Return of the Outlaw by C. M. Curtis Read Free Book Online Page A

to the pasture where they were turned loose. So, they really were Rafter hands. The idea bothered Jeff. The thing to do now was to find out what was going on.
    He rode straight up to the house—a move he would soon regret. Two men were sitting on the front porch in barrel chairs, leaning back against the wall, their boots resting on the porch rail. Jeff did not like the look of these men either. They regarded him with obvious distrust for a moment then the one nearest him stood up. He was a short man, thick-boned with a straight, thin-lipped mouth like a knife gash across his face. The skin on his face was pale and smooth, almost like a woman’s except for the dark shadow of whiskers around his jaw. He wore a gun low on his hip and moved like a cat, keeping his right hand close to his pistol butt.
    “Want something?” he asked in unfriendly tones.
    “Maybe,” replied Jeff. “I’ll let you know if I do. Where’s Amado?”
    “Who”?
    “Amado Lopez, the man who runs this ranch.”
    The pale-faced man gave a humorless laugh . “I could tell you who runs this ranch and it ain’t no greaser. Now, who are you?”
    “I ’m the owner of this ranch.”
    The pale-faced man laughed again and started to say something, but was cut off by the man in the barrel chair behind him. Speaking in a low voice not intended for Jeff ’s ears he said, “Healy, better get Fogarty.”
    Healy turned and went through the open front door, closing it behind him. The other man, an unclean looking, heavy-set man with a fat cigar in his mouth, eyed Jeff through his smoke with unconcealed dislike.
    Jeff considered dismounting and going in, but decided against it. Something was wrong here, and it gave him a bad feeling.
    Healy returned, accompanied by a broad, barrel chested man with a tied down gun—it seemed everyone on this ranch wore a gun. This man had a brutish looking face which terminated in a square, clean shaven jaw. One corner of his mouth tilted up in a sneer. Everything about the man told Jeff he was in trouble. He saw clearly now that it had been a mistake to ride in without checking things out first.
    Healy, smirking, gestured theatrically toward Jeff. “Mr. Fogarty, meet the owner of this ranch.” The heavy-set man in the chair gave a raspy laugh. He was still sitting, but now had his feet on the porch. There was not so much as a twitch of a muscle on the face of the man called Fogarty.
    Jeff kept his hand close to the butt of his pistol, not knowing what to expect next. These men were all gunmen, he could tell. He didn ’t stand a chance against the three of them.
    Healy was edging around to Jeff ’s right side. Jeff knew his only chance of getting out of this predicament alive was to avoid gunplay. He shot a quick glance at Healy and said, “Stay in front of me,” then jerked his eyes back to Fogarty.
    Fogarty spoke, his voice soft, but as cold as a tomb. “Your name would be Havens.”
    “That’s right.”
    Fogarty shot a glance past Jeff, to the opposite side of the yard, and instantly Jeff knew there was someone there. There was the click of a pistol being cocked , and he realized he had waited too long. Whatever chance he had had was gone. He relaxed his body and put his hands together on the saddle horn, cursing himself inwardly for a fool. He had thought he was coming home, and he had taken far too much for granted.
    Fogarty laughed, and it was an unpleasant sound. The man on the porch stood up, grinning, and tossed his cigar into the yard. Healy stepped closer and lifted Jeff ’s pistol out of the holster.
    “Get down,” said Fogarty, pointing his pistol at Jeff’s face.
    Jeff obeyed. He heard footsteps behind him and tensed himself. Something hit him hard in the back of the head, and then the four men beat him without mercy.

Chapter 3
     
    He lay on the dirt floor of the tool shed where they had dragged him. He had feigned unconsciousness, and it had not been far from the truth. In fact, after they