Inexplicably, Emilio found himself on both knees. A hint of panic flared but he quelled it and tried to stand. To his utter consternation, he couldn’t. His legs refused to respond. Glancing down, he discovered why. Both had been hamstrung.
Nate came to a stop a few feet in front of the crippled killer. He reversed his grip on the Bowie, holding it by the blade, close to his thigh. “I’ll give you more of a chance than you gave that poor greenhorn,” he declared. “Any time you’re ready.”
Emilio nodded. “A moment, please,” he said, stunned by the suddenness of it all. He had always taken great pride in his skill, yet he had been beaten with the same ease he had so often beaten others.
Nate waited, watching the giant’s right arm and nothing but the giant’s right arm.
“I have but one regret,” Emilio said wistfully. “Her name is Maria.”
“Want me to get word to her?”
Emilio recoiled. “You would do that for me?”
“Why not? An enemy not worthy of respect isn’t much of an enemy at all.” Nate still didn’t take his eyes off that arm. “Take the Blackfeet. They hate my guts, but I respect the hell out of them.”
“I understand,” Emilio said, his features relaxing, his mouth creasing in a smile. “I see the truth of it now. Of them all, you are the only one I judge worthy.”
Nate was going to ask what the giant meant.
But in that instant the Sicilian’s right hand shot up and out. Nate mimicked the movement, knowing that he had been a shade too slow, that both of them would go down. Yet only one blade flew true. His Bowie transfixed Barzini’s ribs, thudding to the hilt, while the giant’s stiletto streaked past his ear so close that it brushed the skin without breaking it.
Nate started to stoop, to grab his pistol, but it wasn’t needed. The light had gone from the Sicilian’s eyes. Wearing a quirky grin, Barzini keeled over. Nate touched his ear, saying aloud, “I wonder.”
“That was a close shave there, hoss!”
From out of the trees ran Henry Allen and Clive Jenks. Neither wasted a glance on the bodies.
“We’ve got to light a shuck, pard,” the Tennessean said. “Those Blackfeet and such are swarming out through the woods as thick as bees on a hive.”
“We saw that you were missing and came back to find you,” Jenks said.
Absently trailing them, Nate paused to grab hold of the reins to the giant’s mount. “Glad you could join the festivities,” he told Jenks.
“We would have joined sooner, but there were too many Injuns around the fort for us to get through to you,” Jenks said.
“Any sign of Thomas and his party?”
Jenks raised a finger to his throat and cut from right to left. “We spotted a war party of more than two hundred Blackfeet northwest of the post. They were having their fun with Thomas’s boys, or they’d of been at the post well before we got there.”
So Nate had done the right thing, after all. As he swung onto the stallion, he gazed one last time at Richard Ashworth and the Sicilian. He should feel better now, he told himself, but he didn’t. “Let’s go,” he said, and led his friends southward as if the hounds of hades nipped at the stallion’s tail.
It was three weeks later that Scott Kendall stood in front of the King cabin and watched his wife and daughter wade in the shallow end of the lake. They were splashing and giggling and having a grand time. Vail Marie waved.
Kendall lifted the arm resting on his crutch and returned the favor. His daughter started pointing at something behind him, and at the same moment he heard the snap of a twig. Turning so fast that he nearly fell, he dropped his right hand to his pistol.
“Shoot me, and I’ll never let you stay at my place again,” Nate King said, riding into the open with Winona and Zach in his wake. Smiling, Nate unfastened the leather cases behind his saddle and tossed them to the speechless mountaineer.
Kendall found his voice. “Nate! Winona! You coons are a sight for sore eyes! But what in tarnation are you doing here so soon?”
Nate wearily climbed down. “I’ll tell you all about it after I’ve slept for four days.”
“Fair enough.” Kendall hefted the wide strip that linked the pair of carrying cases. “What’s in here?”
“The money you need to take your family back to the States,” Nate said, stepping to the doorway. He glanced around. “Call it a gift from the Ashworth Brigade.”
WILDERNESS GIANT – THE TRAIL WEST
By David Robbins Writing as David Thompson
First Published by Leisure Books in 1996
Copyright © 1996, 2017 by David Robbins
First Smashwords Edition: November 2017
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
Our cover features Tom Horn, Mickey Free and Al Sieber Under Fire, painted by Andy Thomas, and used by permission.
Andy Thomas Artist, Carthage Missouri
Andy is known for his action westerns and storytelling paintings and documenting historical events through history.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book - Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Series Editor: Mike Stotter
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
About the Author
David L. Robbins was born on Independence Day 1950. He has written more than three hundred books under his own name and many pen names, among them: David Thompson, Jake McMasters, Jon Sharpe, Don Pendleton, Franklin W. Dixon, Ralph Compton, Dean L. McElwain, J.D. Cameron and John Killdeer.
Robbins was raised in Pennsylvania. When he was seventeen he enlisted in the United States Air Force and eventually rose to the rank of sergeant. After his honorable discharge he attended college and went into broadcasting, working as an announcer and engineer (and later as a program director) at various radio stations. Later still he entered law enforcement and then took to writing full-time.
At one time or another Robbins has lived in Pennsylvania, Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Montana, Colorado and the Pacific Northwest. He spent a year and a half in Europe, traveling through France, Italy, Greece and Germany. He lived for more than a year in Turkey.
Today he is best known for two current long-running series - Wilderness, the generational saga of a Mountain Man and his Shoshone wife - and Endworld is a science fiction series under his own name started in 1986. Among his many other books, Piccadilly Publishing is pleased to be reissuing ebook editions of Wilderness, Davy Crockett and, of course, White Apache.
More on David Robbins
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