Marshal Jeremy Six #5 by Brian Garfield

Author:Brian Garfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action hero, colt 45, piccadilly publishing, westerns ebook, brian garfield, brian wynne, jeremy six westerns, us frontier law and crime
Publisher: Piccadilly

Seven

At sundown, Jeremy Six and his prisoner reached the banks of the Smoke. Giving the river a brief study, Six put his horse forward, leading Cleve Marriner’s mount. The horses humped into a sluggish flow, hooves fighting the soft sand bottom; Six raked his pony’s flanks lightly with his spurs. They plunged up onto the far bank.

Six had turned off the road two miles back, cutting due west into the wilderness, keeping to the rocks where tracks would be hard to find. Now, westward beyond the river, the rock-shelved valley sloped up against barren foothills. The foothills, in turn, gave way to the higher mass of the Tuolumnes, a heavy range of timber-sloped mountains sprawling thickly across the earth, reaching altitudes higher than eight thousand feet. On the far side of the Tuolumnes, in the desert plain, the Arizona & Western Railroad tracks slashed like steel ribbons up to Tucson. But the far side of the Tuolumnes was a long distance from here. To ride through those rugged reaches would take at least three days.

There were easy ways to skirt around the Tuolumnes. The Aztec road went past the northern end of the range, and down south the road to Mexico flopped over an easy pass. For that reason, few people ever rode through the Tuolumnes. No one would expect a man in a hurry to choose that route. Six was taking the gamble, that Ma Marriner wouldn’t think of looking for his tracks in this improbable place—not right away, anyhow.

Cleve rode behind him, hat tipped far back on his head, both hands incapacitated. Under the hat brim, the front tousle of Cleve’s hair had been roughed up by the day’s winds. His narrow face wore a bleak expression, but his eyes burned angrily. He didn’t speak. They crossed the last flat of the river valley and penetrated the rising flanks of the foothills, threading steadily upward into the lower reaches of the Tuolumnes. This was bad country, hard enough to traverse in daylight. Cleve finally spoke:

“You figure to ride up here at night, Jeremy? Likely to bust legs on both our animals.”

Six considered the gray dusky sky. “We’ve still got some twilight. I intend to use it.”

“You suit yourself,” said Cleve. “But don’t jump all over me if one of these horses gets banged up. Just remember this wasn’t my idea.”

“I’ll remember that,” Six drawled in a soft, dry way. He didn’t show his concern. He was worried; he was taking a calculated risk, but nonetheless a risk. If Ma Marriner’s trackers picked up his trail too early, Matador would have plenty of time to skirt the northern end of the Tuolumne range and be waiting for Six when he came out the west end. He was taking the chance they wouldn’t discover his maneuver until it was too late for that. But the odds were not particularly good. It all depended on the trail ability of Ma’s scouts. They were all back-country toughs, used to jumping at shadows and finding the hidden backtrails, and they probably had keen noses for this kind of work.

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