Behind the Ruins (Stories of the Fall) by Michael Lane Read Free Book Online

appaloosa.
    “You’re
on Maggie’s land, Mister. You got reason to be?” the rider asked. He was young,
with the scant beard of a teenager. An old rifle boot was tied to his saddle,
and one hand rested on the butt of a long gun that protruded from it. Grey
looked at him, keeping his own hands visible, thumbs hooked into his belt.
    “You’re
new,” Grey offered after a moment.
    “Whether
I am or not, I know my job.”
    Grey
smiled and the rider flushed.
    “That’s
not bad. You might consider starting off with a ‘good afternoon’ though, just
because it softens folk up when you’re polite. They’ll listen a lot better to
what you have to say.”
    A
second rider was trotting up, and the first - neck now scarlet - spared him a
glance before looking back to Grey, who interrupted whatever he was about to
respond with.
    “I’m
just pulling your chain, son. Maggie knows me even if you don’t.” Grey looked
to the approaching rider and nodded.
    “Clay,
your horse is still ugly,” he called.
    “Fuck
you too. Must be Grey,” Clay drawled. Clay was a transplant who’d drifted north
six years before, and who claimed to be from Texas. Grey thought he might be
telling the truth, which was impressive, given that the cartels owned much of
the southwest and a trip across their territories would have been exciting, to
say the least.
    “I
see you still have that damn Stetson, Clay. Where the hell do you find those
anymore?”
    “Trade
secret,” Clay deadpanned, settling his hat more firmly. “I don’t have your
sense of style,” he added, eyeing the ratty wool toque that Grey wore.
    The
younger rider turned his horse without a word and cantered back toward the
ranch house. Clay watched, eyes twinkling.
    “Did
you twist young Ronald’s tail?”
    “Not
so you’d notice,” Grey said, eyeing the retreating teen. “Ronald? Really?”
    “He’s
a good kid, just young and prone to foolishness. You must want Maggie, since
we’re months ahead of your usual cabin-fever expedition to come eat all our
biscuits and try to sell us something we didn’t know we needed.”
    Grey
nodded. “I need to ask a favor.”
    Clay
blinked. “Well, that’s new. She’s out on the top with the cattle, but you can
twist her ear over supper.”
    “That
would be fine, thank you.”
     
    Maggie
Thursby was short and wide and tough. She’d raised six sons and three
daughters, about half of which she’d picked up as strays from the ruins. She
had consolidated the remaining small-ranch herds throughout the valley into her
own over the past decade and controlled much of beef supply in the region. She
heard Grey out after dinner, sipping a huckleberry cordial. Clay and Maggie’s
foreman, a hulking man called Badger, listened as well. When Grey finished,
Maggie leaned back, pursed her lips and looked up at the oil lamp that hung
over the dining table.
    “Since
I’m thick, let me sum up and make it simple,” she began in her booming voice.
After years of yelling at children and cowboys, Maggie’s volume always seemed
to be stuck near maximum.
    “One:
We had raiders in the valley,” Maggie ticked off each point on a finger. “Two,
they’re gone now, after scouting and killing at least three, and third – you
have proof they mean to come back.”
    “That’s
it.”
    “So
what’s your favor?”
    “I
need fast riders who can cover the valley and get the word out. From north to
south, and let people know there’s a meeting next month so they can decide what
to do,” Grey said.
    Maggie
dropped her gaze to Grey and cocked her head to one side.
    “So
they can?” Maggie grinned without humor. “You know it’s going to be a handful
of people who decide this. You’re one of them, and so am I.”
    “Not
me,” Grey said. “I’m a trapper. I don’t have land or family, and I don’t have a
dog in this fight.”
    “Stop
with the bullshit, Grey. I’m too old and you’re too smart. Your word matters in
this valley.”
    Grey
opened