The Russian Lode by Charles C Garrett

Author:Charles C Garrett [Garrett, Charles C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: westerns ebooks, westerns fiction Cowboys, Smith & Wesson pistols, Remington guns, Angus Wells, Laurence James, Piccadilly Publishing
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

THE WHISTLE SHRILLED down the platform and the brakeman’s red flag came down. The steam panting from the locomotive’s pistons gusted viciously, driving back the few on-lookers, and the screamer mounted on the smoke stack let loose a wailing shriek. The big engine lurched forwards. Couplings clattered and the passengers clutched the edges of their hard wooden seats as the wagon jerked and began to roll out of Houston.

On the rearward observation platform, Ryker braced his legs against the shuddering and hung wide of the retaining wall as he stared back.

He had to admit that the woman had timed her rescue to a nicety, but it was still a pretty desperate gamble. Everything depended on their staying ahead of whatever message got sent up the line: it was only a matter of time before the deputy was discovered and some kind of pursuit mounted. They would probably gain a little more time while the marshal checked the possible avenues of escape. And the railroad was an obvious choice. There had been enough people around to recall their arrival. After all, a man and a woman loading a horse for New Orleans on a quiet Sunday afternoon couldn’t be that common a sight. So sooner or later the lawman had to realize they were headed for Louisiana. What he would do next, Ryker wasn’t sure.

What he did feel certain about was that some kind of warrant would be issued. That, and the fact that the sooner they quit New Orleans and headed north the safer he would feel. He had steered close to breaking the law more than once, but he had never been wanted. It was a curious feeling, a reversal of his usual situation. He didn’t enjoy it.

Once, whilst repairing a Colt Dragoon for a wild kid who gave his name as Hardin, he had got friendly enough to ask why the youngster insisted on buying a spare pistol when his own would be ready in a day.

‘Man can always use some back-up,’ Hardin had told him. ‘Especially if he’s crossed a badge-toter. It ain’t so important with ordinary folks, but you get on the wrong side of a lawman an’ you ain’t never safe. They’ll maybe turn a blind eye to a lotta things, but when one o’ their own’s involved – you sleep with one eye open an’ a pistol in yore hand.’

Ryker hadn’t asked how the kid had crossed the law, but the advice had got stored away in his mind, and years later – when John Wesley Hardin was a name famous throughout the Southwest – he remembered the brief meeting.

He remembered it again now. And cursed the circumstances that had put him in the same position.

The job had seemed straightforward in the beginning. Not easy, but relatively straightforward. Nolan had put him on to the woman, and Nolan’s advice was usually sound. The woman had seemed honest enough: a widow anxious to avenge her husband’s death, and with three possible leads to his killer.

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