Free High Wild Desert by Ralph Cotton Page A

is taking a rest here. That’s a climb that could stagger a mountain goat.”
    Rifle in hand, Sam pulled Lang a step closer to the side of his horse, raised his cuffed hands and snapped the third cuff around his saddle horn.
    â€œFor God’s sake, Ranger, be reasonable,” Lang said.
    â€œI will, someday,” Sam said flatly. “Right now you can lean against your horse and rest.”
    â€œThat makes no sense,” Lang said. “What’s to stop me from jumping up in the saddle and cutting out?”
    Sam gestured toward the Winchester in his hand.
    â€œTake a guess,” he said.
    Lang shook his head and looked to Adele as if seeking her sympathy. She only glanced away, poured a few drops of water from a canteen onto a wadded handkerchief and touched it to her lips.
    The Ranger reached into his saddlebags, retrieved a telescope and stretched it out in his hands. As he started to look out past the walls of the canyon they had just scaled, two men in dusty army tunics sprang up from a low stand of brush less than thirty feet away.
    â€œDon’t shoot, Ranger Burrack!” one of the men shouted as Sam dropped his telescope and swung his Winchester around toward them. “We’re scouts, U.S. Army,” the young man added quickly. “Riding renegade detail for Captain Stroud.”
    Sam eased his rifle barrel down, but not by much, scrutinizing them closely. The one speaking wore a full uniform and a cavalry campaign hat. The other man was Apache, wearing an army tunic, but instead of trousers he wore a loincloth, a pair of knee-high moccasins and a battered forage cap, thick black hair hanging beneath it to his waist.
    â€œWhere’s your horses?” Sam asked, wanting to make sure these weren’t a couple of deserters in sore need of transportation.
    Good move, Ranger,
Lang told himself, watching, listening.
    â€œWe left them thirty yards back,” said the soldier. “I can send him back for them.” When Sam nodded, noting the corporal stripes on the young man’s sleeves, the soldier turned to the Apache and gave him a nod. The stoic-faced scout trotted away.
    â€œI’m Corporal Malory,” the soldier said, facing Sam again. We saw dust rise off the canyon wall.” He gave a guarded smile. “I doubted you were pronghorn out this time of day. We came to take a look.” He nodded off toward the end of the canyon wall. “I recognized you straightaway. We were told you was up here somewhere. You know what we’re doing here, I expect?”
    Sam eased up a little when he saw the Apache appear from behind a stand of rock and come walking back, leading an army horse and a shorter desert barb.
    â€œWe fed them a horse,” Sam said. “We made it up the canyon wall while they decided what to do with it—eat it raw would be my best speculation, until they get somewhere safe enough to build a fire and dry it.”
    â€œWise move avoiding them, Ranger,” the corporal said as the Apache scout stopped beside him with their horses. “They’ve armed themselves, waylaid a stagecoach out of Farm Town Settlement. Got themselves a shotgun, two rifles, three or four handguns. But they’re in poor want for bullets.”
    Sam only nodded, not wanting to mention that he’d already figured as much.
    The corporal walked closer to Adele and Cisco Lang, noting the handcuffs holding Lang to his saddle horn.
    â€œPrisoner, huh?” he said, looking Lang up and down. “What did he do?”
    â€œYes, a prisoner,” Sam replied. But he left the other question unanswered.
    â€œWhat did he do?” the corporal asked again.
    â€œI heard you the first time,” Sam said coolly.
    The corporal saw the Ranger’s refusal to reply was deliberate. Catching on, he cleared his throat and looked back and forth, embarrassed.
    â€œMore of this badlands desert trash, I take it,” he said, attempting to save