burns down to the powder.”
“What makes you think I’ll see your woman, stuck way out here in a cook shack?” the old man barked. “You plumb loco?”
“You wanted to tag along,” Trace growled. “This is what tagging along gets you. Just do as I say.”
“What’s got you snakebit, Ord?” Preacher asked. “You look like you’ve seen a gosh-darned ghost.”
“Worse,” Trace gritted out. “That’s my horse he’s riding.”
Chapter Five
W ell , you could have bowled me over with a feather that day,” Preacher was saying.
Nearly two more had passed since they parted company. Two days of hell, of waiting. Trace had watched for the old man every hour from a nearby ridge. Finally he’d spotted the buckboard leaving the Lazy C, likely to pick up supplies, and Trace met his friend at a small, unseen grove just off the trail.
“What I don’t get is why you didn’t claim that mustang on the spot. Couldn’t you prove he was yours?” Preacher fussed.
“I could’ve proven it. Diablo’s hooves and shoes are notched.”
“Then, why?”
“It wasn’t the right time,” Trace said. “Comstock wasn’t packing, unless you want to call that meanlooking blacksnake on the pommel of his saddle a weapon. A coward’s weapon. I’ll bet he knows how to use it, too. But that foreman of his was. If I’d drawn on Comstock—and it would have come to that if I’d claimed back Diablo, believe me—who knows howmany other riders would have drilled me from behind? You, too. He and a couple of boys were on the porch watching my every move as I rode out. I’ve no doubt they saw and heard it all.”
“You don’t make no sense, Ord,” Preacher opined, lifting his dusty slouch hat to scratch his head. “Ever since we first met, you’ve been braying about getting that black devil stallion back. Well, you get the chance, you’ve got proof that he’s yours, the poor animal was being abused something terrible and—cool as you please—you tip your hat and walk away. I take back what I said about you having a short fuse, but I still think you’ve been chewing on locoweed.”
“That woman stole my horse,” said Trace. “I need to find out if she’s in cahoots with this outfit or a victim of it. Then I can do something.”
“If Comstock don’t kill that mustang first,” the old man said. “That horse recognized you, Trace. I see that now. That’s why he acted like he did.”
“Don’t you think that tears me up inside?” Trace’s anger burned hot. “Do you have any idea what it took for me to turn my back and leave him there? If that gal is part of this gang, it’s one thing. If she’s here against her will, it’s another. She was running from something, remember? If she’s still alive, I have no idea what she’s told Comstock, and I could get her hurt or killed. That’s why I need you there. You have to find out the situation.”
“You ain’t going to cotton to a lot of what’s going on,” the old man said darkly.
“Spit it out!”
The old man gave him a sad smile. “I knew you’d be champing at the bit, but I couldn’t get out here no quickerwithout rousing suspicion. You see, they ain’t exactly welcomed me into the fold with open arms. They like my cooking well enough. I never was worried about that. But they ain’t giving me rein to move free about the place. They keep me pretty close to the bunkhouse and the cook shack, and they’re generally a tight-lipped bunch.”
“How many riders?” Trace asked.
“Ten that I’ve seen, but I gather there are more. Some out on the range never come in—leastwise, they haven’t since I’ve been there.”
“What about the girl?” Trace urged.
The old man hedged. “You ain’t going to like what I have to say.”
Trace snapped. “Don’t mess with me, old-timer. Is she there or not?”
Preacher frowned. “I didn’t see no womenfolk at all, and I didn’t hear no mention of any, neither. Nobody was saying much around me. A
“What makes you think I’ll see your woman, stuck way out here in a cook shack?” the old man barked. “You plumb loco?”
“You wanted to tag along,” Trace growled. “This is what tagging along gets you. Just do as I say.”
“What’s got you snakebit, Ord?” Preacher asked. “You look like you’ve seen a gosh-darned ghost.”
“Worse,” Trace gritted out. “That’s my horse he’s riding.”
Chapter Five
W ell , you could have bowled me over with a feather that day,” Preacher was saying.
Nearly two more had passed since they parted company. Two days of hell, of waiting. Trace had watched for the old man every hour from a nearby ridge. Finally he’d spotted the buckboard leaving the Lazy C, likely to pick up supplies, and Trace met his friend at a small, unseen grove just off the trail.
“What I don’t get is why you didn’t claim that mustang on the spot. Couldn’t you prove he was yours?” Preacher fussed.
“I could’ve proven it. Diablo’s hooves and shoes are notched.”
“Then, why?”
“It wasn’t the right time,” Trace said. “Comstock wasn’t packing, unless you want to call that meanlooking blacksnake on the pommel of his saddle a weapon. A coward’s weapon. I’ll bet he knows how to use it, too. But that foreman of his was. If I’d drawn on Comstock—and it would have come to that if I’d claimed back Diablo, believe me—who knows howmany other riders would have drilled me from behind? You, too. He and a couple of boys were on the porch watching my every move as I rode out. I’ve no doubt they saw and heard it all.”
“You don’t make no sense, Ord,” Preacher opined, lifting his dusty slouch hat to scratch his head. “Ever since we first met, you’ve been braying about getting that black devil stallion back. Well, you get the chance, you’ve got proof that he’s yours, the poor animal was being abused something terrible and—cool as you please—you tip your hat and walk away. I take back what I said about you having a short fuse, but I still think you’ve been chewing on locoweed.”
“That woman stole my horse,” said Trace. “I need to find out if she’s in cahoots with this outfit or a victim of it. Then I can do something.”
“If Comstock don’t kill that mustang first,” the old man said. “That horse recognized you, Trace. I see that now. That’s why he acted like he did.”
“Don’t you think that tears me up inside?” Trace’s anger burned hot. “Do you have any idea what it took for me to turn my back and leave him there? If that gal is part of this gang, it’s one thing. If she’s here against her will, it’s another. She was running from something, remember? If she’s still alive, I have no idea what she’s told Comstock, and I could get her hurt or killed. That’s why I need you there. You have to find out the situation.”
“You ain’t going to cotton to a lot of what’s going on,” the old man said darkly.
“Spit it out!”
The old man gave him a sad smile. “I knew you’d be champing at the bit, but I couldn’t get out here no quickerwithout rousing suspicion. You see, they ain’t exactly welcomed me into the fold with open arms. They like my cooking well enough. I never was worried about that. But they ain’t giving me rein to move free about the place. They keep me pretty close to the bunkhouse and the cook shack, and they’re generally a tight-lipped bunch.”
“How many riders?” Trace asked.
“Ten that I’ve seen, but I gather there are more. Some out on the range never come in—leastwise, they haven’t since I’ve been there.”
“What about the girl?” Trace urged.
The old man hedged. “You ain’t going to like what I have to say.”
Trace snapped. “Don’t mess with me, old-timer. Is she there or not?”
Preacher frowned. “I didn’t see no womenfolk at all, and I didn’t hear no mention of any, neither. Nobody was saying much around me. A
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