Ride Harder by Gordon L. Rottman

Author:Gordon L. Rottman [Rottman, Gordon L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC033000 FIC014000 FIC027050 FIC027100
Publisher: Hartwood Publishing
Published: 2017-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Things didn’t go the way I expected in the morning. Me and Sanchez showed up at the hacienda, but there wasn’t any talk about Gatling guns.

Cutter met us at the door. “We’ve had a problem come up and have to put off your introduction to Gatling guns. The general needs you two as scouts, trackers really. We have a runaway that took something belonging to the general.”

Something darted through my head. I hope it wasn’t Marta up to her tricks.

In the general’s office, he was pacing round the floor wearing out that big green rug. He stopped his marching and faced us, slapping a cuatra against his leg. All red-faced, I’d say he was truly pissed off.

“Gentlemen”—first time he’d called us that. He really wanted something. “I have had something valuable stolen from me. I wish to employ your tracking skills to return it. It is of the utmost importance. You will be rewarded and have my undying gratitude.”

The best gratitude he could give me was five minutes in his safe. It was setting in the corner looking just as inviting.

“Are you willing?” He asked us that without telling us what the deal was. That told me he was expecting us to say yes.

“Whatever we can do to help,” I said.

The general said, “One of my trusted guards stole a rare emerald.”

I looked at him waiting for him to say more. He didn’t. “What’s an emerald?”

He looked back at me like I’d asked him what the sun was.

Cutter said, “It’s like a green diamond,” and glanced at the general.

“Indeed. Sergeant Amado Montero has stolen a priceless jewel, two horses, and my trust. He has fled I believe to Obayos, a small village. It is over twenty miles to the south. You must depart immediately. I want him found and brought back with the emerald.”

“I gotta ask, sir, you know for sure he’s going to this village?”

“One of the men told us that he said he had relatives there. There is little else in that region. If he leaves there, it may be difficult to trail him further.”

Depends, I thought.

“You want him dead, alive, or no matter, sir?” asked Sanchez.

The general looked at him like that grim reaper fella. “As alive as possible so he can face my retribution fully cognizant.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I don’t think it foretold anything good for this Montero fella.

They couldn’t tell me anything about this Obayos place. Montero was about five-foot four, said to be a good-looking fella. He was a vaquero, same age as me, twenty-two. Could be any number of Mexes. He had a revolver and ’73 Winchester. His horse was a gray with black mane and tail. Not many of them around. The spare they didn’t know since it had been taken from a corral full of horses. They didn’t know when he left. Could of have been anytime during the night, giving him two to eight hours head start. All I got outta them about the land

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