Free Hard Country by Michael McGarrity

blue sky promised a dry, windless day.
    He entered the peaceful village through the main road and passed by two old men unloading a cart of firewood near an outdoor kitchen, where several women were busy at a table near an horno preparing food for the midday meal. From the river he could hear the sounds of children playing under the cottonwood trees, and in the grassy rangeland farther on a small herd of sheep grazed under the watchful eyes of a man and dog.
    The village of La Luz, where Kerney’s employer, John Good, had his ranch, was still a twelve-mile ride away. He stopped to rest and water the horses at the river before moving on past the unfinished store and saloon Pat Coghlan was building on the main road. Steady progress to the buildings had been made since Kerney had left Tularosa: Chimneys now poked through finished roofs, and a plank sidewalk joined the long porches that fronted both structures.
    Once Coghlan opened for business, every cowboy and rancher within fifty miles would be coming to Tularosa for supplies, liquor, and whatever else they needed, including the favors of the soiled doves that were sure to be drawn to the town. Soldiers from Fort Stanton would gladly make the long ride to frequent the place, and in no time the villagers would stop making the arduous wagon trips to Las Cruces and Mesilla for supplies and start trading with Coghlan instead. The man was poised to get rich.
    Tularosa’s days as a sleepy Mexican village were numbered. Some folks were already calling Patrick Coghlan the king of Tularosa, and there was talk he had bought up a large stretch of land upstream from the village in the sweetest valley on the basin. If that was true, Coghlan now controlled the water that supplied the village and could run cows on a half million acres. That made him a force to be reckoned with.
    Up ahead in the open country, four horsemen rode hard in his direction, kicking up dust. Unsure of what their hurry might be, Kerney veered the string of ponies off the road, ran a quick picket line, pulled his rifle from its scabbard, saddled up, and waited. As the riders came close, Kerney recognized Charlie Gambel. His grip tightened on the rifle.
    “Well, well,” Charlie said, almost sneering as he pulled his horse to a stop. “If it ain’t John Kerney.”
    “Charlie,” Kerney said evenly, eyeing Gambel’s companions as they joined up with the young outlaw. Although he’d never met the other men before, he guessed Charlie’s pals were Dick Turknet and the Clossen cousins. The cousins were dull-eyed boys without much spark, and Turknet had a vicious look about him. He gazed at Kerney’s string of horses with great interest.
    Aside from Charlie, this was the bunch that had sold Tom’s stolen horses. Kerney had wondered what he would do if he met up with them. From the hard looks he was getting, asking about Tom’s ponies didn’t seem like a good idea.
    “Aren’t you glad to see me, old friend?” Charlie asked with bravado, eyeing Kerney’s rifle.
    Kerney turned his horse slightly so that the rifle barrel pointed directly at Charlie’s belly, but he kept his eyes locked on Dick Turknet, who would obviously call the play.
    “I heard you’d showed up hereabouts recently,” Kerney replied, “but I don’t have time to palaver, and you boys seemed to be in a big hurry when you rode up.”
    He started silently counting, figuring if he got to ten he’d probably be a dead man lying at the side of the road.
    “True enough,” Turknet said just as Kerney counted nine and was about to shoot Charlie Gambel.
    He nodded at Kerney and wheeled his horse against Charlie’s mount. “If you got business with this cowboy, Charlie, it will have to wait. Let’s go.”
    Turknet lit out for the village at a gallop.
    “I ain’t forgetting what you did to me,” Charlie called out as he and the cousins chased after Turknet.
    John Kerney watched until they were out of sight, let out a sigh of relief, and put the