The Hate Trail by Bradford Scott

Author:Bradford Scott [Scott, Bradford]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2018-03-27T00:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

THE OUTLAWS’ HORSES he located without difficulty, good looking and docile animals tethered to branches. He released and led them back to the waiting cowboys. The money was nowhere in sight, but the outlaws’ rifles had been neatly stacked, the bodies laid out in an orderly row.

“When we reach the ranchhouse, have your boss send word to Sheriff Davenport of what happened,” he told the punchers. “He’ll want to ride over and have a look.”

“We’ll do that,” Echols promised. “Let’s get back to the cows and make ready to ride. Boys should be here any minute now.”

While they waited for the relief to arrive, Slade gave the herd a once-over and commented on the excellence of the cows.

“See your boss goes in for improved stock,” he remarked.

“That’s right,” agreed Echols. “He says folks are asking for better beef than the longhorns can hand out and to hold your market you better give them what they want.”

“He evidently is a man of progressive ideas, and he is right,” Slade said. “Better beef, better prices and a larger percentage of profit.”

“I can see that,” answered the alert young Echols. “If I ever get into business myself, and I hope to, I’ll sure keep it in mind. This is part of a shipping herd we’re getting together. Already contracted for, and at top prices. Hey! here come the boys who’ll sing to ’em till daylight. Now we can go.”

Two young rannies rode up to the herd. “Everything okay?” one asked, glancing questioningly at Slade.

“Everything hunky-dory,” Echols replied, “ ’cept we killed a few skunks we found crawling around in the grass.”

The two punchers looked slightly puzzled and stared at him.

“Stay in your hulls a minute, and I’ll show you the pelts,” Echols said, forking his own mount.

“Joyce just has to make a joke whenever he gets a chance,” Fenton chuckled. “Never forget the time he coiled up a dead snake in the range Boss’s blankets. Only trouble was, the snake wasn’t as dead as he thought; it was and scared Bolivar, the range boss, into tryin’ to pray. But all he could remember was, ‘Now I lay me! Now I lay me!’ Listen, they’ve got there.”

A storm of profanity and bellowed questions shattered the silence of the night. A moment later the three cowboys came dashing back. The new arrivals dismounted and shook hands with Slade.

“Much obliged, feller,” they said in chorus. “Muchas gracias!”

“We’re taking him to the Old Man,” Echols announced. “Be seeing you. Guess you might as well get the rigs off those horses; they’ll be more comfortable. Don’t reckon anything else will happen tonight, but keep your eyes skun. Come on, Slade, let’s go.”

Slade mounted Shadow and they headed due west, splashing through a small stream that was the reason for the herd being held where it was. Less than two miles of riding and they sighted a big gray ranchhouse set in a grove of old trees.

“It’s late, but I reckon we’d better wake up the Old Man and tell him what happened,” Echols decided.

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