Ralph Compton Vengeance Rider by Joseph A. West & Ralph Compton

Author:Joseph A. West & Ralph Compton [West, Joseph A. & Compton, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Fletcher watched as Doc took the talus slope, a new respect for the little man’s mustang growing in him.

It was the ugliest horse Fletcher had ever seen, its blunt head always surrounded by flies, and he doubted if it went eight hundred pounds, but it was all heart and its wiry stamina seemed to have no bottom.

Until Doc and the horse were swallowed by the darkness, he watched in the uncertain moonlight as the mustang stood on its legs when it could, slid down the slope on its rump when it couldn’t, Doc clinging to its back like a leech.

After a few minutes Doc hallooed from the bottom of the slope. “I’m down,” he yelled, his voice distant and faint.

Fletcher turned to Adelina. “You next. Just take it slow and easy and you’ll make it.”

The girl stepped into the saddle and sat her horse, looking down at Fletcher.

“You’re wrong, you know,” she said.

“About what?”

“About what you think of Hank Riker. He didn’t steal your horse.”

“Who told you about that?” Fletcher asked, his eyes hard.

“Doc. While you were back exploring the wall of the canyon.”

“Doc talks too much.”

Adelina shook her head at him. “I know Hank Riker. He’s a good man and he’d never be a party to murder and horse theft.”

Fletcher thought that through, then said: “Well, if that’s the case, he’s got nothing to fear from me.”

“Just don’t make any mistakes, that’s all,” Adelina said.

“If Riker turns out to be the man, then he’s the one who made the mistake,” Fletcher said.

“You just won’t let it go, will you?” Adelina flared.

“Not until I know the identity of the gambler who ordered Bosco Tracy and Port Austin to kill my hired hand and steal my horse. Like I told you, Adelina, if it wasn’t Riker he’s got nothing to fear.”

“Fear? You? Listen Mr. Fletcher, Hank Riker can take care of himself.” And with that, the girl slapped her horse with the reins and rode over the mesa rim.

Fletcher stepped to the edge and watched Adelina go until she too was covered up by the darkness. Then he swung into the saddle and followed her. It seemed that the buckskin was trying to make amends for his behavior on the canyon bench, because he took the talus slope well, sliding most of the way on his rump, but making no attempt to unseat his rider.

The buckskin took the last third of the slope on his feet, picking his way across the loose debris as if he’d done this a hundred times.

When Fletcher arrived at the bottom, Doc and Adelina were waiting for him.

“Now what?” Doc asked, smiling, but looking tired and old.

“We ride south and put some miles between us and Don Carlos.”

“I need something to eat and a few hours sleep, Mr. Fletcher,” Adelina said, her eyes blazing.

“Later,” Fletcher said, no give in him, “when we’ve opened up the distance between us and”—he spaced his words deliberately—“your husband.”

If Adelina was stung, she didn’t let it show. She turned on her heel, walked to her horse and swung into the saddle.

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