Free Red River Revenge (Remington Book 1) by Robert Vaughan

the saddles and saddlebags, the bear grease that they used to clean their guns, a hint of gunpowder, the strong aroma of horseflesh. Even the heavy stench of the droppings of the tethered horses was familiar to him, and not unpleasant.
    There was a trace of some mustiness in the night air that seemed unfamiliar to him, but he couldn’t separate it from the other smells. It smelled almost like human sweat, rank human sweat, he thought. It could be the night-damp fleece of the sheep that he smelled, an odor that he hadn’t experienced during the earlier hours of evening. Or it could be the rotting stench of the river town garbage drifting his way. With no breeze, such scents would tend to hover close to the ground.
    Dammit, he knew something was out there. He sensed it. And whatever it was had awakened him. Was he the only one who sensed it? Frank Shaw and Ted Beck usually slept as lightly as he did on such outings, and although Shaw had changed positions and stopped snoring, neither man had awakened.
    At that moment, Ned Remington felt all alone, apprehensive. It wasn’t fear he was experiencing. Ned was never afraid to face danger. Some accused him of having nerves of steel, but he knew better. He had just learned to stay calm and think clearly in tense situations. And that little bit of knowledge and self discipline had saved his ass more than once during his many years as a deputy marshal. The apprehension he was experiencing right now was just an uneasiness over the unknown.
    He closed his eyes and strained his ears, listening for any sound at all. All he could hear was his loud heartbeat pounding against his eardrums. His muscles tautened and his leg muscle threatened to cramp up on him again. He forced himself to relax and then eased his leg a few inches to the side so his position wouldn’t be so awkward.
    Remington was just about to get up and look around when one of the horses behind him suddenly neighed. Ned nearly jumped out of his skin.
    He whirled his head around, strained his neck, and looked back at the horses that were tied to the trees. Another of the three horses that belonged to the lawmen whinnied and all three animals cocked their ears toward the wagon-rutted road that stretched between the river front and the Indian village. Their rubbery nostrils flared as they sniffed the night air.
    So I wasn’t imagining things , Ned thought as he snapped his head back around and peered in the direction of the road.
    And then he saw them. Not more than fifty yards away. Five horsemen looming out of the shadows of darkness, riding toward the Indian village. Ned spotted the riders just in time to see them rein up hard at the sound of the whinnying horses. The riders’ horses reared back, their front hooves pawing the air until the horses dropped their legs and skidded to a halt. Even though it was fairly dark out, Ned could see the moonlight reflecting off the spools of dust kicked up by the skidding horses.
    The horsemen looked in the direction of the deputies’ camp. Ned was sure of it, even though he could only see their dark silhouettes.
    “Over there,” one of the riders called out, and Ned saw him point with an out-thrust arm. “Them marshals are over there.”
    “Hush, Harvey. Not so loud,” said another man. The voices carried far on the still night air and Ned had no trouble hearing the words. And then he heard only the excited buzzing of hushed voices as the riders discussed something among themselves.
    With a sickening feeling, Ned wondered if the one the riders called Harvey was the same big brute who had sat at the next table at the fish house when he and his men were questioning the cook about Gaton and Van Hook. He couldn’t remember for sure, but he thought Madonna had said that the fisherman’s name was Harvey. Yes, Harvey Cardin, he thought. That was the name the cook had mentioned.
    It didn’t really matter at this point. Ned knew he and his deputies were in trouble.
    “Frank. Ted. Wake