Free Lawless Trail by Ralph Cotton

hanging you on the spot,” Crane said, growing more confident.
    â€œHear that, Ranger?” said Hardaway. “These
ambushers
will hang us on the spot if we don’t roll over and show them our bellies.”
    â€œRan
g
er?”
said Crane, taking on a peculiar expression.
    â€œYep, Ranger Samuel Burrack,” said Hardaway, suddenly liking the idea of having a lawman riding with him. “What does that do for you,
ambusher
?”
    â€œRanger, you’ve got us all wrong,” Crane said, speaking rapidly, seeing the badge on Sam’s chest in the flicker of firelight. “We’re not ambushers. Me and Folliard there are both railroad detectives, riding posse with Dallas Garand. We’re after a band of robbers—the Traybo Gang. We got word they were hitting our bank and we tried to catch them red-handed.”
    â€œHow’d that go?” said Hardaway beneath his lowered hat brim.
    â€œNot good, not good at all,” said the detective. “That’s why we’re tracking them.”
    Sam only stared at the detective for a moment, hearing more hooves moving along the trail leading up to them. The riders had given up on staying quiet now that they’d heard gunfire erupt ahead of them.
    â€œYour posse will be here any minute,” the Ranger said. “I expect Dallas Garand will be leading it?” As he spoke he shoved Folliard’s Colt down behind his gun belt.
    â€œYes, he is, Ranger,” said Crane, his hands still chest high. “He won’t stand for nothing ugly happening to Folliard and me.”
    â€œGood for Dallas Garand,” said Hardaway, gigging the detective again with the gun barrel. “Don’t do nothing
ugly
and nothing
ugly
will happen to you.” He grinned. “Right, Ranger?”
    Sam didn’t answer. He reached behind the detective’s coat lapel and pulled a long Smith & Wesson Schofield from a cross-draw belly rig. He turned the pistol in his hand, looked it over and shoved it down beside Folliard’s borrowed Colt.
    â€œSit down. Make yourself comfortable,” he said to the worried detective. “We’ll talk it all out when Garand gets here.”
    â€œGarand
is here
, Ranger,” said a booming voice from the darkness surrounding the campsite.
    Hardaway spun around in surprise, his rifle ready to fire.
    â€œNo, Hardaway, stand down,” the Ranger ordered him in a lowered voice. “Running into these fellows might be a good break for you and me both.”
    â€œThrow your guns down, Ranger,” Dallas Garand said. “I’m bringing my men in.”
    â€œIn case you’ve forgotten, here’s how it works, Garand,” Sam replied, unmoved by the posse leader’s demanding tone. “You only throw your guns down when you’re caught sneaking into camp trying to kill somebody in their sleep.” He paused, then said, “That would be your two men here.”
    Hardaway and the Ranger heard the posse leader curse and growl under his breath.
    â€œI didn’t tell them to do that, Ranger,” Garand said. “Detective Folliard has been acting strange from a gun barrel lick he took earlier today.”
    â€œHe might be acting strange a little longer,” said the Ranger. He looked over at Folliard, who still lay knocked flat on his back, babbling like a drunkard. His right boot wagged back and forth slowly in the dirt.
    â€œWe’re on the hunt, Ranger,” said Garand. “Either let’s talk law talk or we’ll be on our way. I don’t have all night.”
    â€œCome on in, Garand,” Sam called out. “Wake your man up and tell him where he’s at.”
    â€œOh, I’ll tell him where he’s at,” Garand said in a threatening tone, stepping his horse forward into the firelight. “You can bet on it.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The Ranger and Hardaway stood watching, guns hanging in