Death's Corral by Bradford Scott

Author:Bradford Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Death’s Corral
ISBN: isbn9780000000000
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2017-05-12T00:00:00+00:00

11

SUDDENLY SLADE’S unusually keen ears caught a sound, a rhythmic sighing, little louder than the faint susurrus of the incoming tide. Swiftly it loudened, became a murmur, a mutter, a monotonous chugging. Slade stood up and gazed toward the distant bend downstream.

Something appeared at the bend, inchoate, vague, a monster of the water, breasting the flood of the Rio Grande, growling and grumbling to itself.

Quickly, however, it assumed form and shape, resolved to a good-sized steamer moving steadily upstream, showing no running lights, the menacing growl and grumble the puffing of her stack.

“Yes, she’s showing first, as I figured,” Slade said. “Tether the horses back in the brush, and hope they’ll keep quiet. We’ll wait till she moves in to shore, quite likely in line with that open space in the growth a couple of hundred yards downstream, then we’ll ease up as close as we dare.”

Slade’s surmise was correct. The steamer did nose in to the shore in line with the wide opening in the brush, turning broadside to the bank, her bow upstream. The water was deep and she was able to hold against the bank. Her anchor went down with a splash. Then there was a rattle and clang, a creaking of chains and the whine of a hoisting engine. A ten-foot section of the ship’s side was slowly lowered to the bank, providing an adequate loading plank for the expected cattle. Lights flared dimly on the deck, outlining shadowy figures moving about.

“Going to try and drop a loop on the blasted ship, too?” the sheriff whispered to Slade.

“If we can, but the bunch on shore will be our main objective,” Slade breathed reply. “All right, ease along through the brush, and for Pete’s sake be quiet or the game will be up.”

Slowly, carefully, the posse glided through the growth in the wake of the silently treading Ranger. As they crept along, Slade debated the idea of trying to capture the steamer first, but decided against it. To do so would most likely mean a fight with the ship’s crew, and the sound of gunfire would carry a great distance in the silent night and perhaps warn the wideloopers and provide them with an opportunity to escape. And it was the rustling band that was his prime quarry. Especially the elusive head of that band. With luck, tonight might prove to be the end of Juan Covelo.

Where the growth began to thin, Slade paused, the others fanning out behind him so as to cover both the loading plank and the approach to it.

From the ship’s deck came the sound of rough voices and an occasional laugh. Evidently the steamer’s crew had heard nothing to alarm them.

Again the tedious wait, this time without the solace of pipe or cigarette, standing in strained positions, almost afraid to breathe. But there was no help for it. And as the slow minutes dragged past, El Halcón began to experience a certain uneasiness. Did the dawn break before the rustlers put in

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