Stand-Off At Blue Stack by Will Keen

Author:Will Keen [Keen, Will]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robert Hale
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

They spent a restless night and moved off shortly after dawn having eaten a cold breakfast of tough jerky washed down with clear spring water. Once they were out of the trees the ground sloped in flat planes towards the river and, as the fresh horses stretched out in an easy lope, they were again like ghosts floating on mist that lifted off Jackson’s Creek to cloak the open grassland. But the clouds that had brought the night’s rain had dispersed. The brilliant sun was already warm and, as they rode steadily northwards along the banks of the creek, that pleasant warmth promised to turn into the scorching heat of a Kansas summer.

An hour later Cramer became uncomfortably aware that the bloodstained shirt he wore was acquiring a ripe, fetid odour. The sun had risen high, and was beginning to heat up the filthy garment. With a grunt he dipped his head to his shoulder and took a deep sniff of blood, dirt and sweat, screwed up his nose in disgust, then looked up to see La Roche grinning across at him.

‘If them Injuns don’t get you,’ the gambler said, ‘you’ll die of a fever from them poisonous fumes.’

‘Or a bullet in the back,’ Cramer said, and saw the smile fade from La Roche’s face as he twisted to glance over his shoulder.

‘You seen something I ain’t?’

‘Been keepin’ my eye on them for some time. Two riders. Some way back, but closing. Right now they’re hidden behind that last rise.’

‘Goddamn!’ The gambler reined in hard, spun his horse in a flurry of dust to look back down the trail. As Cramer came alongside he said, ‘I warned you about Farrall, and now I’m beginnin’ to get a real bad feeling.’

‘Matches the one I’ve had ever since I rode into town.’

‘Yeah, that’s understandable – but, later, did you notice there was no reception committee when we rode up to Dyke Manson’s?’

Cramer nodded. ‘So?’

‘So, that rider I saw leavin’ town went somewhere. If not Pueblo, then where?’

They had reached an area where the water tumbled over rocks at a shallow ford, and the land falling towards the creek was a maze of grassy ridges split by hollows in which trees clustered alongside dry winter run-offs. The high ridge they had crossed was two miles back, its crest already shimmering in the heat. Watching it for sign of movement, eyes narrowed against the glare, Cramer said, ‘Only place I can think of he could’ve been makin’ for is an Indian encampment somewhere along the creek – and a bunch of whoopin’ Comanche braves is tough enough to face without them havin’ prior warning, if that’s what you’re suggestin’. If you are, it could be we’re caught between them and Farrall – if that is Farrall back there.’

‘A lot of ifs in there,’ La Roche said with dry humour as he slid from the saddle, ‘but, yeah, that’s roughly in line with my thinkin’.’

Cramer took his eyes off the ridge, then also climbed down and let his horse wander a few yards with trailing reins to graze.

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