Free Tough to Kill by Matt Chisholm

horror, he realised that it was his prize animals that were on the move.
    He hurled his chair away from him and rushed to the rifle-rack on the wall, took down his new Winchester repeater and pounded out of the room. As he reached the stoop, he heard a blood-chilling scream from the east corral and knew it for what it was - a Kiowa battle-cry. Another followed it. He responded by bawling for his men to turn out. He crossed the stoop in one bound and it seemed that his feet were torn from under him. The Winchester went off with a crash and he landed hard on his head.
    Lying half-stunned in the dust of the yard, he heard the bunkhouses come awake. He also heard his treasured thoroughbreds thundering away into the night. It was like a horrible dream.
    Then, suddenly, as he groped in the dust for his rifle, the yard was full of horses and he knew that the saddle-stock was out, too. He was nearly run into the ground by a galloping horse. He cursed hysterically.
    Commotion broke out from either bunkhouse and men seemed to be jammed in the doorways while others struggled on the ground.
    He found his rifle and made an unsuccessful grab at a horse. Raging speechlessly, he tramped across the yard to the nearest bunkhouse. Men were in the doorway, getting to their feet, shaken and angry.
    â€œWhat in hell’re you fools playin’ at?” Markham roared.
    A man said: “Somebody tied a rope across the door.”
    â€œWhile you dim-witted sonsabitches’re lyin’ stinkin’ in your bunks my best horses have been run off. Where’s Foley?”
    Foley came forward brushing dust off him. He was hatless - an unusual condition for the straw-boss who was never seen without his hat.
    â€œHere,” he said.
    â€œSaddle up and get after them horses.”
    â€œWhat on? That was the remuda just went past you.”
    Markham danced in his rage.
    â€œDon’t answer me back, Foley, or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat. I want my horses back.”
    The men started to show interest. They had never heard Foley spoken to in that way.
    â€œAin’t no sense in goin’ after ’em till daylight, any road,” Foley said.
    â€œNownownownow,” Markham howled. “Them horses’re delicate. They could come to harm runnin’ in the dark.”
    Foley turned to the men and said in a weary voice: “Get your ropes, boys, and see if’n you can ketch up any of the remuda. There wasn’t nobody spookin’
them
. Maybe they ain’t gone too far.”
    The men moved off to find their ropes with Markham screaming for them to hurry.

8
    The two thoroughbreds were covered in sweat and lather when they slithered to a stop and McAllister and McShannon slipped from their backs. The two men slapped their rumps with their hats and whopped them on into the night. They pounded away into the darkness. As the sound of their hoofs faded, both men listened. Neither heard any pursuit. They untied their horses and swung into their saddles.
    McShannon said: “You’re on your own, daddy. I’m off to spark the beautiful and desirable Alvina.”
    McAllister said: “You’re crazy.”
    â€œAin’t I?” was McShannon’s response as he turned his horse and circled off through the darkness into the east. McAllister shook his head sadly and set off south. He had better lay a trail for the pursuit to follow in the dawn.
    McShannon circled far to the east under the bright eyes of the stars, but he did not think of them because he was thinking of the bright eyes of honey-blonde Alvina Markham. He felt quite a fellow riding through the night, knowing that he and McAllister had counted coup on the biggest man in the landand, so far, had got off scot free. He swung around in a large half-circle and started to head into toward the Box M headquarters from the east and reckoned he was a crazy fool to be riding back into trouble this way, he didn’t give a damn. Ten