Ralph Compton Death Rides a Chestnut Mare by RALPH COMPTON Read Free Book Online

after the bastards who did it. I found what I thought was their trail late yesterday, but the rain last night washed it out. They all rode south, and having no trail to follow, I was just taking my chances.”
    â€œI’m Tuck Carlyle,” the young man said, leaning the Winchester against a shrub. “This is our spread, for what it’s worth. I live here with my sister, Carrie, and Audrey, my ma. Pa went off to war and never come back. The damn outlaws from Indian Territory have been rustlin’ us blind. They hit us again night before last and already had the jump on me before I found out what they’d done.”
    â€œIf it’s the same bunch I’m after,” said Danielle, “there’s eight of them. That’s a hell of an outfit for just you to be trailing them.”
    Tuck laughed. “Then there’s at least one more gent that’s as big a fool as I am, and that’s you . You’re trailing them, too.”
    â€œThere wasn’t anyone else,” Danielle said. “My two brothers are barely fourteen.”
    â€œYou don’t look much older than that yourself,” said Tuck.
    â€œI’m just barely eighteen,” Danielle said, “but I can ride, rope, and shoot.”
    â€œI believe you,” said Tuck. “Have you caught up to any of the killers yet?”
    â€œTwo of them,” Danielle said, “and I know the names of the others. Or at least the names they’re using.”
    Tuck Carlyle whistled long and low. Westerners did not ask or answer foolish questions, and this young rider being alive was proof enough that two outlaws were dead.
    â€œTrailing the varmints after last night’s rain is a waste of time,” Tuck said. “Why don’t you ride on back to the house with me? You can meet Ma and my sister, Carrie, and have some breakfast.”
    â€œYou talked me into it,” said Danielle. “All I’ve had is a little jerked beef.”
    â€œLet’s ride then,” Tuck said. “God, could I use a cup of hot coffee, but we haven’t had any since before the war.”
    â€œThe war’s been over for five years,” said Danielle.
    â€œNo money,” Tuck said gloomily. “Texans don’t have a damn thing to sell except cows, and us little ranchers can’t get ’em to market. We’d have to drive to Abilene, right across Indian Territory. Them damn outlaws would love having them delivered, instead of having to come and get ’em.”
    â€œAre other small ranchers having the same problem getting their cows to market?”
    â€œAll I know of,” said Tuck. “Nobody has money for an outfit, and they can’t afford the riders they’d need for a gather.”
    â€œIf maybe half a dozen small ranchers went in together,” Danielle said, “you might have enough riders to gather everybody’s cows, one ranch at a time. With the gather done, you could take a rider or two from every ranch and drive the herd to Abilene.”
    â€œBy God, that might work,” said Tuck. “I can think of four others that’s as desperate as we are.”
    â€œHow big is your spread?” Danielle asked.
    â€œA full section,” said Tuck. “It’s 640 acres.”
    â€œHell’s bells,” Danielle said, “if that’s a small ranch, how large is a big one?”
    Tuck laughed. “When I call us a small outfit, I mean we don’t have that much stock.”
    â€œYou could sell some of the land if you had to,” said Danielle.
    â€œWe may have it taken from us,” Tuck said, “but we’ll never sell. This section of land has been in our family for four generations. It has an everlasting spring, with the best water for fifty miles around. The only potential buyer is Upton Wilks. He owns sections to the east and west of ours, and he’s sittin’ back like a damned old buzzard, just waitin’ for us