Shadow River by Ralph Cotton Read Free Book Online

ledge. Sam and Burke sat their horses, looking through a sheltering stand of young pine at a wide desert stretched below.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Black asked, pulling his horse up on Sam’s left.
    Sam studied the empty desert floor, his wrists crossed on his saddle horn. Below them, long evening shadows encroached out onto beds of gravel and farther out through embedded stones the size of steers. Sand the color of copper and pearls lay wind-banked among the stones. Pale dry sage clung to the desert floor as if in a last stand before tumbling off to parts unknown.
    â€œMake a dark camp until midnight,” Sam replied to both Burke and Black. He spoke sparingly, knowing he’d have to repeat himself when the other two arrived.
    Black let out a tired sigh.
    â€œThat’s sort of what I figured,” he said. “I hope folks are still drinking hot coffee by the time we get out of this wilderness.”
    They waited as Childers rode and stopped, followed a moment later by the Montana Kid.
    Sam looked around at them, then back out across the low rolling sand flats.
    â€œWe’ll stick up here and rest a few hours,” he said. “After midnight, we go down and lead our horses along the rocks, stay this side of the gravel beds.”
    The men gave a low collective groan.
    â€œThe longer we lead these horses, the longer it’ll take us to get to the ruins,” Childers pointed out.
    â€œI know,” Sam said. “But anybody wants to find our trail, at least they’ll have to work for it.”
    The tired, battered men nodded in agreement.
    â€œEach of us stands an hour of guard,” Sam said, having their attention, knowing he was in charge. “When the last man has stood guard, we move down from here and get under way.”
    â€œYou got it, Jones,” Burke said. “I’ll take guard first, unless anybody objects.” He looked at each exhausted dust-caked face in turn, then gave a thin, tired chuckle and said, “I didn’t think so.”

Chapter 5
    They slept the short night four men at a time, while the fifth man sat awake, wrapped in a blanket and backed against a rock. Sam had pulled his hour of guard third in line. At three in the morning, he arose from his spot among the rocks where the other sleepers lay sprawled like dead men awaiting burial and walked quietly to where the Montana Kid sat blanket-wrapped, his rifle hugged against himself like some talisman meant to ward away evil in the wide desert night.
    â€œI’m awake,” Montana said in a lowered tone, as if denying an accusation before it was made.
    â€œI figured you were,” Sam whispered in reply. “It’s time we shake them out.”
    Montana reached beneath his blanket, took out a pocket watch, opened it and cocked it against the pale moonlight.
    â€œI make it five more minutes,” he said, a man suddenly dedicated to the precision and distribution of time.
    Sam leaned against the rock beside Montana and gazed out through the purple-black-striped desert floor below them. Overhead, stars lay spread on a wide silken trail leading off into the endless depths of the heavens. A three-quarter moon dozed, its cleaved edge leaning against the western sky. On the ground below them, Sam watched as a shadowy black line of coyotes rose and fell in their silent stride, their red eyes darting upward toward the scent of man infringing on their domain.
    â€œThey make a ten-minute circle,” Montana said quietly. “Seeing if our smell is changing any—figuring us for fresh kill.” He paused, then said, “Might be catching some of Childers’ dried shoulder blood on the air.”
    â€œTheir scenting don’t miss a thing,” Sam offered, watching the coyotes file out of sight into the greater blackness of rock shadow.
    â€œSons a’ bitches hunt with their nose better than we can with our eyes,” Montana said. He paused, then added,