Free The Red River Ring by Randy D. Smith Page B

When he found the herd, he sat against a rock and waited for some sign of the night guard’s location. Most of the cattle were down, exhausted from the day’s drive. He couldn’t make out the brands.
    The night guard’s horse rolled rocks as it made a pass down a slope. When the horse passed Pommel, he made out the Quick 5 brand. It was one of Black Tom’s riders and that’s all Pommel needed for justification. He followed the horse on foot at a distance. Once the rider held up his mount and half-turned in his saddle. Pommel figured that the rider had heard him.
    After a moment the rider urged his horse forward. A quarter circle later, the rider drew up his horse and stepped to the ground. Pommel could tell that he was fishing out his prick to take a piss. Pommel drew his knife and closed the distance.
    Another voice sounded from the darkness. “What you doing, Calhoun? Playing with your jig line?”
    The guard jumped and stepped back. “Gott-damn it Sloan. You made me piss on my boots.”
    A second rider appeared from the darkness and brought his horse alongside Calhoun. “If it weren’t so damn short, you wouldn’t have to worry about wetting your boot tops,” he said. “Maybe you should squat like a squaw.”
    â€œYou’re a right funny son-of-a-bitch tonight.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter Cal? You seem a bit nervous.” Sloan said.
    â€œI don’t like this business. We were told to hit the ranch hands. Nothing was said about rustling cattle.”
    â€œMight as well take a little extra profit when we can.”
    â€œYeah, shit. If Red or Black Tom find out that we’re grabbing a few head for our own, they’ll be hell to pay.”
    â€œRelax. We’ll make a quick sale, pocket a few dineros and be back south of the Red afore any of them know it.”
    â€œAnd what’s Clancy’s idea of running a fire? Shit! What if they put a posse on our tail?”
    Sloan spurred his horse forward. “Quit playing with yourself and mount up. We’ve got another hour before we’re relieved.”
    Calhoun looked toward the stars. From the location of the Big Dipper he figured it was more like thirty minutes. “I don’t think we got that long.”
    Sloan didn’t answer.
    Calhoun turned and whispered louder. “I don’t think we got that long. Sloan? Sloan?”
    The sound of a horse’s hooves on the rocks came toward him. When the animal was close enough for Calhoun to see, the saddle was empty.
    Calhoun took hold of its reins and drew his revolver. “Sloan? Sloan?”
    Pommel put his arm around Calhoon’s neck, drew his head back, and shoved his Bowie knife up under his sternum.
    Calhoun dropped his gun and tried to cry out but Pommel choked off his air. When his air ran out, he slumped.
    Pommel gave the knife another push upward and allowed Calhoun to slip to the ground. He wiped his knife on Calhoun’s leggings and made for the camp.
    Clancy put his full cup on the ground and placed the pot near the fire. He sat back on his heels and watched the mounts standing at the tie line facing the fire. He watched Holmes and Crutchfield sleeping in their bedrolls before pulling his shotgun, breaking the action, tipping the barrels down and checking his shells.
    He heard a mount on the rocks making toward camp. “Calhoun, is that you? Don’t be riding into camp without calling out. I’m likely to blow your head off.”
    â€œYeah, Yeah,” the voice answered from the dark.
    â€œYou’ve got at least an hour of night guard left so get your ass back out there.”
    â€œYeah, Yeah,” the voice said.
    Clancy lifted the shotgun and cocked the hammers. “Who’s out there?”
    A flash of gunfire slammed Clancy back into the fire. He scrambled from the flames and crawled toward his shotgun. A second shot dropped him in the dirt.
    Holmes and Crutchfield rolled