King Blood by Jim Thompson

life.
    Silently, they drew their knives. At virtually the same instant their horses reared upward, startled as their bridles were suddenly grabbed by unseen hands. Then – Well, nothing, then. Nothing more than a couple of butted lances, which connected solidly with the skulls of Tepaha and Ike King and knocked them senseless from their saddles.
    They were prodded and kicked to their feet.
    The lance-points pricking incessantly at their rumps, they were run into the village of the Apache leader, Geronimo, and on to the great lodge of Geronimo himself.
    The Indian chief at that time was probably in his middle forties, or approximately twice the age of Ike and Tepaha. He was thus, by the standards of the time, an old man, just as Ike and Tepaha were regarded as standing on the verge of middle-age. Yet Geronimo carried the years of his hard life well, being lean and wiry of body, and his expression was not so much savage as sardonically amused. He chose to ignore Ike, addressing himself instead to Tepaha in a tone of musing wonderment.
    'And what have we here?' he inquired. 'What is this strange creature who appears to be Indian, an Apache, no less, yet who is obviously a white man's dog, licking at his master's ass and balls lest he be struck with a small stick?'
    'You smell your own breath, old man,' Tepaha told him haughtily. 'To one who feeds on dog shit, all others are dogs.'
    A lance-point jabbed him reprovingly. Tepaha's darting hand caught it at the haft, snapping it off with one seemingly effortless movement of his wrist. It was a tremendous feat of strength. Geronimo rewarded it by shaking his head at the brave who was about to club Tepaha.
    'So,' Geronimo said, 'perhaps you are not a dog. Perhaps. So you will explain your presence with this white man, and you will tell us who he is and what he is if not your master.'
    Tepaha said proudly that Ike was his friend and brother. They had been so almost before manhood, since the time when they were both prisoners in a Mexican jail under sentence of death as bandidos. They had broken jail together, Tepaha becoming seriously wounded as they escaped. And Ike had gotten him to a ranchero across the Rio Grande. The owner of the ranch, a Spanish grandee, had offered them sanctuary, then treacherously sent one of his Aztec peons to summon the carbineros. The man had reported to Ike instead, so Ike had slain the Spaniard, and as soon as Tepaha was well enough to travel, they had burned the ranchero buildings, and driven off the livestock; and those peons who cared to do so were allowed to come with them.
    'We settled well back from the Rio,' Tepaha continued, 'in a valley some two hundred miles distant. We built a lodge there, and outbuildings. But there were many Apache in the area, and the peons soon left us in fear, having been slaves so long they had lost the will to fight. I would have fought, of course, Old Ike being my friend and brother. But Ike said it was not necessary. Instead, he went unarmed amongst the Apaches, and he called them brother, and he told them that they were to come to his lodge as guests and take whatever they needed. And – '
    'And – ' Geronimo's eyes gleamed with ironic appreciation. 'And so they came, eh? As guests. And being such, they did not rob him of his all and kill him as they otherwise would have.'
    'Why should they?' Tepaha frowned. 'Do Apaches abuse friendship? Do they mistreat a brother? Or perhaps,' he added insinuatingly, 'such is the custom of the Oklahoma Apache.'
    'You,' Geronimo advised him, 'are very close to death, O, Tepaha. You will be wise to offer no insults, and to answer questions, not ask them. Even now there is an Osage prisoner in this camp whose big mouth and small brain will cost him his life in the morning.'
    Tepaha drew himself erect, and emitted a scornful, 'Ho! Heed me, O, Geronimo,' he continued. 'This is Old Ike King! When he shits, great mountain ranges are formed of his turds, and fearful floods are caused by