Moving across the jumbled rocks, Cole kept low, creeping forward without a sound. He had circumnavigated the place where the Apache at the far end sat, virtually buried amongst the boulders. From where he now positioned himself, Cole had a perfect line of sight. Bringing up the Henry, he squinted down the length of the barrel. An easy shot. Within a blink, the Apache would be dead, and then they could all return to the fort, l*****g their wounds and perhaps learning a good deal from their mistakes.
But Cole did not squeeze the trigger. He remained in his position for long, agonising minutes, whilst inside he debated with himself the best thing to do. The Apache was young, wily, no more to blame for the outbreak of violence than anybody else – white settlers included. Perhaps a show of mer
