Free Butch Cassidy the Lost Years by William W. Johnstone Page A

. but I also knew that I wasn’t going to turn my back on him. The Good Lord just hadn’t made me that way.
    Those thoughts were going through my head when I heard swift hoofbeats outside.
    When you hear that sound at night, you know there’s a good chance trouble has come to call. I whipped over to the table and blew out that light, knowing that I was too late. Whoever was out there would have seen the yellow glow in the windows already. But even so, there was no need for me to make things easier for ’em. Moving by feel in the darkness, because I already knew every inch of that house like I had lived there for ten years, I plucked the Winchester from its hooks on the wall near the door and waited.
    The hoofbeats came to a stop. I couldn’t hear much through the door, but I knew the horses had been run hard enough that they would be moving around restlessly out there, snorting and blowing.
    A man called, “Hello, the house!”
    The windows opened from the middle like shutters. I eased one of them back a little and asked, “What do you want?”
    I halfway expected the riders to be a posse from the county seat, but the man who had spoken wasn’t Sheriff Lester. He might be one of the deputies, though, I thought.
    â€œWe’re lookin’ for a friend of ours. He might’ve ridden in here a little while ago. Young fella, about twenty years old.”
    â€œIf he’s a friend of yours, you ought to know for sure how old he is,” I said.
    The man sounded impatient as he said, “Never mind about that. Have you seen any strangers tonight?”
    â€œNot a one,” I said, and I told myself that was an honest answer. I might not know the wounded man’s name, but he wasn’t a complete stranger. I had offered my hospitality to him before and he had accepted, so as far as I was concerned that meant we were acquainted.
    â€œYou haven’t heard a horse go by?”
    â€œNope.” That was true, too. None of the horses that had come up tonight had gone by. They were all still here.
    â€œYou wouldn’t mind if we take a look around?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I would. I don’t cotton to folks nosin’ around my place at night.”
    My eyes had adjusted to the dark. From where I was, I could see two men on horseback. Judging by the sound of the hoofbeats I’d heard a few minutes earlier, at least one more man had ridden up with them. That meant he was unaccounted for, and I had a hunch he’d gone around to cover the back of the house. There was a window back there, but no door.
    My last statement had drawn a few seconds of silence. Then the man who’d been doing the talking said, “Mister, I don’t really care what you cotton to. If our pard’s here, we’re gonna find him, and you’d be wise not to try to stop us.”
    â€œBein’ wise is something that nobody’s ever accused me of,” I said. “I’ve got a Winchester pointed at you. Rattle your hocks out of here while you still can.”
    They weren’t quite sure what to do. I was pretty good at sensing such things. If I was alone, they had me outnumbered. But they had no way of being sure I didn’t have half a dozen well-armed men in here with me.
    The fella decided to try to repair the damage. He said, “Look here, amigo, we got off on the wrong foot. We’re not huntin’ trouble. Our friend’s hurt. We just want to help him, that’s all. If he’s here, we’ll take him and go, and you won’t have to see any of us ever again.”
    It was a tempting offer in a way, but I can count. Four men had gotten away from that holdup, and one of them was wounded. Now I had a wounded, unconscious man on my sofa and three men, more than likely, outside my house. Three men on the run from the law, I reminded myself. They might be desperate enough they wouldn’t want to leave any witnesses behind to tell the