Ralph Compton The Convict Trail by Ralph Compton Page B

hands.”
    Carmine’s horse tossed its head, the bit chiming. The mounts of the other brothers moved restlessly, perhaps scenting coyote or bear in the wind. Lightning shimmered, illuminating the planes of Carmine’s face, making the shadows pooled in his cheeks and eye sockets darker.
    For an instant, Kane thought he was looking at a skull. “If the ranny who broke your rule is dead, why are you huntin’ another man?”
    â€œThe man who shamed us was married to our sister. He used this relationship to steal a considerable amount of money from the family, thirty thousand dollars to be exact. He left our sister and fled New Orleans, then headed for Texas, thinking he could lose himself in that vast land. But he was wrong. A man like him, dressed as a gentleman and spending money freely, is always noticed and commented upon. Before long, word got out, all the way to New Orleans, and when he was told of this, the man panicked and made his way to a dung heap called Fort Worth.”
    Kane picked up the coffeepot, a signal that he was no longer interested. Carmine saw this and spoke with more urgency. “In Fort Worth, the man was befriended by a cripple named Barnabas Hook, an executioner by trade.”
    Now Kane was listening intently, the coffeepot in his hand.
    â€œHook, if that was his real name, promised the man he would protect him, that he could travel with him to a place of safety in the Indian Territory. Later, the local constabulary found the man dead, cut in half by a shotgun. His money and all his possessions were gone and there was no sign of Hook. All this we were told in Fort Worth.”
    â€œSo now you’re hunting this man, Hook?”
    â€œWe want our money back. It belongs to the family.”
    The man called Vito said, “Did you meet Hook on the trail? He’s already a dead man from the waist down and he travels with a woman and young girl.”
    Kane had made up his mind about two things: the three men facing him had a killing in mind, and he would say nothing to endanger Lorraine and Nellie.
    â€œThere are many trails in and out of the Territory,” he said. “I never came across a man who fits your description.”
    A sudden flare of anger in his face, Vito opened his mouth to speak again, but Carmine cut him off. “Then we will take up no more of your time, Marshal. You have your duties and we have ours.”
    But the man didn’t leave right away. He kicked his horse into motion and rode up to the cage. “Are any of you men Siciliani ?” he asked.
    The six convicts were silent, their faces puzzled. Kane guessed they were probably trying to figure out what “ Siciliani ” meant, as was he.
    â€œNo? Then that’s too bad. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
    Carmine swung his horse away from the wagon, touched his hat to Kane, then led his brothers into the black cavern of the night.
    The marshal was uneasy. He had the feeling he’d meet the Provanzano brothers again, and their next meeting would not be so civil. He was certain they knew he’d lied to them about Hook and they were not men to forget such a slight.

Chapter 7
    Kane fed the prisoners two at a time, herding them into the cabin under a sky splintered by lightning and heavy with rain. Later he spread Sam’s slicker over the top of the wagon cage and added some fallen pine branches. It was a meager shelter, but it kept out the worst of the downpour.
    Stringfellow and the others made no complaint, a fact that bothered Kane. He was more troubled still when the prisoners huddled together after they were returned to the wagon, Stringfellow’s whisper thin as a razor in the darkness.
    Standing as close as he dared to the wagon without seeming to listen, Kane could hear nothing. But then Stringfellow’s voice rose a little and he heard the man say, “Joe, you’re gold dust, true-blue.” He looked around the circle of shadowed