Mark of the Hunter by Charles G. West

Author:Charles G. West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2013-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Harlan Striker was fuming when interrupted at breakfast to be told that one of his men had been killed and another wounded. His dark eyes seemed to throw sparks as Mace explained what had happened. “You mean to tell me you surprised three drifters camped on my range and you come limpin’ back here with your tails draggin’ and one less man? And now you’re tellin’ me that the three of them are still alive? What in hell do you think I pay you for?”

“We got bushwhacked,” Mace said in defense. “We didn’t know that one of ’em was hid back in the trees. He had the drop on us. There wasn’t nothin’ we could do.”

“Three damn drifters,” Striker repeated in disgust. “And you ain’t ever seen any of ’em before?”

“Maybe they weren’t just drifters,” Mace said, remembering then. “The big one with the scar on his face said to tell you there wouldn’t be no more cattle rustled on Triple-T range. They knew where they were and they knew the Triple-T. That sounds to me like they’ve hired on some new hands, and there ain’t no doubt that feller with the scar is a paid killer. They were out there keepin’ an eye on the cattle, just waitin’ for us to show up.”

Striker couldn’t deny that possibility, but it still didn’t excuse the report Mace offered on the prior night’s incident. His crew of fifteen men had been hired for their toughness and their know-how with guns. With Triple-T’s crippled manpower situation, he should have had no trouble rolling right over them. Will Murphy wasn’t even in the country, so when Mace put a bullet into Mike Duffy’s chest, there was no one left to lead the Triple-T crew—and more than likely nobody to hire on new hands. And yet they stubbornly held on. “Damn it!” he suddenly swore, and threw his coffee cup against the log wall, causing Mace to take a quick step back. The news was turning his breakfast sour. “I need every man I’ve got.” The ranch house he had planned to have completed before winter was still only partially built, and would now have to wait until spring before the other bedroom and dining room were finished. He wanted a herd of at least two thousand to ship to the markets in the coming summer, and that meant changing a lot of Triple-T brands. “Rena!” he yelled. “Bring me some fresh coffee.”

In a few moments, the seldom-speaking half-breed Crow woman came from the kitchen, carrying the coffeepot. Solidly built and just a shade shorter than Striker, she was accustomed to his angry outbursts, but unperturbed by them, however, because she knew he would have trouble finding a replacement for her. She stood silently there by the table, holding the coffee- pot and staring at the table. “Where’s your cup?” When he pointed to the cup lying on the floor near the wall, she looked at him and frowned. “You throw it down there again, I don’t bring you no more.

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