Herne the Hunter 21 by John J. McLaglen

Author:John J. McLaglen [McLaglen, John J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sharps rifle, colt 45, piccadilly publishing, herne the hunter, western pulp fiction, piccadilly cowboys, outlaws and lawmen in the old west, cowboy revenge ebook
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

Jed was hesitant about saying anything to the woman.

‘Pardon me, Aurora?’

‘What is it, Jed?’

‘I’m not rightly sure you should have fired the swing station.’

Behind them, as they moved steadily on westwards, he could still see the great shroud of black, oily smoke that towered several hundred feet in the cool sky.

‘Maybe right, son.’

‘The building kind of … well, it was owned by the Pony, wasn’t it?’

‘It was. But it was my home, Jed. Should have been my home, and Josiah, for the rest of our natural days. Now it’s gone. Fitting end for my husband. Funeral pyre for him, seen for fifty miles off. He’d have liked that. Quiet man, you know, Jedediah. But with some real fiery sparks glowin’ inside him.’

~*~

As they rode on, the woman astride the mustang, Jed found himself thinking about how he was going to have to kill Ethan Corleon. Already he’d killed two men, but the first had been on a violent impulse, in a rage. And Knightley had been a mercy killing. This was something different. The older galloper had willfully set a torch to a trail of powder, and now the fires were racing across the land.

Charley Howell talked a lot about debts and owing people. Ethan had set himself a bill of reckoning, and if nobody else turned up to claim it, then Herne was prepared to close the account.

~*~

The next swing station was only twelve miles further on, over a rough section of the trail that wound between high walls of rock, and forded a river. Despite the rain they were able to make the crossing without too much difficulty. The weather brightened during the day, and far off ahead of them they could see an occasional patch of sunlight moving across the face of the Rockies.

The far side of the water Jed swung off the back of his gelding, letting it drink. Aurora Clifton followed his example. He gave his reins to her and went further up the bank, stooping and examining the marks in the dirt.

‘You read sign, Jedediah?’

‘Some.’

‘What d’you see?’

‘Indians. No doubt ’bout it. Around ten or a dozen. Unshod ponies.’

‘What about the Pony’s horses?’

Jed wiped his nose with his finger, thinking before he replied. ‘I guess that they’re taking the horses off to some camp. And the rest of them …’

She nodded. ‘Looks like it’s not goin’ to be that easy to find any fuckin’ place to lay our heads this night, Jedediah Herne.’

‘I guess not.’

~*~

A deep pool, shaded with sycamores, stood alongside the next station down the line. It had been a single-handed stop, run by a young man named John Feeney.

Feeney was still there.

Floating facedown in the pool, the stumps of his arms outspread as though he was flying through space. The building had been left unburned, but all the horses were gone.

‘All thanks to that prickless gutter-bastard Corleon,’ hissed Aurora Clifton. ‘Johnny Feeney was a nice young lad. Betrothed to a lass from Iowa. Des Moines, as I recall. Feeney used to send her money every month.

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