Tin Star by Jackson Lowry & Ralph Compton

Author:Jackson Lowry & Ralph Compton [Lowry, Jackson & Compton, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE PLOW HORSE had one speed—the one used to pull a plow. The clop-clop-clop and rolling gait put Luke to sleep after a few miles. He jerked awake often enough to be sure the swaybacked horse stayed on the trail. Or the trail Luke thought he followed. Marta Shearing had come this direction. That was all the information he had, other than a brief look at Marshal Hargrove’s map filled with guesswork and potential hideouts for outlaw gangs.

Eyes blurry, he let his chin drop again as the horse soothed him to sleep. When he came awake the next time, his hand flashed to the Schofield at his side. Distant voices alerted him he wasn’t alone on this trail.

“Whoa.” He tugged harder on the reins. The horse refused to stop. It plodded on no matter how he sawed at the bridle.

Rather than blunder ahead into an ambush, though how the two arguing men had any chance of laying an ambush for any man with hearing better than using an ear trumpet was hard to say, he jumped to the ground. The horse turned and stared at him. But it stopped. The draft animal was used to obeying commands issued from behind it, not from its back. Luke led it off the trail he followed and down into a gully where a sluggish stream flowed. While the horse drank its fill, Luke crept forward and found a spot behind some black chokeberry bushes. Using a twig, he pushed aside a branch and got a better look at two men crouched beside a small fire where they boiled coffee. Their gear spread around them in wild disarray. If they plotted an ambush, they were careless doing it.

When the wind changed and he caught a whiff of their witch’s brew, he almost gagged. How any human drank such vile-smelling coffee was a tribute to cast-iron bellies. The men downed the contents of their tin cups, then began matching pennies. It took a few minutes until one accused the other of cheating. This sparked a shouting match between them.

From all he saw, arguing was all the men did. But something put him on guard. As one of them half turned, he exposed a low-slung six-shooter. The holster was tied down with a rawhide strap. The wood grip showed wear. If Luke had been closer, he’d have bet there’d be notches carved into the pistol grip. This one looked the world like a gunslinger.

A rabbit exploded from hiding not ten feet from the men. The second gunman came to a crouch, drew and fired so fast that Luke hardly saw a blur. Even more impressive, the shot caught the rabbit just above its shoulder. It let out a high-pitched screech as air gusted from its lungs, kicked once and then flopped over dead.

“We got ourselves lunch,” the shooter said. He lifted the muzzle and blew the smoke away. “I shot it, you can skin and cook it.”

“There’s not enough meat on its bones for two of us.

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