The Dangerous Land by Ralph Compton

Author:Ralph Compton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2014-08-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Paul was no stranger to hard rides. In his younger days, when his backside hadn’t grown so accustomed to the feel of a wagon’s seat beneath it, he’d ridden through country that didn’t seem fit for a rodent to call home. He’d led horses through hip-deep Louisiana swamps. He’d crossed stretches of desert where the only thing to hear was the clap of iron horseshoes against arid rock. He’d even seen a good portion of the Rockies from several different angles. Even with all of that experience behind him, Paul hadn’t been fully prepared for the Comanche’s definition of what a hard ride truly was.

The worst part of the ride filled an entire day. In that time, the only words spoken between the three men were reports of bear sightings and requests to stop for a spell before someone fell from his saddle. Not a single one of those words came from Red Feather. The number of times the Comanche had spoken that day could be counted on one hand. By the time they’d finally made camp, Paul couldn’t remember what Red Feather had even said since he was too tired to recall his own name. He laid his head down on a rolled-up coat, closed his eyes, and slept so soundly that he barely felt as though he’d drifted off at all.

When his eyes snapped open again, Paul thought it was to a nightmare.

Something sharp scraped against his shoulder. A figure loomed over him, glaring down at Paul with sharp, predatory eyes. Paul wanted to reach for his gun but was too afraid to move.

“Time to go,” Red Feather said.

Paul caught his breath and let it out. “You scared me,” he said through a nervous chuckle.

Without taking a moment to share the awkward moment, Red Feather stepped over to where Hank was sleeping and slapped his shoulder with the side of his knife. Hank convulsed on the ground and fumbled for his pistol, which prompted Red Feather to pluck it from the holster strapped around Hank’s waist.

“Good God!” Hank exclaimed. “You tryin’ to scare me to death?”

Red Feather gave back Hank’s Colt by tossing it so the gun landed heavily on his chest. “Time to go.”

The trio ate a few scraps of bacon, drank some cool water, and resumed the treacherous course in front of them.

After seven grueling hours, Paul felt a strange warmth on his face. So far, he’d spent most of his time focused on the rump of the horse directly in front of him so he couldn’t get lost amid a particularly thick patch of woods where they’d spent that afternoon. Looking up, he realized the warmth came from sunlight that had been blocked for too long. Even more shocking was the wide, mostly level terrain in front of him.

“What’s this?” Hank asked as he also emerged from the dense trees. “Did we take a wrong turn?”

“No,” Red Feather replied. “That is the trail to Leadville right in front of us.”

“So we’re done with that godforsaken shortcut?”

“Yes.

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