Massacre Canyon by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

leave.”
    â€œSí, señor.”
    There was a big fireplace on the other side of the room. Most nights here in the higher eastern slopes of the Superstitions, the temperature was chilly enough that the warmth from a fire felt good. That would probably be true tonight, too, but Kroll had something else in mind.
    He sat down to eat. The meal was simple fare—corn bread, beans, ham—but it was what he liked. Valencia had left a glass of tequila on the table, too, along with the bottle. That warmed Kroll as well.
    Tonight, however, the food seemed tasteless in his mouth. After toying with it for a few minutes, he pushed it away.
    Valencia had kindled the fire in the fireplace. She stood in front of it now, silhouetted by the growing flames behind her. When she saw that Kroll wasn’t eating, she asked, “Is something wrong, señor?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œJust not hungry tonight, I suppose,” he said.
    â€œWould you like for me to take it away?”
    â€œYes, por favor . But leave the tequila. And send Galt back up here.”
    She nodded, gathered up the food, and left. When she was gone, Kroll reached over and picked up a magazine that was lying on the table.
    It was a recent edition of Harper’s Weekly , brought to the hideout in a load of supplies from Phoenix. The woodcut illustration on the cover depicted a scene of violent gunplay between two men. Under the picture were the words “Daring Capture of Desperado Mordecai Kroll.”
    Rudolph had read the story inside the magazine at least a dozen times since Galt had given it to him. It was written in florid, breathless prose by someone named D. J. Garnett and told how Mordecai had been captured in a small town in Apache County by someone named Luke Jensen. Although Garnett didn’t spell it out, it was obvious to Rudolph that this man Jensen was the lowest form of life: a bounty hunter.
    The story ended with Mordecai being taken to St. Johns to be held there until jurisdiction was decided. Rudolph had kept up with the rest of the story through newspaper accounts and reports from his spies. He knew that even though warrants for Mordecai’s arrest had been issued in more than a dozen states and territories, Arizona authorities had refused to give him up. He was wanted in this territory on numerous counts of murder, rape, and robbery. Eventually, he had been taken to Phoenix to stand trial on those charges.
    Rudolph had considered trying to rescue his brother from the law while Mordecai was being transported from St. Johns to Phoenix, but in the end he had decided the risk was too great. Fearing just such an attempt, the territorial governor had asked for help from the army, so Mordecai was guarded during the trip by soldiers as well as deputies. The word was out, too, that the soldiers had unofficial orders to shoot Mordecai down if it looked like he was going to escape.
    Once the trial began, it hadn’t taken long for Mordecai to be found guilty on all counts and sentenced to hang. He would have been dead already if some of the states where he was wanted hadn’t continued their efforts to have him brought there for another trial. All this legal wrangling had delayed things, and while that was going on, Mordecai had sat in Yuma Prison under sentence of death, waiting to be hanged.
    Just because Rudolph had been forced to bide his time didn’t mean that he had given up on getting Mordecai out of there. But the simple fact of the matter was that this wasn’t a job for a bunch of outlaws. It required more finesse than that.
    Kroll stood up, slapped the rolled magazine against his thigh, and walked over to the fireplace carrying a freshly topped-off glass of tequila. He stood there sipping the liquor and watching the flames until the big outlaw Galt, who served as his majordomo here at the hideout, came into the room behind him.
    â€œYou wanted me, boss?” Galt rumbled.
    â€œThat’s