Apache Death by George G. Gilman Page B

ponies.
    Then the surviving Apaches were past, fleeing down the center of the street with the cavalry troop behind them, the ponies widening the gap so that the rifle fire became sporadic as it diminished into the distance.
    "Get some buckets and put out these fires," Colonel Murray shouted from below, then moving into sight at the center of the street.
    Other men started to move then, seemingly with no purpose. But under Murray's direction a human chain was formed and sloshing buckets of water began to pass  along the line. Edge and the Englishman got to their feet, the latter carefully dusting off the dirt from his suit. Edge eyed him reflectively for a moment, then began to reload his Spencer.  
    "Don't suppose," he said at length, "you'd believe me if I said I didn't know what you were talking about a while back."
    The Englishman was wearing his easy smile again. "Then why did you come to Rainbow?"
    "Clean sheets and a bath."
    "Did you get them?" 
    "Yeah."
    The Englishman started back along the rooftop. "So, now you can move on."
    Edge's eyes narrowed to slits and glinted dangerously in the firelight. "Hey, English."
    The Englishman turned around to face him and recognized the menace in the other's demeanor. He adjusted his own position, sideways on to Edge.
    "Yes, old boy?"
    "I don't like being told what to do."
    Each was holding his rifle across his stomach, in both hands. The excited noises from the street seemed to fade off into the distance.
    "Merely a suggestion."
    "Stick your suggestion up where you sit down, English."
    The silence between them was like a solid block of crystal clear ice. Across it, each could see every minute detail of the other's physical state of readiness. And, with the perception of skilled gunfighters, each was aware of the other's mental process. A demonic angel of death counted off the seconds. Then the Englishman made a sound with his tongue against his teeth and his handsome face was suddenly wreathed in the familiar smile as the tension flowed from his body.
    "If we’re not competing, old boy, there isn't any sense in killing each other. Let me buy you a drink?"
    "No, thanks," Edge responded as the Englishman went to the end of the roof and began to lower himself to the stairway. ''With you dressed up so fancy people might start to talk."
    Only his head was visible over the angle of the roof now, still wearing the gentle smile. "My goodness, honey-child," he drawled in a high-pitched, Deep South accent. "People have called me odd, but never queer."
    Edge spat as he went from sight. "You're sure curious," he muttered. "And' you've made me curious."
    He began to move toward the stairway.

     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    THE Pot of Gold had the atmosphere of a deserted building and it seemed likely to Edge that he could trust his sixth sense. For down at the other end of the street, across the intersection, a vast crowd of people were still fighting the fires: perhaps the whole town was there. Certainly there was no one in the opulently furnished saloon, its overturned chairs and tables, spilled drinks and discarded personal effects bearing mute witness to the panic which had erupted from the Indian attack.
    There was an opened, half-empty whisky bottle on the bar and Edge used the muzzle of the Spencer to reach across and hook a clean glass from a mirrored shelf at the back. He poured a stiff jolt and took it at a single swallow before crossing to the foot of the stairs and starting up. The hallway was empty, with some doors hanging open, others tightly closed. There was no sound. The register was on top of the desk at the head of the stairs and he leaned forward and ran his finger down the list of recent entries. The name above his own was Lord Hartley Fallowfield, which Edge guessed was about as English as anybody could get. The man had checked in three days previously and been given room number fifteen. Edge straightened and moved along the hallway, his boots making a lot of noise.