Lawless Trail by Ralph Cotton Read Free Book Online Page A

that, you’ll be playing fast and loose with this doctor’s life.”
    Claypool backed out onto the dusty boardwalk be-hind his leader, dust still looming heavily in the air.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” he asked Traybo over his shoulder, checking both ways along the street of the disheveled town.
    â€œI came back for the money,” said Traybo. “Why else?”
    â€œI wouldn’t have come back for you,” Claypool said, stepping down to the hitch rail and swinging the sack of money up over his horse’s damp, mud-streaked withers. He stopped for a second, recognizing the horse to be his own sweat-streaked dun. “It’s Charlie Smith!” he said to the dun, looking the horse over quickly. “And no worse for the wear.” The horse sawed its head and chuffed a hot breath in his face.
    â€œI come across him a mile out,” said Wes Traybo. “Figured you’d be glad to see him.”
    â€œI don’t know what to say,” Claypool said earnestly, climbing up into his saddle. He patted the dun’s damp withers. “Still,” he said, catching himself, “I wouldn’t have come back for you. I mean it.”
    â€œI know you wouldn’t, you stingy bastard,” said Traybo, shoving the young doctor up into a buckboard wagon he’d acquired on his way into town. He’d reined his horse to the rear of the wagon. “I’m trying to set a good example here.”
    â€œA good example. Hear that, Charlie Smith?” Claypool said to his horse through swollen lips. He leveled the stolen bowler atop his head, backing the dun into the street. “How’s Ty?” he asked Wes, turning the horse as Traybo swung the wagon around beside him.
    â€œHe’ll do,” said Wes, “if this doctor’s any good.” He slapped the reins to the buckboard horse’s back and put the wagon forward, eyes watching from inside the sheriff’s office as they rode away. “
Are
you any good, Doc?”
    â€œI’m the best,” the young doctor said, confident, but not cocky.
    â€œThat’s good to hear,” said Wes Traybo. “You better not be lying to me.”
    Claypool, looking back over his shoulder toward the sheriff’s office, saw stray cattle milling here and there; a long-horned steer licked a wet tongue on its reflection in a storefront window. Along the street townsfolk stared at them from behind cover, not sure what to do, seeing the shotgun to the side of their young doctor’s head.
    â€œWe’re stopping by the saloon on our way out,” Wes said sidelong to Claypool. “The mercantile too.”
    Claypool turned to him in his saddle.
    â€œYou come here to
shop
?” he asked, bemused, holding his eyes open as far as his swollen purple lids would allow.
    Traybo loosened the rope in his hand and lowered the shotgun an inch, resting the barrel on Dr. Bernard’s shoulder. He gave the guarded trace of a grin, staring ahead along the dusty street.
    â€œSort of,” he said.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Rubens stood up from his guard spot behind a stand of rock when he spotted Wes Traybo and the young doctor on the buckboard, Carter Claypool riding along beside them. On the other side of the buckboard, he spotted Wes’ horse, a dark-haired young woman in the saddle, her skirt drawn up over her thighs to accommodate herself.
    â€œLooks like your brother has brought half the damn town back with him,” he said to Ty Traybo, who sat slumped back against the rock, Bugs Trent sitting beside him, keeping a close eye on him.
    â€œHear that, Ty?” said Bugs. “Wes is back, and he’s brought half the town with him.”
    â€œThat’s . . . my brother for you,” Ty said, weak, sweating, drifting in and out of consciousness. He sat up straighter with Bugs’ help and looked out toward the approaching riders.
    Bugs raised the