The dragoons wore their bandannas over their noses to muffle the noxious odor. Buzzards dived squawking out of the sky, landing behind the next rise. Each soldier sought to strengthen himself for the horror that lay ahead.
Nathanial Barrington rocked back and forth in the saddle as he approached the crest of the hill. He’d seen massacres, mutilations, and rapes, but what he saw went beyond that: The wagons had been burned to the ground and cadavers were everywhere. Nathanial’s practiced eyes could surmise where the Apaches had hidden, waiting for the miners. Getting closer, he could see tattered dresses of women—they’d died alongside the men, probably firing rifles. Yes, Apaches are beautiful pastoral nomads and root gatherers, he told himself, but they’re also brutal murderers. Nathanial Barrington had crossed the border into Apache bloodlust ...
