Not that I think any of us are going to live through it," the Englishman muttered as Sawyer ran down the stairs with Home behind him and both men hurriedly withdrew the big wooden bolts securing the gates.

"Run, out of funny lines, English?' Edge said as he moved to the inside lip of the platform over the opening gates.

"There's a time and a place for everything, Edge," came the reply.

Edge nodded as the gates came wide and the line of prisoners was formed into a V-formation to bring them and their dead inside the opening. The shaman and his drummers held back as the braves closed in, primed bows at the ready to prevent a double-cross.

"It’s almost the time," Edge said, hooded eyes looking down at the heads of the braves as they streamed into the fort. "And this must be the place," he said, launching himself off the platform.

There were gasps from the soldiers on the wall and howls of fury from the braves below as Edge, his legs splayed, thudded on to the back of the horse behind Little Cochise. His razor had been drawn in mid-air and as he made contact with the horse he thrust one arm around the sub-chiefs middle as his other hand went to the throat, pressing the blade against the vulnerable flesh. In the moment it took the Apaches to recover from the shock, Edge had slid over the hindquarters of the pony, jerking Little Cochise with him. Then he did a fast pivot on his heels, dragging the Indian with him, to ensure that both the close guard and their fellows were fully aware of the danger. The slightest movement of Edge's wrist would prevent Little Cochise from becoming any bigger.

The braves began to babble and some offered threatening gestures, but made no move as the Apache in Edge's grasp screamed an order.

"Anyone here talk the same kind of crap as these guys?" Edge shouted.

"Wasn't' on the curriculum at Oxford, old boy," the Englishman called down. "I have trouble understanding some of you Yankees."

But there was no need of an interpreter, for the handsome, young sub-chief with the cruel eyes had already got the message and was shouting orders to his braves. Some moved at once, others hesitated but within a minute of the capture, every Apache except for Little Cochise, had gone back out through the gates.

"Now you can close the gates, Colonel," Edge said easily, still retaining a firm grip on the Apache sub-chief, who submitted without struggle to his indignity.

But Lieutenant Sawyer and Sergeant Home did not wait for the order and slammed the gates hard as soon as the final Indian had gone through.

"Really, Edge," the Englishman said as he descended the stairway from the wall. "If you stand there much longer holding that savage, people will start to talk about you."

"I’ll take him, sir," Sawyer said, drawing his revolver and holding it on Little Cochise.

Murray remained on the wall, watching the slow, reluctant retreat of the Apaches as they headed in a column through the ravaged town. Not until he was sure they were gone, heading east at a gallop, did he detail a platoon to cut free the prisoners.

"Mr. Edge," he called down.