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    Fool's Gold
    Fool's Gold
    Fool's Gold
    Ebook93 pages1 hour

    Fool's Gold

    By L. L. Rigsbee

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Revenge perpetuates. Young Luke Catlin wasn’t interested in revenge after his cousin was killed by Apache raiders. To him, Arizona Territory was an uncivilized furnace where everything had thorns and stingers. He planned on going back to Pennsylvania as soon as he could earn enough money for a ticket. He refused to go back for the gold he had found in the Arizona desert.
    Catlin was attracted to the doctor’s granddaughter, but he figured she was interested in him for one reason – the gold. When a Lipan Apache befriended him, Catlin was mystified about his purpose. Catlin had never given a thought to the plight of the Apache; only what the Apache had done to the white man. He was about to learn some first hand history and discover how he could make a difference. In the process, he would learn the truth about why his cousin was killed. Finally, he must do something because revenge perpetuates.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLinda Louise Rigsbee
    Release dateDec 30, 2018
    ISBN9780463209738
    Fool's Gold
    Author

    L. L. Rigsbee

    L. L. Rigsbee has been writing westerns since 1996. Born in Wichita, Kansas, Rigsbee later spent six years in the Arizona desert. An avid reader of Louis L’Amour, not surprisingly, some of his style spills into Rigsbee’s westerns. Rigsbee writes flash fiction, short stories, novellas and novels with the same attention to detail.

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      Book preview

      Fool's Gold - L. L. Rigsbee

      FOOL’s GOLD

      L. L. Rigsbee

      Copyright © 2018, L. L. Rigsbee

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Sweat stung his eyes and trickled down the middle of his back. His legs cramped, but he dared not move. A fly buzzed around his nose, boldly landing on his unshaven chin. Luke Catlin squinted at the sun shimmering above a barren horizon. Two hours. Even as he cursed the cowardice that kept him crouched behind the rock, he knew there was nothing he could do. No cover lay between his hiding place and his captured horse, over a hundred feet away. The closest help lay at least twenty miles to the southeast, but the soldiers at Camp Bowie wouldn't be patrolling this far from the Butterfield stage route. Camp Grant was to the northwest, but those troops were kept busy protecting the settlers in San Pedro Valley from the Coyotero Apaches.

      A tortured scream riveted his attention on the scene below. He swallowed a dry heave and frantically studied the Indian sentry for some sign of waning attention. Catlin's Winchester looked menacing in the hands of the sentry. If he hadn't been in such a hurry to prove his worth by finding gold first, the gun would be in his hands now.

      Another scream echoed off the rocky slope. His fingers brushed the rough handle of the pick nervously. Any attempt to rescue Ramsey would be suicidal. He counted six Indians. Might as well be sixty. He silently cursed his ignorance of the west and lousy sense of priorities that had put learning mining skills before survival. Ramsey was the one who knew all about this uncivilized country; Ramsey, his cousin and lifelong friend. But Ramsey had made a poor choice of partners.

      Catlin scraped a dry tongue across cracked lips. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to exorcise the broad painted face of the savage with the knife. But closing his eyes didn't shut out the image of Ramsey's face contorted with agony. The taste of salt in his mouth was not from sweat alone. Could death be any worse than the certainty of a lifelong anguished conscience?

      At that moment Ramsey screamed again. The inhuman sound robbed Catlin of all reason. His fear was replaced with an uncontrolled frenzy of rage. His fingers clenched around the pick handle of their own volition. He stood.

      NO! he screamed in a voice that was unrecognizable as his own. You filthy, murdering, cold-blooded...

      A barrage of obscenities and accusations erupted from his lungs. He staggered down the slope on legs numb from lack of circulation.

      For a moment the Indians stared at him, too surprised to react. A rifle cracked. One of the Indians yelped and crumpled to the ground. The remaining Indians abandoned their victim and dove for cover.

      Catlin's first priority was retrieving his weapon. As he darted forward, the Indian turned and fired. The impact of the bullet knocked Catlin back, but some unknown strength kept his legs moving. A steady flow of poison had been feeding his brain for the last two hours. He must have vengeance. He swung the pick viciously, an inane laugh escaping his throat at the terrified expression on the face of the savage. The pick crunched through the chest of the Apache, silencing his unearthly scream in a gurgle of blood.

      Catlin stood over the corpse for a moment before numbly retrieving his rifle. A bullet struck the ground at his feet. Survival instincts drowned out the shock and he dived behind a boulder. Feeling returned with a vengeance as pain engulfed his body. He struggled to get into firing position, casting a glance toward Ramsey. He squinted through blurring eyes. Was Ramsey still alive? The rifle cracked again, sending another savage to his reward. Catlin strained to identify the mounted figures approaching through the heat waves. His fingers could no longer hold the rifle. It clattered down the rock to the dusty ground. Black spots impaired his vision as his body followed the rifle. Unable to stop his fall, the hard ground leaped up to catch him. The hot sand vibrated with the weight of galloping horses. He groped around stubbornly for the rifle as blackness surrounded him.

      Through the pounding in his skull, he gradually became aware of the bouncing wagon bed beneath his aching body. The wagon made a final heave and came to a stop. Flies hummed around a blanket covering what he feared must be the body of Ramsey.

      The dusty blue uniform of a mounted soldier blocked the sun from his eyes.

      He's comin' 'round, the soldier called to someone. He spit a brown stream at the ground beside his horse and shifted the chew in his mouth.

      We're goin' to leave ya here with the doc. He nodded at the blanket. We'll bury yer partner fer ya. Sorry we didn't show up sooner. Fact is, we wasn't supposed to be in the area at all. Jist happened to be lookin' fer water an' you was camped close to the only water in a twenty mile area. Don't you know better than that, boy?

      Catlin sat up with a groan. Obviously not, he answered in a terse tone. His eyes were involuntarily drawn toward the blanket. I'll bury him. He's my cousin. Just help me out of this box.

      He grabbed the edge of the wagon, fighting a wave of nausea. The desert shimmered and he sank back. Dark spots gradually blotted his vision until there was only blackness.

      When he opened his eyes again, he was laying on a cot in a small room, his chest bound with clean strips of cloth. The sheets felt cool against his fevered body. Above his head a window was open to the night air. A full moon stared down at him. For a few moments he returned its blank regard, trying to recall where he had bedded down last night. Slowly the painful details flooded his foggy memory. This must be the doctor's house.

      He turned his head and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark room. The only light came from the window, but he gradually made out the whitewashed adobe walls and earthen floor. Other than the bed, the only other furniture in the room was a tiny washstand and a wooden chair with some clothing piled on it; his clothing, by the look of them.

      He sat up slowly and lowered his bare feet to the floor. The smell of the water in the pitcher lured him from the bed in spite of his pain. Even his feet ached as he limped across the floor. He groaned as he put the pitcher to his dry lips and eagerly gulped the tepid water. Then he poured some of it in the bowl and splashed

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