Free Kill McAllister by Matt Chisholm

more he forced himself through the wall of pain and sat shaking and sweating in the saddle. He shook the lines and swung south-west.

Chapter 9
    Forster helped himself to another mug of coffee, tried to make himself comfortable against the saddle and failed. This damned open-air life didn’t suit him. It was all right for Texas roughs and men like Dice Grotten, they throve on it, but he had his mind on the easier, more civilised life. He wanted money, big money, and fast. He wanted soft beds to lie in, beautiful women, fine wines and the life of the business tycoon and he suffered the life he was leading now so that he could buy these things.
    Grotten pared his nails with his razor-sharp knife and eyed his chief. He knew the man better than he knew himself and knew that right now he was uneasy and impatient. The men they had sent out to find the herd had been gone two days and not a word had been heard from them. By both their reckonings, the Struthers’ herd must be within a day’s ride of this spot. If they didn’t hear from them soon their plans could be ruined. If the herd had made better time than they thought possible, it could mean that it was too near to the railroad and the settlements to do anything about it. And it was their last chance this year to obtain cows.
    Forster got to his feet and walked up and down.
    â€œThe damned fools have gotten themselves lost,” he said. “This means we can’t hear a word until noon tomorrow. None of them could find this camp in the dark.”
    â€œCool off, captain,” Grotten said. “We’ll make out. I can feel it in my water. This is our lucky year. We’ll have those cows, never fear.”
    Forster stared at his lieutenant, wondering at his calm. Hell, what did the man have to lose? His desires were simple – a book or two, beer and a bed to sleep in. He demanded nothing more of life.
    Forster flung himself down again. By God, if he didn’t get those cows, he’d take to the road, stop a stage-coach or a train, rob a bank. He wasn’t getting any younger, the years were catching up on him. He wanted the money to enjoy while he still could.
    Grotten lifted his head.
    â€œWhat is it?” Forster demanded.
    â€œI thought I heard something.”
    The captain was on his feet again.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œSouth, I guess.”
    They both strained their ears. Forster heard a faint sound. A horse whickered. The tied horses answered. This could be one of his men returning. Both men reached for their rifles; they couldn’t afford to take chances. Grotten faded into the deep shadows away from the fire. After a while they were hailed.
    â€œHello the camp.”
    â€œWho is this?” Forster called.
    â€œTrig.”
    â€œYou alone?”
    â€œMace is with me.”
    â€œCome on in.”
    A few minutes later two horsemen rode into the firelight and stepped down wearily from the saddle.
    â€œWell,” Forster demanded, “did you find them?”
    â€œSure,” said Trig, a tall bearded man, “they’re headin’ north about twenty miles south-west of here. Steppin’ up the pace some. I guess they’re in a hurry.”
    â€œGood,” Forster said. “Good work. Help yourself to coffee.” Then the thought hit him. He knew where the cows were and he didn’t have any men. He started to swear; he wanted to get going now, he wanted to catch the Texas men in the dawn. This time tomorrow he wanted to be on his way to market with the beef.
    â€œWhat the hell do we do, Dice?” he demanded.
    â€œDo?” Grotten said. “Hell, we go after the cows.”
    â€œBut we don’t have the men.”
    â€œThey’ll be here.”
    â€œBut we should move now.”
    â€œDon’t you fret, captain. They’ll be here tomorrow. The cows have a long ways to go and they’re slow; we’ll have ’em in good time. You see. Let’s all get