nodded.
“Too bad,” Hannah teased. “I’d be much more fun.”
“I can believe that, too.”
“Maybe later, then?”
“You never know.”
“He’s waiting for you in the cabin.” Hannah touched his hand. “Until later.”
Simon was standing at the end of the bar. His foot tapped the brass rail with increased tempo as he watched the Indian descend the stairs.
“Well, well, the mighty brave returns.” Simon’s voice barely held, despite his firm grip on the Beretta.
The Indian was silent, his expression unchanged. Those dark eyes bore into Simon.
Simon giggled nervously. “Looks to me like that business about letting Karl find you was just a lot of talk. So much hot air. Leads me to believe your reputation’s been padded somewhat.”
The Indian bent down, picked up a silk nightgown, looked at Simon, and smiled. “Bet the wife looks nice in this. Must drive you crazy to have a fox like that and not be able to do anything about it.”
“Never give it a second thought; that’s how much it bothers me,” Simon grunted. “Know what does bother me, though? You bein’ here. See, I don’t like Indians any better than I like niggers.”
“Where’s Karl?” Seneca demanded, tossing the gown onto the couch.
“You’re shit outta luck, squaw lover. I don’t know where he is, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, you know where he is, fatman. And you’ll tell me.”
“Think so?”
“I’m positive.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, redskin?”
“Karl? Where is he? I want an answer now.”
“Check the smoke signals. Maybe they’ll tell you where to find him.”
The Indian moved forward. When he did, Simon took a step back and pulled out the Beretta.
“One more step, Cochise, and you won’t need to know where Karl is.” Simon’s voice was steady, controlled. The gun in hand gave new life to his nerves.
“It’s Seneca, remember?”
“It’s ‘Dead’ if you take another step.”
“I don’t think so, fatman. You see, if you’re going to use that thing, you really ought to take the safety off.”
“The safety is off,” Simon said. His words came fast and strong, but lacked much conviction.
“You trying to convince me or yourself?”
“I don’t need to be convinced of anything—I know I’m right.”
The Indian took two more steps forward, his dark eyes focused on Simon with blazing intensity. “But you’re not real sure, are you?”
Great droplets of sweat fell from Simon’s face. The hand holding the gun began to tremble. “I can take care of that problem,” he said. “It’s as simple as flicking this switch.”
The instant Simon turned the safety upward, the Indian made his move. Stepping forward, he grabbed the gun with his left hand, straightened Simon’s arm and lifted it upward, then hooked his right arm behind the big man’s elbow. It only took a minimum of pressure before Simon let the revolver fall to the floor. The Indian moved behind Simon, taking the big man’s arm with him. He bent the arm at the elbow and applied upward pressure. The hammerlock elicited a loud pig-like squeal from Simon. The Indian took his left hand and covered Simon’s face, plunging his forefinger and middle finger into the groaning man’s eyes. “You fool, who do you think you’re dealing with? Some rag-ass redneck clown?”
“Please, Seneca, don’t kill me,” Simon begged. “I wasn’t going to shoot you. I was scared … just protecting myself. I swear.”
“Where’s Karl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough,” the Indian said, driving his fingers deeper into Simon’s eyes.
“I swear, I swear I don’t know where he is. But I can find out. Give me two days.”
The Indian exerted more pressure on Simon’s arm. “Tell me where Karl is or I’ll tear your arm off. Then I’ll rip out your eyeballs and feed them to the fish. Think about the pain, fatman; think about the agony I can cause you.”
“Please, Seneca,
“Too bad,” Hannah teased. “I’d be much more fun.”
“I can believe that, too.”
“Maybe later, then?”
“You never know.”
“He’s waiting for you in the cabin.” Hannah touched his hand. “Until later.”
Simon was standing at the end of the bar. His foot tapped the brass rail with increased tempo as he watched the Indian descend the stairs.
“Well, well, the mighty brave returns.” Simon’s voice barely held, despite his firm grip on the Beretta.
The Indian was silent, his expression unchanged. Those dark eyes bore into Simon.
Simon giggled nervously. “Looks to me like that business about letting Karl find you was just a lot of talk. So much hot air. Leads me to believe your reputation’s been padded somewhat.”
The Indian bent down, picked up a silk nightgown, looked at Simon, and smiled. “Bet the wife looks nice in this. Must drive you crazy to have a fox like that and not be able to do anything about it.”
“Never give it a second thought; that’s how much it bothers me,” Simon grunted. “Know what does bother me, though? You bein’ here. See, I don’t like Indians any better than I like niggers.”
“Where’s Karl?” Seneca demanded, tossing the gown onto the couch.
“You’re shit outta luck, squaw lover. I don’t know where he is, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, you know where he is, fatman. And you’ll tell me.”
“Think so?”
“I’m positive.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, redskin?”
“Karl? Where is he? I want an answer now.”
“Check the smoke signals. Maybe they’ll tell you where to find him.”
The Indian moved forward. When he did, Simon took a step back and pulled out the Beretta.
“One more step, Cochise, and you won’t need to know where Karl is.” Simon’s voice was steady, controlled. The gun in hand gave new life to his nerves.
“It’s Seneca, remember?”
“It’s ‘Dead’ if you take another step.”
“I don’t think so, fatman. You see, if you’re going to use that thing, you really ought to take the safety off.”
“The safety is off,” Simon said. His words came fast and strong, but lacked much conviction.
“You trying to convince me or yourself?”
“I don’t need to be convinced of anything—I know I’m right.”
The Indian took two more steps forward, his dark eyes focused on Simon with blazing intensity. “But you’re not real sure, are you?”
Great droplets of sweat fell from Simon’s face. The hand holding the gun began to tremble. “I can take care of that problem,” he said. “It’s as simple as flicking this switch.”
The instant Simon turned the safety upward, the Indian made his move. Stepping forward, he grabbed the gun with his left hand, straightened Simon’s arm and lifted it upward, then hooked his right arm behind the big man’s elbow. It only took a minimum of pressure before Simon let the revolver fall to the floor. The Indian moved behind Simon, taking the big man’s arm with him. He bent the arm at the elbow and applied upward pressure. The hammerlock elicited a loud pig-like squeal from Simon. The Indian took his left hand and covered Simon’s face, plunging his forefinger and middle finger into the groaning man’s eyes. “You fool, who do you think you’re dealing with? Some rag-ass redneck clown?”
“Please, Seneca, don’t kill me,” Simon begged. “I wasn’t going to shoot you. I was scared … just protecting myself. I swear.”
“Where’s Karl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough,” the Indian said, driving his fingers deeper into Simon’s eyes.
“I swear, I swear I don’t know where he is. But I can find out. Give me two days.”
The Indian exerted more pressure on Simon’s arm. “Tell me where Karl is or I’ll tear your arm off. Then I’ll rip out your eyeballs and feed them to the fish. Think about the pain, fatman; think about the agony I can cause you.”
“Please, Seneca,
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