Forty-Four Caliber Justice by Donald L. Robertson Read Free Book Online Page A

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    “You shut up, Wilson, or you’ll be sucking on rocks and eating loco weed.” Cookie grinned at Clay. “Eat up, boy. It’s good for you.”
    Clay grinned back at the cook, nodded, and walked back to Jake and Arlo.
    “You feel like taking the first watch tonight?” Jake asked Clay.
    “Yes, si—Jake, sure do.”
    “Good, there’s a knoll about twenty yards north. Make a good stand. If someone comes slipping into camp, they mean no good. You do what you have to do. Wake me in three hours. Arlo, you up to the last watch?”
    “Yep.”
    Clay finished his supper and sanded out his plate. “Reckon I’ll get on up there.”
    He rolled out his bedroll next to a wagon, pulled his moccasins from the saddlebags, and slipped them on. They felt good on his feet. Running Wolf’s ma had taught him how to make them, and he always carried two pair with him. His feet had grown thickly calloused through the years. Unlike most cowmen, he was as handy on his feet as in the saddle. He and Running Wolf had run all over the hill country around the ranch. He could run for hours without slowing down. He missed those days, Running Wolf, Ma, Pa, Slim. Now they were gone, Running Wolf probably up near Fort Griffin. He’d like to see him.
    Clay slipped out to the knoll and found a place screening his back with a huge bunch of prickly pear. He cleared the ground of spines and sharp rocks and sat down. The stars were sprinkled across the heavens like fireflies that frequented the Frio during the summertime. The waning moon was just peeking up in the east. Yellow, it was, like the butter that came out of Ma’s churn. The howling of the coyotes had disappeared into the night. They must be hunting. The only sound came from the cicadas singing their rough tune and the nighthawk’s rattle.
    Time passed quickly. Two deer moved silently between the knoll and the wagons. Alert to danger, they walked slowly to the Nueces for water. Clay took one last look at the stars. It was time. He moved silently back into camp, moved up to Jake, and touched him on the leg.
    “You move awfully quiet, Clay,” Jake said. “Anything?”
    “Just a couple of deer moving to the river. You awake?”
    “Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    Clay moved over to his bedroll, slipped his moccasins off, and lay down. Don’t know what lies ahead, but I plan on burying some men before I die. He lay there for a moment more before sleep came.

CHAPTER FIVE
    T wo uneventful days had passed since their camp on the Frio River. The sun was overhead when Fort Clark came into sight. Clay, astride the buckskin, riding next to Jake, was anxious to get into Brackett and the fort. This would be his first opportunity to confirm he was on the killers ’ trail.
    “Let’s ride on into town, Clay,” Jake said. “The Pinders could be here. They’ve got no idea anyone is following them, so don’t go off half-cocked if you see ’em. We’ll try to check in with the fort commander and see if those soldier boys know anything—at least let them know what’s happened. We don’t want them coming down on the wrong side if shootin’ breaks out. You keep that shotgun handy.”
    The two rode up to the fort. “Howdy,” Jake said to the private on guard. “We got freight wagons coming on behind us. Should be here in a couple of hours. You happened to seen or heard of six riders coming through these parts?”
    The private thought for a moment. “Yes, siree, they was six come through here ’bout four days ago. Rough-looking characters. One was shot bad. Said they run into some Apaches. They took him to the infirmary.” He pointed to a sturdy rock building. “Reckon he’s still there. Can’t believe he ain’t dead, but he ain’t.”
    Clay spurred the buckskin. The surprised horse leaped into a gallop toward the infirmary. Jake was right behind. Clay swung down off the horse and jumped onto the infirmary porch just as an army captain in a white coat stepped out the