Free The Red Sombrero by Nelson Nye Page A

he adjusted the chaps-leather blinding strap across the bronc’s eyes and stepped back to the fence to lift down his gear. The bay struggled up and stood trembling.
    Carlos walked around the colt thoughtfully eyeing him. He took a soft cotton rope and,-dropping one end of it over the outstretched neck, knotted it securely well back against the shoulders. Taking hold of the bronc’s left hind foot he used the free end of this rope to tie it up. Next he smoothed his blanket over the trembling back and settled the saddle on top of it. Cinching up, he said, “You want this one ridden?”
    Cordray nodded around the smoke of his cigar.
    The bronc stomper sleeved sweat off his face and let down the hind foot. Shaking the cotton rope loose he untied the hackamore rope from the snubbing post and with a swift fluid movement got into the saddle. It was beautifully timed so that the horse was still motionless when Carlos shouted: “Throw open the gate — I’m coming out!”
    Even as Bennie, running, waved his hat to scare back the rest of them, the bay dropped its head and sent hind hoofs rocketing skyward. When these hit earth again the front of him went up. Bennie dragged the gate open and the bay, given back its sight, plunged through the aperture with ears laid flat.
    Twenty yards outside Carlos fetched him up, raking the hide fore and aft with his gut hooks. The horse went up on hind feet and Carlos brought him down with the butt of his quirt. The bay came apart. Bennie winced every time those bunched hoofs hit ground. The man beat the bronc over the head with his hat and the bay swapped ends, kicking viciously sideways. He went to sunfishing then and tried to hurl himself over backwards but the lead weighted butt of the quirt brought him down. Rolling eyes a fishbelly white, he whirled toward the pen, sending Cordray and Bennie flying, trying to scrape the man off against the rough mesquite posts. The bronc stomper laughed and hoisted his leg free of leather.
    In the open again the bay went to pitching, kicking sideways as well as skyward and trying to reach the man’s legs with his teeth. There was a world of wild strength and fighting spirit in the animal but none of its tricks were able to dislodge the man and, having failed in all of them, it tried to run away from him. When Carlos fetched it back the horse was black with sweat and ready to go into the rough string, the cowboys’ name for the pool of semiwild stock from which they draw replacements.
    Cordray waved a hand and set off for the house. Bennie followed, blank of face, but doing a heap of thinking about what Cordray had said of his talk with the general. Bennie cleared his throat. “You’re makin’ a mistake cooping him up like you’re doin’.”
    Cordray took the cigar from his mouth, smiling catlike.
    Bennie said doggedly, “If it’s the money you’re wantin’ you won’t git your hands on it keepin’ him here.”
    Cordray went on a dozen steps, then wheeled to face him, pausing. “Also I won’t lose him,” he said, “and so long as Sierra doesn’t know where he is he will come here.”
    “I reckon the reward is better than the price of the rifles but you could just as easy latch onto the whole of it. Why not give him the run of the place? We could make sure he’s watched — ”
    “He’s all right where he’s at. You let me do the thinking.”
    Bennie strode along behind him, chafing under the bitterness of all these years that he had been Don Luis’ peon, forced to fetch and carry by the knowledge of past misdeeds which Cordray was holding over him. He had already made up his mind to get away from here, wanting no part in Cordray’s planned ensnarement of Sierra, but he was loathe to make his bid for freedom with empty pockets. If he could just get his hands on the money for those rifles …
    His thoughts swung back to Sierra’s agent. He had seen Cordray eyeing that chin strap. He could guess what the boss had been thinking because,