Adam Steele 13 Bloody Border by George G. gilman

Author:George G. gilman [gilman, George G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Adam Steele understood Wheeler Mitchell's stand so well because he was himself a killer with principles. Not many, but those which had survived the harsh experiences of the violent peace were important to him. And it was one such that caused him to be riding out on the west trail from Carly, his back toward the lightening sky of the breaking dawn. The principle of seeing a job through to the end, come what may. Whatever feelings he had had toward the Borderville widows — perhaps pity, sympathy and even a sense of affinity — had been slight at the outset. For he had elected to help them because of his good feeling about the town in mourning. True, a town was a barren shell if the people who lived there were discounted. So he had been influenced by the factors he had explained to the blonde he found in O'Ryan's saloon — the lengths to which the widows were prepared to go in achieving their aim. The affinity had been struck then, because he could recall so vividly the methods he had used to seek revenge against his father's murderers. He could not decide whether pity or sympathy — or both — had been aroused before or after the rapport was established. Not that it mattered. By his own code, he had to finish the job he had agreed to do. And the fact that he now knew he was hunting down a bunch of killers on behalf of another bunch of killers was immaterial to the depth of his commitment. For he was himself a killer, with no right to judge that others of his kind had not committed their crimes with the same justification he considered he had. At least, not in this case.

The first shaft of crimson sunlight pierced a bank of cloud in the east and threw his shadow long in front of him as he crested a rise and started down the curving trail toward the Lazy-R spread. It was a prosperous-looking ranch. There was a low, single-story, L-shaped house with a pitched roof with a barn on one side and a bunkhouse and stable block on the other. Picket fencing enclosed a vegetable garden big enough to supply more produce than the spread would require. The corral was extensive enough to hold fifty horses with room to spare. The whole place was well tended and the woodwork had been given a recent coat of white paint. It was set in a broad valley which had been well grazed. Cattle — perhaps a thousand head — roamed free and looked in fine condition. There was adequate water for the beef at a lake some two miles south of the ranch buildings. Smoke wisped from two stacks — one on the house and the other on the bunkhouse. Nobody was outside the buildings. The trail curved down the side of the valley to bypass a stand of scrub oaks. Steele reined in his mount, slid from the saddle and led the gelding into the timber.

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