Apache Rampage Read Online Free PDF

magnificent horses, one of them leading a pack-pony. Four Texas cowhands, three of them belting on a matched brace of Colt revolvers.
    One of this quartet would have caught the eye in any crowd. He was a handsome blond giant, a rangeland dandy, yet a working cowhand or his expensive, made-to-measure clothes lied. Around his waist was a brown leather, hand-tooled buscadero gunbelt supporting a finely made brace of Colt Cavalry Peacemakers in the holsters. He lounged easily in the saddle of his huge bloodbay stallion, a light rider despite his great size.
    The two men who flanked the handsome dandy would also catch the eye. One of them sat a seventeen-hand white stallion. He was tall, slim, lithe and dark looking. His face looked young, almost babyishly young and innocent, but those red-hazel eyes were neither young nor innocent. His clothing was all black, from hat to boots. Even the gunbelt was black leather. Only the butt forward, walnut grips of the old Colt Dragoon revolver at his right and the ivory hilt of the bowie knife at his left relieved the blackness.
    The other eye-catching man was younger, not out of his teens. He sat astride a seventeen-hand paint stallion, a fine-looking horse, and led the pack-pony. His clothing was expensive yet practical, like the dress of the handsome giant. He was a blond youngster, handsome, blue-eyed and friendly, and his face was strong, without any trace of dissipation. Around his slender waist was a new-looking gunbelt which carried the staghorn butted Colt Artillery Peacemakers in the low-hanging holsters.
    The fourth man sat slightly ahead of the others. He lounged in the Texas kak saddle with the easy grace of a cowhand. He was a small, insignificant man, the sort who would go unnoticed in any crowd. Even the butt forward, bone-handled Colt Civilian Peacemakers in the holsters of his gunbelt did nothing to make him look more noticeable. His clothes looked plain, but they were costly, his black J.B. Stetson expensive as were his high-heeled boots. He was a handsome enough young man, but not in the eye-catching, attention-drawing way of the golden-blond giant. Not in the lean, latently savage, somehow Indian way of the dark-faced rider of the big white. Not in the friendly, clean and open way of the youngster. His face was handsome. It was also, if one took time out to look, a strong, commanding face. Sitting his huge paint stallion the small man thrust back his hat, showing his dusty blond hair as he looked at the wagon. His face flickered in a half smile as if he thought he knew the people in the medicine show.
    ‘Let’s get moving, Doc,’ said Phyllis, not seeing the riders, her full attention on the crowd.
    Elwin stood on the sidewalk, watching. This was the supreme moment of his life if he chose to take it. Here was the means to get him away from this town. His life, previously miserable, would be even more so. Suddenly he knew he must leave Baptist’s Hollow and never return.
    Picking up the sack, Elwin stepped from the sidewalk towards his destiny. ‘I got your supplies here, mister. Can you take me along as far as Fort Owen?’
    ‘Hold hard!’ Haslett yelped, seeing the sack lifted into the wagon. ‘Is all that stuff paid for?’
    ‘Paid for and the money in the drawer,’ Elwin replied. ‘Go and count it if you want. You can keep my week’s pay.’
    Haslett was torn between a desire to go into his store and count the money and wishing to warn Elwin off. The latter won, and he tried to sound big as he said, ‘Don’t you come running back here. That’s the last time I take anybody in. Ungrateful bums, that’s all young uns like him are.’
    Ellwood watched the young man climb in through the door at the rear of the wagon. Then he turned to Thornett and gave a grim warning:
    ‘All right. Get going as soon as we know the supplies are paid for. I want you out of this town and don’t ever come back.’
    ‘Mister, do you know what you’re doing?’
    The