Evil Never Sleeps by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Coming to a grove of cottonwood trees that had situated themselves in a horseshoe-shaped bend of a wide creek, he couldn’t help appreciating the ideal camping spot they offered. He had planned to ride a few miles farther before resting the horses, but he decided to take advantage of the water and grass offered here. It appeared that Jeb Cotton had accepted his story about his son as the truth. There had been no sign of anyone following him, and he had been a sight more diligent about checking, so he turned Buster toward the bank of the creek and dismounted. He was still fortified by the huge breakfast Louise Scully had prepared, so he wasn’t ready to fix anything to eat. But coffee was always in order on any stop of this length, so he got his little coffeepot from his packs and filled it from the creek. In a short time, he had a small fire working and his coffee bubbling away. It seemed so peaceful that he almost forgot what had drawn him all the way up to the Kansas border. The mood was quickly snatched back to the reality of his purpose there when Buster raised his head from the thick grass and whinnied an enquiry. “Damn!” he cursed, thinking he had been followed again, in spite of his diligence. Knowing he had company, whether human or animal, he didn’t hesitate to pick up his rifle and roll over behind the closest cottonwood. The buckskin gelding never failed to warn him of company, but it would help a lot if the horse could learn to identify the caller.

“I hope you made enough in that pot to share a cup,” a gravelly voice called out from the middle of the trees. “I’ve been smellin’ it ever since I crossed over that ridge back yonder.”

Easily recognizing the voice, for there was none other like it, Will answered, “I sure did, maybe a couple of extra cups. I’m sellin’ ’em for a hundred dollars a cup.”

“Damn, that’s pretty steep, but danged if I don’t believe a cup of coffee would be worth it right about now. How’s my credit?”

“No better’n it was the last time I saw you,” Will replied, laughing. He got up from behind the cottonwood to greet Oscar Moon. “Have you got a cup, or do I have to supply that, too?”

“I brung my cup,” Oscar said, holding it up for Will to see as he emerged from the bushes between the trees, leading his horse. Behind the paint gelding, two horses followed on lead ropes. They were both loaded heavily with deer meat. It had been a while since he had last seen his friend, but like always, Oscar never seemed to change—same dirty buckskins, hair in two long braids, Indian-style, maybe a touch more gray in the hair and beard. “Will,” he blurted, “what the hell are you doin’ up here again? You’ve ’bout run out of your territory, ain’t you?”

“Pretty much,” Will said, “but I’m tryin’ to catch up with a fellow named Preacher McCoy.

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