Pale Rider by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online

Hull said nothing as the stranger helped him remount the buckboard. This done, his mysterious benefactor then mounted the gelding tied up nearby, turned, and gave Hull’s animal a whack on its rump. The buckboard lurched forward, then to the side as the stranger guided it out to the middle of the street. Together they rode toward the far end of town.
    Hull had completely forgotten his own injuries. The tall man riding alongside the wagon appeared none the worse for wear. He didn’t look back and he wasn’t so much as breathing hard. But Hull looked back. He had to. It was the only sure way he had of convincing himself he hadn’t dreamed the last five minutes.
    He could see a shaky McGill standing over his cronies, who were still down in the dirt. They were in no condition to walk across the street, much less mount any kind of vengeful pursuit. Thus reassured, he removed his bandana from a pocket and began wiping at the blood that covered his face.
    He tried to see everything a second time in his mind. Everything was fairly clear up to the point when the stranger had intervened. Then a brief blur of action, the bucket whizzing through the air like a medieval mace, and suddenly he was back on the buckboard instead of lying there in the street having the beejeesus knocked out of him.
    It was all pretty hazy, but he was certain of one thing: the stranger had done it alone, without any help from anyone on the street or inside the store. One man had done what the whole town wouldn’t have dared.
    He gazed at his benefactor with a mixture of gratitude and unadulterated awe, but all he could think of to say was, “Obliged.”
    The tall rider’s smile came quick and easy. It made you want to smile back.
    “Those men hold some kind of grudge against you? Three against one’s not fair odds.”
    Depends on who the one is, Hull thought admiringly. “Would’ve stayed out of it if they’d have let me.” He wiped at the bridge of his nose and winced. Sore but not broken. He had reason to be thankful for that. Lahood was not big enough to afford a full-time physician and the barber-dentist didn’t count.
    “Tried to. Didn’t work any better this time than the last. It’s a bit more’n a grudge. Feud’s more like it. Some folks would call it business, I guess. My name’s Barret. Hull Barret.”
    The stranger simply nodded by way of reply. Nodded and smiled. Friendly enough, and more than helpful, Hull decided as he regarded his companion, but not overly informative. Well, that was okay with Hull. You didn’t push a man in such matters, not in gold country. Most men had come to California seeking the yellow metal, but not a few had come in search of anonymity. Yes, that was fine with Hull. Anything the tall stranger might choose to do was fine with him.
    It did nothing to sate his curiosity, though, and he couldn’t resist asking, “You from hereabouts?”
    “Nope.”
    My, but he was talkative. “Placerville? he asked, forgetting his own advice to himself. “Sacramento maybe?”
    A single shake of head and hat. “Uh-uh.”
    Hull Barret hadn’t stuck it out on Carbon Creek for this long because of a lack of persistence. So long as the man gave no indication of taking offense, the miner felt it would be all right to continue with his inquiries.
    “Just passing through, then.”
    The stranger shrugged indifferently. “Maybe. Maybe not. Guess I hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought.”
    Interesting, Hull mused. Interesting and maybe, just maybe, useful. He tried not to sound too anxious. “After what you did back there, I wouldn’t stay in town if I was you. You stuck your foot in a hornet’s nest. I wouldn’t advise sleeping nearby. My cabin’s got two rooms.” He nodded toward the mountains looming just ahead. “It’s not the Palace, but it keeps out the wind and most of the rain, and the beds ain’t under the leaks. You’re welcome to one of ’em for as long as you’d like to stay.”
    The stranger