The Fire of Greed by Bill Yenne Read Free Book Online

didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to tell what Grandfather had said about where they were headed.
    â€œHe says that they were in a big hurry to get across the Rio Grande,” the younger man continued in his own unhurried way. “He sent ’em down to the ford by Sabino.”
    â€œAbout . . . how far is that?” Cole asked, trying to space out his words to distinguish himself from the objects of obvious derision who were in a “white man’s hurry.”
    â€œMmmm,” the younger man said thoughtfully. “I reckon you’d be able to ride it in about an hour.”
    Cole looked at the sky. While they had been speaking, the sun had gone down, and the stars were starting to appear.
    â€œI wouldn’t try and cross down there in the dark, though,” the younger man advised.
    Cole nodded. He had seen recent evidence of imprudent nighttime riding by men who were in too much of a “white man’s hurry.”

Chapter 6

    BLADEN COLE CAMPED ON A HILL ABOVE THE HAMLET OF Sabino and crossed the ford at first light, observing for himself the rocks, rapids, and sandbar that were the reason for the young man’s caution.
    He was in the nearest west shore town, a place called Alamillo, before most people there had awakened. A handful of chickens were scuttering about, ignoring an abrasively crowing rooster who was wandering back and forth across the street like a tippling dandy.
    The first human inhabitant Cole saw was a middle-aged Anglo shopkeeper who was sweeping the accumulation of trail dust from the boardwalk in front of his wagon-stop general store.
    â€œYou’re up mighty early,” the man said in the warm and friendly way that a good shopkeeper—who treats
everyone
as a potential customer—greets said potential customers.
    â€œYep,” the bounty hunter agreed. “Lost time is not found again.”
    â€œThat is a maxim by which an efficient and successful man might live his life, sir,” the man said and smiled.
    â€œYou wouldn’t be able to sell a man a cup of hot coffee, would you?” Cole asked.
    â€œGot a pot on at this very moment,” he said, putting his broom aside.
    Relishing his coffee, Cole reached the point in their interaction where it was time for conversation, and used the moment to make his inquiry about the men and their pack mules.
    â€œJust so happens I
did
see those fellows, yes sirree,” the man acknowledged. “Thought it strange that they were trailing a
saddled
horse. Fellows out for a long ride often trail a spare saddle horse, but I don’t reckon you often see someone trailing a
saddled
saddle horse.”
    Cole nodded and took another sip of coffee.
    â€œThey friends of yours?”
    â€œMore that we have friends in common who want me to convey a message,” Cole replied vaguely. “Did you see which way they were headed?”
    â€œThataway,” the man said, pointing north and west.
    â€œWhat’s out there?”
    â€œThat’s the Sierra Magdalena Mountains country,” he said, using both the Spanish and English word for “mountains,” as Anglos often did. “Nothing up there unless they’re headed over to the valley over around Luera. People headed up into the Magdalenas usually stop in here for supplies, but by the looks of their mules, I’d say they were pretty well provisioned for a long ride. That’s a good thing, because they ain’t gonna be able to get much at Santa Rita.”
    â€œWhere’s Santa Rita?”
    â€œHour or so’s ride up yonder and well into the mountains. I reckoned that was probably where they’d be planning to make camp last night. You might be able to catch ’em. You figure that they’re headed over by Luera?”
    â€œI believe so.” Cole nodded, feigning knowledge of Luera.
    â€œMakes sense they’d be headed that way, otherwise they’d have gone south to Socorro