Short Story / All they're engines for not.

When the Apache arrived at the hill the sun had already set and the settlers were bedding down. The dirt kicked up slowly and encircled the horse legs as smooth as a snake encircling a branch. They rode slowly down the hill. Other Apache remained on the hill. They quietly encircled the settlers. The cowboys kissed they’re daughters and sons to bed. They bedded next to their women who laid closely with their bibles while the men laid with their rifles even closer to their dirt matted bodies. The Apache stayed their purpose until the command was whispered. The Chief kept it to a whisper perhaps to fool his own soul from being able to discern the command but he knew in his savage heart that these men from the East were just as savage as them. The Apache thundered down the hills and let out their war cries. The cowboys clamored and cursed themselves for not having their weapons ready and clean. The first apache charged on horse back at the lead wagon with a speed akin to that of a steam locomotive. The Apache riding the horse was soon gripped on the side of the wagon tarp. One Apache thrust his spear into the wagon and pierced the side of 15-year-old Nathaniel McKinney’s mouth. The spear went through his cheeks turning his mouth into a flap of bloody disarray. His younger sister Sarah awoke from the warm blood now covering her face. Welcome to Indian country.

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