Tom Horn And The Apache Kid Read Online Free PDF Page A

animals moved and then diverged:
     Crook, Bourke, and Sheridan to the north; Miles to the northeast; Horn, Crane, and their expedition to the south, toward the
     border and Goklaya.
    With every mile the terrain became more rugged and wild. Captain Crane rode next to Horn.
    “Beautiful country,” said Crane.
    “It is, but don’t trust it.”
    “I don’t see any signs of Indians.”
    “Yeah, well, when you see Apache signs be careful. When you don’t see ’em, be
more
careful.”
    “Mr. Horn, I had a little talk with General Crooklast night. He has the highest regard for you and Mr. Sieber and…” Crane pointed toward the Kid.
    “He’s called the Apache Kid.”
    “Mr. Horn, about these Indians…”
    “What about them?”
    “They fight their own people....”
    “Crook’s strategy,” said Horn. “Use Apaches to chase Apaches.”
    “I presume he got the idea from the British—use colonials to fight colonials.”
    “I presume.” Horn nodded.
    “Why do they choose to fight on our side?”
    “Maybe they want peace.” Horn shrugged. “Or maybe they want pay.”
    Horn was in no mood for trail talk. He could have further educated the young captain on the subject but chose to break off
     the conversation. Horn’s eyes, mind, and senses stayed with the task ahead, with the hunt and the killing that would come
     if they found Goklaya—or if Goklaya found them. In this kind of warfare, the element of surprise was infinitely more important
     than manpower or firepower. Usually whoever hit first won.
    Call it surprise, sneak, or ambush—that first unexpected attack meant victory. And it was up to the scouts to provide that
     element. Crook used few white scouts against the Apaches; most of his scouting contingent were Apaches.
    Why
did
Apache fight Apache? Pay? Peace? Yes, and more. Long before the white man sought out and settled Arizona, there was deadly
     rivalry among the tribes even as there had been among the ancient Greek city-states. One tribe raided another, not just for
     territory and certainly not for crops—these people were hunters, not farmers. There was an unending need for one tribe to prove its superiority over another—a
     restless, irresistible drive to swoop and raid, steal horses and women, and claim victory over a worthy enemy.
    Now, for years, the older chiefs and warriors, pent up and moribund on torpid reservations, had been boasting and taunting
     the younger bucks with tales of past glory.
    It was no wonder that when Crook gave these young natural hunters and warriors an opportunity to leave the placid confines
     of the reservation and reap a new glory, they leaped at the chance. He hired rival tribes to chase the renegades and payed
     them well in money and in what the Apaches loved most of all—adventure. Besides, in this way the young Apache bucks could
     claim revenge for bloody raids the renegades had often made on the defenseless reservations.
    Horn and Crane rode in silence until a question occurred to the captain. “Mr. Horn, in an encounter, how can we tell our Indians
     apart from the hostiles?”
    “You’ll notice,” Horn pointed, “all our Indians wear a scarlet headband.”
    “The Apache Kid doesn’t.”
    “He’s different,” Horn said in a hard voice. “There’s another way of telling.”
    “How’s that?”
    “In an encounter, Captain, the hostiles’ll be trying to kill you. There’s the border.”
    Late that afternoon the lowering sun threw long shadows from the sawtooth peaks of the SierraMadres. Beige sand stretched toward the blue-black rock that tore into the hot, clinging sky. The expedition was miles into
     Mexico, past the no-hurry
río
into wind-whipped canyons, moving toward the mountains that belonged to God and the eagles.
    One of Sieber’s Indian scouts rode up fast. Sieber, Horn, and the Kid reined in. So did Crane, as the Indian’s winded horse
     snorted and plopped to a standstill. The scout spoke in Apache.
    “What is it?” Crane