The Blood Hounds: Western Box Set (Books 1 - 3) by Ron Schwab

Author:Ron Schwab [Schwab, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Uplands Press
Published: 2021-04-24T20:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Darb, we can’t go off chasing after that gang and leave the gold unguarded,” Trace said, sitting on the coffin just inside the boxcar while they waited for their partners to return with the prisoner. “We’re going to have to split up. Problem is, we were cooped up in this boxcar, and I don’t know where the hell we’re at.”

Darby stood outside, hat pulled low on her forehead to keep it from escaping in the dry Kansas wind, her long, golden hair fluttering about her neck and face. “Audra and Clay should know. We’ve got to get the gold to a bank vault someplace. I think you and I should head after the Blue Bandanas and try to locate the hideout and leave Audra and Clay to look after the gold.”

“Two of us won’t be able to take on what’s left of the gang. Our reports said they seem to operate with two different crews. If that’s the case, we chewed one of them up pretty good today, but that still leaves a good number of men dug in on their own ground.”

Darby countered, “But if we learn the girl’s there, we might be able to get her out. Or we can keep the gang busy until Audra and Clay show up.”

Trace was still troubled by the number of gang members they could potentially encounter. No sense speculating. They needed to talk to the prisoner, he thought, a moment before Clay and Audra appeared with a young man, hands cuffed behind his back, who staggered ahead of them, prodded by Clay’s rifle barrel. The fair complexioned, shaggy-haired captive displayed an angry blood-dripping gash carved through an egg-sized knot above his right ear. The dazed look on his face suggested he was short of recovery from the blow Clay had rendered.

A lean, taciturn-faced man followed Clay and Audra, and his attire said cowhand or cattleman, but the dark eyes that appraised the scattering of corpses without any apparent unease suggested he was not uninitiated to violent death. Ex-soldier, perhaps? The prisoner stumbled and went to his knees.

Trace said, “Just put him down there.”

Clay helped the man to a spot on the ground, and Trace dropped out of the boxcar. He looked at the cowboy and extended his hand, “I’m Trace Crockett.” He nodded toward Darby. “This is my wife, Darby. You’ve probably been told, we’re all operatives for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.”

The cowboy stepped up and returned a firm grip. “Ted Colmes. My pleasure. I just hopped the train fresh from a cattle drive to Denver. I was headed to Dodge City to see if I might find cow work there. Or something else up my line.”

“What else is up your line?”

“What ain’t might be easier. Been a buffalo hunter, Army scout, sheriff’s deputy, bounty hunter—that’s for a start.” His lips parted just a bit to show a wry smile. “Always on the right side of the law, or not too far on the other.”

“Stick around a bit. We might have some temporary work for you.

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