Bloodthirsty by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-12-12T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28

The much-anticipated dinner with Wainwright turned out to be of little consequence, in and of itself. The lovely Lusita was also present, as well as her father. The food was excellent. The conversation . . . cautious.

It was clear throughout that Wainwright and Don Pedro, exhilarated by the recent developments that seemed on the brink of propelling their plans into motion, wanted to get the meal over with as soon as possible in order to return to their plotting. Discourse was polite but rather terse. Whether she understood the reasons behind it or not, Lusita appeared to sense the hurried approach as much as Buckhorn and therefore kept her own participation in any discussion to an absolute minimum.

As far as the purpose behind Buckhorn’s invitation, it had come down to a job offer for him and his gun. Wainwright claimed to have been impressed by the reports he’d gotten of Buckhorn’s skill, totally glossing over the fact that skill had been largely demonstrated on Flying W men.

When it came to his purpose for putting together the small army of gunmen he was asking Buckhorn to join, Wainwright merely explained that big changes were coming to Whitestone County and, to ensure his vast holdings were not threatened, he was making sure they were well protected. He didn’t bother going into any further details on what the “big changes” might be, and Buckhorn didn’t press it.

He did, however, accept the job offer, with the agreement that he would report for duty by noon of the following day.

When Buckhorn rode away from the Flying W after dinner was over and the terms of the job offer were settled, there was no sign of Sweetwater or anyone else to see him off. That was good. Because he had no intention of returning directly to town. Not quite yet.

He rode as far as the rock outcropping where he’d encountered Sweetwater earlier. There, he stopped and dismounted, ground-reined Sarge in a patch of good graze, and sat down with his back against the face of the rock. It still held some of the warmth of the day’s sun that had sunk deep into it. Buckhorn waited and watched and churned things over in his mind.

The first thing he’d determined was that a patrol was in place to guard the perimeter of the ranch headquarters at night. Two mounted men, one riding clockwise, the other counterclockwise, made wide, slow circles around the fenced-in area.

It wasn’t really a very effective setup. Stretches of approach to the buildings were left out of the sight of either rider for long periods. Plus the numerous longhorns milling outside the fencing made ideal cover for intruders to move in close. And the only irregularity to the timing of the riders’ rounds was when they might stop and briefly converse once in a while as they passed one another.

Buckhorn could have moved dozens of men in past the so-called patrol, he told himself, and hit the heart of the headquarters without the riders knowing anybody was within fifty miles.

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