Wild by Lincoln Crisler Read Free Book Online Page B

seen this mud before.” The boots were caked with a dull, dried red earth. “As I’m sure you already know, there isn’t a lot of mud to be found in this part of Texas or Mexico, but I’ve knocked a bit of this from my own boots, when I was in the Army. These men set up camp on El Camino Real, near Las Cruces, or you should just send me packing into these hills.”
    “Well, we don’t have much else to go on,” Matt said. “Looks like we’re heading to Las Cruces.” He turned towards Fancy Jim. “You’re welcome to join us.”
    “I appreciate it, but I don’t have any reason to,” Jim said. “After seeing all this, I think I’m going to go straight. See if my cousin still wants me to work on his ranch.” The dandy untethered his horse and climbed into the saddle. “You boys do whatever you want with the rest of this stuff.” Without another word, he rode off toward Mesilla.
    “What about you, Mr. Catch?” Matt said, looking at Black Tom. “Oliver’s dead, and the money he owed you is gone. You don’t have much reason to stick around.”
    “Don’t reckon I need much of one,” the outlaw said with a shrug. “Not that you have any call to interrogate me anyhow. At least I had a good reason for coming out here in the first place. After the last couple days, I figure you need all the help you can get.”
    “Fair enough.”
    Part Four
    Journeys with Jacoby, Vol. I, Chapter III.
    Published 1890, by Juan Vargas:
    Tom and Matt untethered Steve and Lee’s horses while I gathered up the rest of the guns. I tied the bundle of weapons to the back of Tom’s saddle, climbed up behind Matt, and we were halfway back to Mesilla before Fancy Jim’s dust had begun to settle. Five minutes later, we were back at the inn.
    “Go find the owner,” Matt told me, and I headed inside while he and Tom went to the stable. He was behind the bar, wiping down the dark, polished wood, and said nothing when I invited him outside. Matt and Tom had already brought out their horses and my own; the two we’d rode in on were tethered nearby, and Kurt’s black horse was still stabled.
    “I have a couple of extra horses, not counting the black one we brought with us. I need you to hold him until we come back.” Matt said to the innkeeper when I brought him out. “Don’t suppose these two’d make up for what we owe you?” Matt offered him the reins to Steve and Lee’s horses. The innkeeper thought for a moment, then nodded. He whistled for one of his sons, gave him instructions, shook hands with Matt, then went back inside. I made sure my saddle and gear were tied securely and swung atop my horse. A moment later, I led the way to Camino Real.
    “At least we know one thing,” Matt said, pulling his horse up beside mine after a few minutes on the trail. “You were right about the dirt.” He’d stopped briefly on the side of the trail and scooped up a handful. He sifted the red earth through his fingers as we spoke.
    “ Si . The mud we found is probably from when they watered their horses and washed up. That’s where I remember it from.”
    “What can we expect in Las Cruces?” he asked me.
    It didn’t take long to tell him. Las Cruces was small, not even three thousand people, and functioned primarily as a trading post and college town. They had a railroad depot, built twelve or so years before, the usual inns and shops, a small, agricultural college and a bank. There were a few ranches and not much else.
    “Sounds like a great place to hole up if you’ve kidnapped someone,” Matt said.
    “Yeah, I’ve hid there a few times myself,” Tom agreed. “The Organ Mountains are damned inhospitable unless you have a good reason to be there.”
    “Well, let’s start at the local watering hole,” Matt said as we reached the town. “I’m sure you know someone, right?”
    Tom grinned. “Of course I do.”
    The inn was dim and dusty, and packed mostly with tired-looking ranch hands. More than a few of them were