West of Tombstone by Paul Lederer

Author:Paul Lederer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480487925
Publisher: Open Road Media

SIX

They had discussed what they meant to do once they reached the dark pueblo, but so much depended on chance. The first item of business was to find other clothing. Being seen in their prison rags would be cause for them to be captured and held for a possible reward – if they weren’t shot outright by irate townspeople.

Their stealth was remarkable. Moving on their toes among the houses, their long shadows cast by the moon preceding them, they came upon a clothes-line. Cameron kept his eyes on the rear window of the squat house beside it as Voorman collected what he could. They had to find a second line and loot it before they had two ill-fitting white peon outfits. The spare clothes they stashed in a dry rain barrel. There would be some unhappy laundresses in the village come morning.

Next, of course, came fresh horses. These would be more difficult to come by. Horses are generally watched more closely than laundry. They inched between buildings where the darkness was total. When they had to pass an alley the moonlight was startling in its brilliance. Not knowing the layout of the pueblo, they were at a great disadvantage. Once right in their path a front door opened to a small adobe and a big man in a nightshirt stepped outside to light a cigar and calmly study the moon and low stars. They waited, frozen in position until finally the man carefully stubbed out his cigar butt on the side of the house, scratched himself vigorously and re-entered the adobe.

They moved on swiftly. A black cat, startled at their approach, ran off in silence, swallowed up in seconds by the deep shadows. Voorman put a restraining hand out and gestured for Cameron to use his nose. Perplexed for a moment, Cameron suddenly understood what the Dutchman meant. The smell of old hay and fresh droppings was full in the night air. There was a horse barn or a corral somewhere nearby. Voorman crept forward in a crouch and Cameron Black followed him.

Rounding the corner of the large building to their left they came upon a peaceful-looking scene. A pole corral made of crooked unbarked limbs rested there, and in the corral half-a-dozen horses dozed, their coats sheened by moonlight. Voorman halted and crouched lower, pointing to a tiny adobe structure with a corrugated iron roof to the right. It was just large enough for storing hay and tack.

The Dutchman whispered, ‘If there’s a stableman around, he’ll be sleeping in the shack.’

Cameron nodded his understanding and they crept forward. The shack’s door stood open to the summer night and they saw a bundled figure curled up on some oat sacks in one corner. He had a wide straw sombrero with a red sash tied around the crown placed over his face. Voorman glanced at Cam, his eyes dark and glittering. He made a striking motion with one hand then crept toward the sleeping stablehand’s bed. Cameron saw Voorman’s hand rise and strike down and saw the figure tense and then go limp.

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