Free Midnight Rider (Ralph Cotton Western Series) by Ralph Cotton

saw a man sitting, staring engrossed at the drunken accordion player, a tall mug of beer standing in front ofhim. Dave stuck half his hand down into the mug, swished it around, raised it and slung beer foam from his fingers; he walked out of the tent, drying his hand on his trousers.
    This was good, he told himself. He’d been wanting to get even with Andrew Grolin—kill his men, Spiller, Casings, the Stillwater Giant—any of his gunmen, ever since they had cheated him out of his cut in a robbery over a year ago.
    Time to reap a little vengeance,
he told himself.
    He untied his horse from a crowded hitch rail, stepped into his saddle and turned the animal toward the trail leading farther into town. He rode hard along the rutted, treacherous trail until he caught sight of the six riders as they rounded a sharp turn in the trail.
    All right, that had to be them, he decided, slowing his horse to keep from getting too close, lest the sound of his horse’s hooves give him away. He watched them move out of sight in front of him, and looked over his shoulder toward the sound of hooves as Macon Ray led Albert Kinney and Joe Fackler along the trail.
    When the three riders saw him sitting his horse in the middle of the trail, they slowed to a halt and gathered around him.
    “Any sight of them yet?” asked Macon Ray, his rifle held up loosely in his left hand. His horse bounced back and forth on restless hooves, causing the tip of his rifle barrel to swing within inches of Dirty Dave’s face. Dave had to jerk his head back from it.
    “Settle your horse! Get that damn rifle out of myface!” he growled in a low voice. “Unless you’re meaning to blow my head off!”
    Macon Ray jerked the feisty animal and lowered his rifle barrel.
    “Yes, I just spotted them,” Dave replied now that the rifle barrel wasn’t threatening him. “If I hadn’t been here to slow you down, you’d’ve smacked right into them.”
    “All right, then!” said Albert Kinney, sounding excited. “How do you want to do this, Dave? Ride in shooting? Chop them down before they know what hit them?”
    Dave gave him a flat stare.
    “No,” he said, then added with sarcasm, “As wise and clever as that plan might be, I fail to see how it would make us any money.”
    “Oh…,” said Kinney. He settled down. “I figured, these men screwed you out of money, you’d want to kill them right off.”
    “I want to kill them,” said Dave. “But if I have a choice of killing them for free or getting my money out of them first, guess which one I’d rather do.”
    “While you’re thinking that over,” Macon Ray said to Kinney, “try to keep your mouth shut long enough to hear what we’re going to do.”
    Kinney nodded and listened, realizing he’d already said too much.
    “Can I ask a question?” said Joe Fackler, sounding a little surly, having been dragged away from the cockfighting event.
    “Sure thing, Joe, come right on out with it,” said Dave.
    “What makes you so sure they’ve got any money?” Joe asked. “I happened to be winning at that cockfight.”
    “I never said they’ve got any money,” said Dave Atlo, ignoring the cockfight remark. “At least not yet, they haven’t—”
    “But we know these thieving cutthroats,” Macon Ray cut in before Dave could finish. “If they left Denver City, rode forty miles to be here, it’s because they’ve got something in the works.”
    “Thank you, Macon Ray,” Dave Atlo said a little brusquely. He paused long enough for his words to sink in. “They’ve come up here to rob something.” He grinned. “As soon as they do, we’ll be waiting to rob them.”

PART 2

Chapter 8

    Rochenbach and the five other riders bypassed the main streets of Central City and rode upward on a steep trail overlooking the booming mining town. Keeping their horses at a walk, they moved along single file in the pale moonlight, past long rows of mining shacks and shaft entrances, where the sound of steel