Brutal Vengeance by J. A. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

wounded.”
    “You do that,” Culhane told him. “Make yourself useful.”
    Marchman strode off.
    When the man was gone, The Kid commented, “Rode him a little hard, didn’t you?”
    “Yeah, and I reckon I know better.” Culhane sighed. “I just get mighty frustrated with the whole bunch. It ain’t easy trackin’ down a gang like Latch’s with a bunch of storekeepers and forty-a-month punchers.”
    The comment unwittingly echoed what The Kid had thought earlier. He let his gaze roam over the members of the posse, and didn’t like what he saw.
    About half of them were townsmen from Fire Hill. Business owners, clerks, bartenders, and the like, he assumed.
    The rest were cowboys, some of them so young they might not be out of their teens. A few of those ranch hands might be fairly tough and competent, but not enough to match up with a gang of ruthless outlaws.
    Clyde and Hogan were townies. They hovered close to Marchman as the burly man used strips of cloth torn from a shirt to bind up a man’s wounded arm.
    Culhane saw where The Kid was looking. “Ed Marchman owned the general store in Fire Hill. Clyde Fenner clerked for him, and Jack Hogan drove the wagon that brought in the merchandise Marchman sold. I reckon they’re all three out of a job now, since the store’s gone. The fella who got shot through the arm is Woody Anderson, Fire Hill’s blacksmith. Same goes for him.”
    Culhane pointed out several of the other men and told The Kid their names. The Kid knew he wouldn’t remember most of them, but nodded anyway.
    One of the young punchers came up to them. “Ranger Culhane, I can’t find my horse.”
    “Well, keep lookin’, boy,” Culhane said. “Maybe one of your grandpa’s hands will find it if you can’t.”
    “All right.” The youngster nodded. He was undersized, with a freckled face and a shock of red hair.
    As the young cowboy moved off, Culhane said quietly, “That’s Nick Burton, old Marcus Burton’s grandson.”
    Culhane said the name like he expected The Kid to know who Marcus Burton was, but The Kid didn’t have any idea and said as much.
    “Burton’s the owner of the M-B Connected, the biggest spread in these parts,” Culhane explained. “It was his money Latch was after. Burton sent some of his men after the outlaws, and the kid came along with ’em.”
    “Was that his idea, or his grandfather’s?”
    Culhane snorted. “It was the old man’s idea. Claimed he wanted to have a member of the family represented on the posse, so he saddled me with the boy. Nick can at least ride, and he claims he can shoot, but I got a hunch he’s gonna be more hindrance than help in the long run. I needed those M-B Connected hands to come along, so I agreed to it.”
    Before Culhane could say anything else about the members of his posse, a man came up behind them and rasped, “We’re wasting time, Culhane. We need to get after them.”
    The Kid looked over his shoulder at the newcomer. . .
    And saw something out of a nightmare.

Chapter 8
    The man had been horribly burned, that much was obvious at first glance. The skin visible on his face was red and raw. Strips of cloth, crisscrossed here and there, were wrapped around his head as bandages, covering the worst of the burns. Ugly yellow stains marked where pus from leaking sores had soaked through.
    The Kid could tell from the way the bandages lay flat against the right side of the man’s head that his ear was completely gone. Part of his nose looked like a lumpy, roasted potato that had been left in the fire too long.
    He wore a hat, but it sat awkwardly on the bandages covering the top of his head. His hands were thinly wrapped, so he could still carry the rifle he had with him. The Kid saw more bandages peeking out through gaps between the man’s shirt buttons and speculated that most of his body was swathed in cloth.
    A man this badly injured belonged in a hospital, not out riding with a posse through the wilds of West