curtly.
‘Howdy, gents. Don’t b’lieve I’ve seen you round before. Which spread you with?’
The one with the six-gun was slightly ahead of the others. He was big and dirty and his hat had a floppy brim with ragged edges. His clothes, like the others, were patched roughly, worn through in places. Deke knew these were men who lived wild – and wouldn’t work for a ranch under any circumstance.
They would rather toss a wide loop over someone else’s cattle. These were men from the outlaw territory across the river.
‘We work for ourselves, mister,’ the man in the ragged hat said, jerking the Colt. ‘Might’s well drop that empty gun. It ain’t gonna do you no good.’
Instead of dropping it, Deke replaced it in hisholster. They didn’t like that: they wanted to be obeyed.
Ragged Hat heeled his mount forward. ‘Like the look of your hoss, mister,’ he said, ‘and likely I’ll take it with me when I go, but we’ll give you a choice. Been watchin’ you shoot. Like to have you with us, join our bunch and help us hit the ranches along the river. You could get rich.’
‘Or dead,’ Deke said, shaking his head. ‘I’ll pass, friend.’
The man stopped his horse a couple of feet short of Cutler, glanced at his companions.
‘Now how’d I know all along he was gonna say some-thin ’ just like that?’
‘Reckon he’s just got that kinda look, Salty,’ chuckled one man, short but solidly built. The third man, small in every way and older, spat on Deke’s saddle.
‘Uh-huh. You boys’re out for trouble, eh?’
Salty grinned, showing gapped, yellow teeth. ‘Well, you sure ain’t gonna give us any!’
And he jumped his mount forward, swinging with his gun at Deke’s head. Except Cutler was no longer standing where he had been. He spun between Salty’s horse and the grey, grabbed the outlaw’s leg and heaved him out of the saddle. The man yelled and the ragged hat rolled away down slope, revealing Salty’s bald dome.
As he slid and skidded, the other two worked their mounts, trying to get a shot at Deke who dived under his horse and came up on the other side, reaching for his rifle. They triggered and dirt exploded around Cutler’s boots but he had the rifle now, jumped back from the grey and thrust the gun over the saddle, levering and triggering. The older, short man was standingin his stirrups, looking for a clear shot at Cutler. The first bullet snapped his head back and hurled him from the saddle. The solid built man was hanging over the side of his horse in the Indian fighting position, levering and shooting under the racing animal’s arched neck.
Cutler’s lead cut him down and dropped the horse, too, and man and animal skidded and rolled down-slope .
Salty, dazed, was on his feet and shooting wildly as he started to run up the slope. One bullet struck Deke’s saddle horn and he reared back, stung by pieces of flying, torn leather. His boots slipped in the gravel and the grey twitched and moved away a couple of feet, exposing him.
Salty stopped, baring his teeth as he drew bead on the helplessly floundering Cutler.
Deke put down a hand to push off the slope, still gripping the rifle in his right hand – and then froze as Salty gave a blood-chilling cry.
When Cutler looked in the outlaw’s direction, he saw Salty’s dirty body sagging forward over the long glittering spear-shaft that pinned him to a pine tree, the oval blade right through the centre of his chest.
CHAPTER 6
DEAD MEN RIDING
Spain was working with Jimmy Taggart and the big, surly cowhand called Jno, branding maverick calves in the yard, when Cutler rode in. He was weary despite his improved stamina and it showed in the deep vertical channels drawn in his flesh around his mouth.
Spain looked up, coughing a little in the burnt-hair smoke as yet another bawling calf staggered to its feet and joined its protesting companions in the smallest corral.
‘You been gone a long time.’
‘Almost didn’t make it
‘Howdy, gents. Don’t b’lieve I’ve seen you round before. Which spread you with?’
The one with the six-gun was slightly ahead of the others. He was big and dirty and his hat had a floppy brim with ragged edges. His clothes, like the others, were patched roughly, worn through in places. Deke knew these were men who lived wild – and wouldn’t work for a ranch under any circumstance.
They would rather toss a wide loop over someone else’s cattle. These were men from the outlaw territory across the river.
‘We work for ourselves, mister,’ the man in the ragged hat said, jerking the Colt. ‘Might’s well drop that empty gun. It ain’t gonna do you no good.’
Instead of dropping it, Deke replaced it in hisholster. They didn’t like that: they wanted to be obeyed.
Ragged Hat heeled his mount forward. ‘Like the look of your hoss, mister,’ he said, ‘and likely I’ll take it with me when I go, but we’ll give you a choice. Been watchin’ you shoot. Like to have you with us, join our bunch and help us hit the ranches along the river. You could get rich.’
‘Or dead,’ Deke said, shaking his head. ‘I’ll pass, friend.’
The man stopped his horse a couple of feet short of Cutler, glanced at his companions.
‘Now how’d I know all along he was gonna say some-thin ’ just like that?’
‘Reckon he’s just got that kinda look, Salty,’ chuckled one man, short but solidly built. The third man, small in every way and older, spat on Deke’s saddle.
‘Uh-huh. You boys’re out for trouble, eh?’
Salty grinned, showing gapped, yellow teeth. ‘Well, you sure ain’t gonna give us any!’
And he jumped his mount forward, swinging with his gun at Deke’s head. Except Cutler was no longer standing where he had been. He spun between Salty’s horse and the grey, grabbed the outlaw’s leg and heaved him out of the saddle. The man yelled and the ragged hat rolled away down slope, revealing Salty’s bald dome.
As he slid and skidded, the other two worked their mounts, trying to get a shot at Deke who dived under his horse and came up on the other side, reaching for his rifle. They triggered and dirt exploded around Cutler’s boots but he had the rifle now, jumped back from the grey and thrust the gun over the saddle, levering and triggering. The older, short man was standingin his stirrups, looking for a clear shot at Cutler. The first bullet snapped his head back and hurled him from the saddle. The solid built man was hanging over the side of his horse in the Indian fighting position, levering and shooting under the racing animal’s arched neck.
Cutler’s lead cut him down and dropped the horse, too, and man and animal skidded and rolled down-slope .
Salty, dazed, was on his feet and shooting wildly as he started to run up the slope. One bullet struck Deke’s saddle horn and he reared back, stung by pieces of flying, torn leather. His boots slipped in the gravel and the grey twitched and moved away a couple of feet, exposing him.
Salty stopped, baring his teeth as he drew bead on the helplessly floundering Cutler.
Deke put down a hand to push off the slope, still gripping the rifle in his right hand – and then froze as Salty gave a blood-chilling cry.
When Cutler looked in the outlaw’s direction, he saw Salty’s dirty body sagging forward over the long glittering spear-shaft that pinned him to a pine tree, the oval blade right through the centre of his chest.
CHAPTER 6
DEAD MEN RIDING
Spain was working with Jimmy Taggart and the big, surly cowhand called Jno, branding maverick calves in the yard, when Cutler rode in. He was weary despite his improved stamina and it showed in the deep vertical channels drawn in his flesh around his mouth.
Spain looked up, coughing a little in the burnt-hair smoke as yet another bawling calf staggered to its feet and joined its protesting companions in the smallest corral.
‘You been gone a long time.’
‘Almost didn’t make it
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