When Five Bells Toll (Benedict and Brazos 31) by E. Jefferson Clay

Author:E. Jefferson Clay [Clay, E. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western, ebook, the, old, west, pulp, fiction, Gunfighters, Colt, .45, action, hero, American, Frontier
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Darkly brooding, the Chuchillo Mountains loomed against the dawn sky. The trail, swinging through steepled hills, came abruptly to a deep canyon fed by a stream coursing down the flank of the mountain.

They made camp. They had ridden hard every mile since Trabajo, and men and horses were exhausted. With one exception. Leaving the others to make camp, Brazos took Bullpup and went climbing in search of a good lookout position. He was gone over an hour. When he returned to the ravine with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he found Hughie and his father sound asleep, and Carl nodding under a rocky overhang with red stubble on his cheeks.

Benedict lowered his Colt and returned to his chore. Characteristically, he was busily brushing his waisted, hand-tailored black broadcloth coat. Galloping through the Sonoran mountain country by night certainly played hell with a man’s wardrobe.

“All clear?” he asked.

Brazos hunkered down on his rock to massage Bullpup’s tattered ears. He nodded.

“We lost ’em.”

“Lucky by trade.” Benedict held up his coat. “Just look at that.”

Brazos saw the small, neat round hole in the pocket flap. He grinned. “Looked like they were tryin’ to hit you where it’d hurt most ... in your money sack.”

“God preserve me from rustic wits,” Benedict replied, but his tone was casual. They had escaped unscathed from a lethal situation, and both knew how lucky they were to be sitting here watching the morning sun spill its warmth over the Chuchillos.

Brazos rolled and lit a fresh cigarette. With one blue eye closed against the smoke, he looked over his shoulder at the nodding Carl, then turned back.

“They had enough yet, you reckon?”

“I think they’re still prepared to keep going.” Benedict lifted his brows. “Are we?”

“Losin’ interest?”

“Not me. I’m wondering about you.”

“Keener than ever.”

“Despite last night?”

Heavy shoulders shrugged under the faded purple shirt. “No use cryin’ over spilt milk, is there?”

“You’ve the habit of crying very loudly over spilled blood. Mostly, an incident such as that would be more than sufficient to bring you out in a rash of goodwill.”

“Well, it hasn’t this time, has it? If you jokers still have the grit to keep searchin’ for the Virgin, then I’ll be up front breakin’ trail just like before.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you’re out of character, Johnny Reb. But rather than look a gift horse in the mouth, I’ll put it down to the natural instability that afflicts all people of Texas birth and let it rest at that.”

“You sure do talk a whole mess of hogwash sometimes, don’t you, Yank?”

“‘Without knowing the force of words it is impossible to know men.’ Confucius.”

“We’ll break camp in one hour flat. Brazos.”

The Texan was aware of Benedict’s gray eyes on his back as he got up and went to tend the horses. The Yank was suspicious, he could tell. He distrusted his seeming indifference to the violence they had helped bring down on Trabajo, and, of course, being the clever Yank, he was right.

But suspecting he was up to something and knowing what was really going on in his cowboy mind, were two very different things.

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