Longarm 381 by Tabor Evans

Longarm 381 by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-05-26T00:00:00+00:00


Two hours later, the sun was nearly down behind the western ridges, bringing out the soft reds and cool purples of early dusk.

Longarm put his rented speckle-gray gelding across a dry arroyo, through saguaros standing sentinel over a field of large, cracked, adobe-colored boulders, and out into an open stretch of the Sonoran Desert. There’d been no signs telling him so, but he figured he’d been on Chain Link graze for at least an hour, cutting across a corner of the Wade ranch on his way to Mexico.

He and the speckle-gray made their way through the last of the boulders, the horse’s shod hooves clacking on stones and grinding the chipped caliche, a chaparral cock braying in the far distance. On the hot, dusty ride so far, Longarm had seen plenty of quail pecking around under mesquites, swinging their gaudy plumes around. But there were no mesquites here—just saguaros, barrel cactus, pipestem cactus, ocotillo, the dangerous cholla whose “leaping” thorns he was careful to swing the gelding wide of, and rocks.

Lots of rocks.

No wonder the ranchers down here needed so much land. Longarm hadn’t seen enough grass out here to graze more than a single beef in virtually an entire square mile.

The horse tensed its back muscles and snorted.

Longarm reined it down between two saguaros and stared straight ahead. The horse snorted again, tossed its head contentiously.

Longarm’s gut tightened as he narrowed his gaze, picking out three copper-skinned riders milling along the side of a knoll about a quarter mile ahead and to his right. He couldn’t see much from this distance, but he could see enough—the golden skin and leggings, the calico bandannas, the long black hair of the short, rangy riders, and their stocky pinto ponies—to conclude that they were Mescalero Apaches.

One of the three riders held his hand to his mouth. A few seconds later the chaparral cock crowed once more.

Only it was no chaparral cock, though the Mescalero gave a damn good imitation. One of the Indians threw an arm out toward Longarm as though to indicate him to other riders somewhere straight out ahead of them, probably holed up in the rocky hills on Longarm’s left.

The lawman’s heart quickened its beat as the three Apaches began kneeing their desert ponies down the knoll in his direction.

“Well, shit,” he grumbled, slipping his Winchester ’73 from the scabbard jutting up from beneath his right thigh. “Here, I was so damn sure I was gonna run into one of the Chain Link fellas, I’d plum forgot that ’Paches were still on the prod in this neck of Arizona.”

He racked a shell into the Winchester’s breech and looked around for cover. Picking out a low, steep-walled rocky ridge about a half mile beyond and on the left side of his trail, he decided to make for it. From there, he might be able to hold the Indians off.

Holding the Winchester in his right hand, he took the reins in his left, jerked his hat brim down low over his



Download



Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.