Scalpers by Ralph Cotton Read Free Book Online Page B

pointing the smoking Walker at her. “Penza wants me to kill you both. But I’d sooner you be in this world than out of it.” He gave her a stiff grin.
    â€œSo—so would I,” she said in a shaky voice. She withdrew her hand slowly from under the bar top. Pridemore looked around at his men, who stood staring curiously. He shrugged.
    â€œA man would be a fool to kill a big strapping redhead like this one,” he said. He gestured Bertha from behind the bar. “Come around here, Big Darling. Let’s get a better look at you.” As Bertha eased around the bar toward him, he said to the others, “Have fun while you can, men. Tomorrow we’ve got all kinds of work ahead of us.”

Chapter 5

    In the early-morning light the Ranger had caught sight of trail dust drifting across the flatlands on the far horizon, where sandy bottom slopes reached upward into rocky hill lines. When he drew his dun and the cart beside him to a halt, Ria Cerero reined the barb down on his other side and searched the distant flatlands with him. The young woman sat on her board perch on the front edge of the cart and watched them both quietly.
    â€œWhat is it?” Ria asked Sam.
    â€œTrail dust,” Sam said without turning to her, “less than an hour out.”
    â€œHow do you know it is trail dust?” the woman asked.
    â€œIt’s just something you know after a while,” Sam said, still scouring the distance as he drew a battered telescope from inside his bedroll behind his saddle. He extended the field lens, raised it to his right eye and searched for the drift of dust again, not finding it. He went on to explain as he searched, “There’s not enough wind to pull dust. . . . If it was the wind causing it, it would be a lot wider.”He paused, then added, “Anyway, dust doesn’t stir up and drift without a reason.”
    Ria watched as the Ranger lowered the telescope, collapsed it between his palms and stuck it back behind his saddle.
    â€œBut could it be wild horses, even elk?” she asked, not wanting to consider that it might be Indians.
    â€œCould be, but I doubt it,” Sam replied, not wanting to spend any time discussing probabilities. He reined his dun to the right, leading the mule cart toward the slope of the hill line alongside them, less than a mile away. “Let’s ride up into the rocks and keep moving.”
    â€œIt is Apache!” Ria said with a slight gasp of fear in her voice. She reined the barb horse quickly and sidled it closer to the Ranger.
    â€œNo,” Sam said, “Apache don’t make dust on their trail if they can keep from it—especially when the Mexican government has scalp hunters killing them for bounty. Apache ride wide of anything soft enough to leave a track, or loose enough to stir dust.” He nudged the dun forward.
    â€œYou know a lot about the Apache?” Ria asked as they rode along, the girl sitting watching them from her perch.
    â€œNo, ma’am,” Sam said sidelong to her. “Just enough to keep me alive, so far.” He glanced back out and once again saw a thin curtain of dust rise and drift. “I have learned to do the two main things they do out here—keep quiet and stay out of sight.”
    They crossed the short stretch of flatlandseparating them from the hill line and put their horses and mule cart upward onto a path that meandered and weaved its way among chimney rock and large boulder. For the better part of an hour they climbed the path until it widened into a trail running along the hillside three hundred feet above the flatlands. The lank mule pulled the cart along steadily, confidently; yet Sam knew the steepness of the hillside would not allow the cart to move any farther up its rigid spine. This was terrain for the sure of hoof, the nimble of foot. The land held no forbearance for man’s wheeled endeavor.
    â€œWe need to walk,” he said