The Winchester Run (The Sundown Riders) by Ralph Compton

Author:Ralph Compton [Compton, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Canadian River. October 20, 1873.

“I can’t see us remaining here another day on my account,” Hattie said, when she had slept off the effects of the whiskey. “Spread me some blankets in that wagon and let’s be on our way.”

The teamsters harnessed the mules, mounted their wagon boxes, and the big wagons again lumbered south. Each of the first four wagons had a horse loping behind on a lead rope. Trinity’s wagon was last in line. Red and Haze rode beside it, while Buck rode ahead of Port Guthrie’s lead wagon. Mac had ridden ahead to scout for water, having made sure all the water barrels had been filled before leaving the Canadian.

“Whoa up!” Guthrie shouted. It was time to rest the teams.

Hattie twisted around and raised her head above the wagon’s tailgate.

“Well,” said Red, “you’ve made the first two hours. Maybe eight more, and you can get out of there.”

“Lying belly-down, I can’t imagine the ground being any better than a wagon bed,” Hattie grunted, “except that the ground won’t be moving up, down, and sideways.”

When the teamsters were about to take the trail again, Mac rode in, and they waited for his report about the terrain ahead.

“The storm replenished some water holes and dry creeks,” said Mac. “There’s a good spring with a runoff that we should reach before sundown.”

“How about graze?” Guthrie asked.

“Close by, and not bad for this time of year,” said Mac. “It’ll do for tonight.”

Again the wagons moved on, Mac riding ahead.

“Rachel,” Trinity said, “take over the reins for a while. I’m going to ride one of the extra horses.”

“I suppose you should,” said Rachel devilishly. “Mac looks terribly lonesome.”

“Oh, shut up,” Trinity said, “or I’ll tell Buck you’re having trouble with the teams and you’re wanting him to take the reins for you.”

“Oh, would you?” Rachel asked, in a pleading way.

Trinity could hear them laughing as she rode away, and it sounded like Hattie had taken part in the merriment. She trotted her horse alongside Mac’s, and he didn’t seem surprised to find her there.

“Tired of the wagon seat?” he asked.

“That, and Hattie’s grunting and groaning,” said Trinity. “Perhaps just tired of female company in general.”

“Come, now,” Mac said, “you’re betraying your own kind.”

“There’s times when my own kind can be a bother,” said Trinity. “Why is it that a man can be mortally wounded and the without a whimper, while a female with a scratch on her behind . . .”

Mac laughed. “You said it was a bloody mess when you first looked at it.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Trinity said defensively, “and it looked worse than it was. The bullet was mostly spent from having passed through her right thigh, but I’d swear her bottom bled worse than your wound.”

“Given a choice,” said Mac, “I’d rather be shot just about anywhere else. I reckon it’s hell, not bein’ able to sit. How much longer do you think she’ll be on her belly?”

“Two or three more days, at least,” Trinity replied.

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