Dark Shadow by Chandler Roy F

Author:Chandler, Roy F. [Chandler, Roy F.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Katherine R. Chandler
Published: 2013-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

15

Logan took his time coming down from the ridge. He walked ahead of his horse, his Spencer ready, his eyes searching the lower ground. Near the bottom, rocks fell to his left, but he knew they were from the cliff climber's struggles, and he kept looking ahead.

He had enough time because he wanted the posse to fight their horses back south across the ridge tops before they saw him far out on the plain. The wearier their mounts became the less chance they would continue the pursuit.

The cliff climber's horse stood where he had left it, and Logan judged that the ridden-out animal had recovered a bit. Logan tied his own horse nearby and saw to the climber's exhausted mount

Behind the saddle the rider carried a large water gourd that sloshed when Logan cut it free. He slashed the girth letting the saddle fall to the ground and could almost feel the horse’s relief.

Again using his hat, he watered the horse from the rider's gourd, forcing it to drink slowly by withholding the water after each dozen swallows.

Again rocks clattered, and this time Logan took a look. Far up the cliff the climber was attempting to position himself to shoot. The vaquero's perch was treacherous, and he was struggling to even raise his gun. Logan snorted to himself. The man should recognize when he was licked.

Logan stepped to his own animal and unslung the Sharps rifle. He carried it openly to a convenient rock, but before he was in shooting position the climber had realized his error and was frantically gesturing his surrender. Logan signaled for the posseman to throw his rifle away, and when he hesitated, Logan placed his sight on the man's body. Pinned helplessly against the cliff, the climber succumbed, and his weapon came crashing down the cliff face.

Logan climbed aboard his horse and took the climber's reins in hand. A gentle nudge of his heels started them at a walk, and the posseman's animal marched docilely along. It would not do to let the fool climbing the mountain regain his animal or he might run the mount to death. A half-mile along, Logan gave the horse the last of the gourd water, slipped his bridle, and slapped him into a shambling walk off to a side. With a little luck the horse might never be recovered.

When he paused to glass the mountains behind, Logan saw some of the posse starting to work their way south along the top of the first cliff. He figured they were out of the race. They had caught up once by riding their mounts into the ground, but they had no chance to do so again.

Logan rode with some wonder at how everything had reversed for him. At morning light he had been in hope of shooting Punto from his saddle and possibly another one or two of the remaining raiders. That would have finished it, and he would have survived after all. Instead, he was on the run with dozens of relentless hunters on his trail.

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