More adventures of Ace Lone Wolf, the half-Apache gunslinger with the quick draw and the penchant for trouble. When gunmen hired by the wealthy owner of the Hashknife Outfit set out to run the good people of Lily Creek off their land, Ace is the onl...
As soon as the sun comes up, I'm going to be in real trouble.
Why? Because I'm lying on top of a giant anthill. Once the sun comes up, the ants are going to wake up, head outside and do whatever it is ants do all day. At that point, they're going to find me here and they're not going to be happy about it.
Lots of stinging will follow.
It's not the stinging that will kill me. No, it's the lying stretched out in the summer sun with no water. That's what will kill me. The stinging will just make it worse.
I pull on the ropes again, as hard as I can.
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No good. The ropes don't give at all. The stakes they're tied to don't come loose. Those Yaqui bastards knew what they were doing.
How did I get here, staked to an anthill in the Mexican desert?
I was riding back from my little adventure at the temple of the bloodthirsty Aztec god Xipe Totec. I was feeling sorry for myself about how it ended, and I wasn't paying close enough attention to my surroundings. I got down off Coyote to take a piss and four Yaqui Indians jumped me. I never really had a chance.
Lucky for me they weren't in a killing mood. More of a let's-torture-this-Apache-idiot mood. They staked me out on my back on top of this red anthill. It's a big one, at least four different holes. Home to thousands and thousands of ants. Red ones. Mean ones. I've tangled with red ants a couple times in my life, when I wasn't paying close enough attention to where I was standing. It wasn't what I'd call a pleasant experience.
What's surprising about all this is that after going to all this trouble, tying me up and staking me down, they didn't stick around for the fun. They took my guns and my knife and rode off. Just a little while ago.
They also took my hat. One of them was wearing it when he left.
Somehow that bothers me most of all. I understand taking my weapons. I even understand the whole part about killing me. The Yaquis and Apaches have bad blood that goes back a long ways.
But why take my hat? Yaquis don't wear hats. The only thing I can think is it's just to humiliate me more.
In case, you know, the whole being staked to an anthill thing isn't bad enough.
At least they didn't get my horse. They tried to, but Coyote's too smart. They never even got close. They didn't try for that long anyway, probably because Coyote doesn't look like much, short-legged, long-jawed, kind of a dirty yellow color.
If they'd gotten hold of him, they'd have regretted it, that's for sure. Because the other thing Coyote is is mean. As mean as a snake with a toothache. He'd as soon bite you as look at you.
Like he knows I'm thinking about him, Coyote comes walking up.
"Hey, boy," I say.
His ears swivel toward me. He leans his head down and gives me a sniff. I can see he's wondering why I'm lying here like this, when we have places to go.
