Free West of Tombstone by Paul Lederer Page A

Territory over the years, why you plain wouldn’t have had the time.’
    â€˜It was all a frame.’
    â€˜But,’ Voorman persisted, ‘the way they caught you … you must know Harte. You must have ridden with him. A part of his gang?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Cameron said. The lies he had told to stay alive came easier now.
    â€˜I thought so. Stony didn’t want anyone alive who knew where he had stashed the loot, right? And so he tried to kill you and left his gear and his horse to convince everyone that you were him.’
    â€˜That’s about it,’ Cameron said quietly, and it was very close to the truth if not a perfect fit.
    â€˜All that being so,’ Voorman said with a smile, ‘I guess you’ve as much reason to want to find Stony Harte as anyone.’
    There was no denying that! Voorman nodded, satisfied with his own deductions and he started the weary bay horse on again, Cameron following after.
    They had ridden no more than an hour when Voorman reined in again and lifted a joyous pointing finger. ‘Look, I told you! I know what I see.’
    Cameron’s eyes followed the indicated direction and now he could see that in the distance was indeed a collection of buildings, small as dice at this distance, and in several windows lights no brighter than sparks shined.
    â€˜I said there was a pueblo ahead,’ Voorman said, still enjoying his small triumph. He wiped his perspiring forehead with his sleeve and added, ‘Let’s get on down there while it’s still full dark. If we can avoid dogs we might be able to do ourselves some good.’
    Cameron did not like the skulking feeling that come over him as they walked their weary ponies through the night toward the tiny pueblo with its scattering of adobe brick buildings. There were no sounds but once a large dog barked, deep in its throat, far across the town. A voice shouted it to silence and the two escaped prisoners rode on warily.
    Voorman whispered to Cameron. ‘We’ll leave the ponies here, behind that tumbledown shack. It’s easier to do this kind of work afoot.’
    Cameron nodded and swung down, leading both horses behind an adobe-walled building with a caved-in brush roof. One of the walls had come apart as well and a few bricks were scattered across the yard.
    Voorman’s eyes were still on him; he could feel their gaze in the night, or believed he could.
    Cameron was tempted briefly to make his try then and there, but where could he go but back out onto the desert, and the horses were unfit for further riding? He returned to where Voorman waited and the two burglars slipped off through the night to see what they could accomplish.

SIX
    They had discussed what they meant to do once they reached the dark pueblo, but so much depended on chance. The first item of business was to find other clothing. Being seen in their prison rags would be cause for them to be captured and held for a possible reward – if they weren’t shot outright by irate townspeople.
    Their stealth was remarkable. Moving on their toes among the houses, their long shadows cast by the moon preceding them, they came upon a clothes-line. Cameron kept his eyes on the rear window of the squat house beside it as Voorman collected what he could. They had to find a second line and loot it before they had two ill-fitting white peon outfits. The spare clothes they stashed in a dry rain barrel. There would be some unhappy laundresses in the village come morning.
    Next, of course, came fresh horses. These would be more difficult to come by. Horses are generally watched more closely than laundry. They inched between buildings where the darkness was total. When they had to pass an alley the moonlight was startling in its brilliance. Not knowing the layout of the pueblo, they were at a great disadvantage. Once right in their path a front door opened to a small adobe and a big man in a nightshirt stepped outside to light