Brendan Early and Dana Moon have tracked renegade Apaches together and gunned down scalp hunters to become Arizona legends. But now they face each other from opposite sides of what newspapers are calling The Rincon Mountain War. Brendan and a gang of mining company gun thugs are dead set on running Dana and "the People of the Mountain" from their land. The characters are unforgettable, the plot packed with action and gunfights from beginning to end.
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Maurice Dumas pulled a chair over next to Moon's. “I'm only an observer,” he said, sitting down and carefully tilting back. “I don't take sides, I remain objective.”
“You're on a side whether you like it or not,” Moon said. “You're on the side of commerce and, I imagine, you believe in progress and good government.”
“So far, I guess they haven't found anything worth sinking a shaft in.”
“But they spook the herds, scatter 'em all over, kill what they want for meat,” Moon said. “They've blown up stock tanks, ruined the natural watershed, wiped out crops and some homes in rock slides. They tear up a man's land, clean him out, and leave it.”
“It's theirs to tear up,” the news reporter said.
“No, it isn't,” Moon said, in a quiet but ominous tone.
“Well, remember this,” Moon said. “The Mimbre Apaches were hunting up there before Christopher Columbus came over in his boat, and till now nobody's said a word about it, not even the Indian Bureau. There's a settlement of colored people, colored soldiers who've taken Indian wives, all of them at one time in the United States Tenth Cavalry. You would think the government owed them at least a friendly nod, wouldn't you? The Mexicans living up there have claims that go back a hundred years or more to Spanish land grants. The Mexicans went to Federal Claims Court to try to protect their property. ... Generations they've hunted, roamed through those mountains. Government doesn't say a word till the big company kneels on 'em for a favor. Yes sir, we'll see to it right away, Mr. LaSalle-”
McKean's Ranch on the San Pedro: October, 1888
Moon rode up in the cool of early evening leading the palomino on a hackamore. He dropped the rope and the good-looking young mare stood right where she was, not flicking a muscle.
“She reminded me of you,” Moon said to the McKean girl, who replied:
“I hope not her hind end.”
“Her hair and her eyes,” Moon said. “She answers to Goldie.”
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