Slater's Way by Charles G. West

Author:Charles G. West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“Boy, he lit outta here like a rabbit with a bobcat on his tail,” Slim Posey crowed. “We ain’t gonna see that jasper again. He left damn near all his possibles and a right fine horse to boot. I’d say it was a pretty good night’s work.”

Tom Leach continued to stare in the direction of Slater’s departure. “Maybe he’ll keep on runnin’ and maybe he won’t. I ain’t willin’ to take a chance on him sneakin’ back here.”

“Hell, you shot him,” Slim said. “I saw him when the bullet hit him. He liked to fell outta the saddle then.”

“I know I hit him,” Leach insisted, “but I’d still like to know he’s hurt too bad to cause us any trouble.”

“He might already be dead,” Slim said. “But I reckon you’re right, we oughta see if we can find out. Why don’t we walk on down this stream a ways and see if he’s fell off his horse? Hell, he was just hangin’ on when he rode outta here.”

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Leach said. “I know I’d feel a lot easier if we was to find his body deader’n hell.” He looked at Lola then, who was busy pulling Slater’s packs apart, looking for anything of value. “You stay here. Me and Slim are gonna walk down this stream a ways till we find him, or know pretty sure he’s gone from these mountains.”

“If you find him, just make sure he’s dead. I don’t want him sneakin’ around here. He looks like a damn Injun, anyway. He’s liable to try to steal his things back if he ain’t dead.” She returned to her search of Slater’s packs.

As the two outlaws made their way carefully down the stream, a full moon rose over the mountain to shine its light on the steep gulch, making it much easier to see what lay ahead of them. It caused them to proceed with even more caution, for they were aware that they would be more easily seen as well.

“Keep your eyes sharp,” Leach whispered as they approached a bend in the stream where it worked around a stone column protruding from the spruce trees that lined the bank. Not willing to take a chance on being ambushed, Leach flattened his back against the stone column and eased his body around the bend. “Well, lookee yonder,” he exclaimed. “I got him, all right.”

Posey eased himself around behind Leach to see what he had seen. There, about thirty yards down the stream, the paint gelding stood close to the bank, its reins hanging down in the water, the saddle empty.

“Ha,” Slim barked triumphantly. “I reckon you did.” They hurried then to find the body, splashing through the cold mountain water. The paint moved its hindquarters around nervously as they ran up to it, looking right and left.

“He couldn’ta got far,” Leach said, straining to look downstream. He heard a solid sound like the thump of an ax on a stump, and turned back to discover that Posey had dropped to his knees in the water.

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