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

tools rang behind the curtains of night.
    At an upward turn in the trail, two riders appeared from out of nowhere. Rochenbach’s thumb slipped over his rifle hammer until he heard one of the riders call out to them from ten yards away.
    “Dent, Pres, Giant,” said the lowered voice, “is that you?”
    “It’s us, Frank,” Casings replied, nudging his horee forward and stopping as the two men rode up to him.
    Rochenbach and the others followed behind Casings. When they gathered in close to the two newcomers, Casings motioned a gloved hand between the two and Rochenbach.
    “Frank Penta, Bryce Shaner, meet Rochenbach… You can call him Rock,” he said.
    Penta and Shaner touched their hat brims toward Rochenbach, who returned the gesture.
    “So, you’re the man who has us out working in the cover of night,” Frank Penta said with a thin smile. As he spoke, he looked Rochenbach up and down appraisingly.
    “I do my best work at night,” Rock replied mildly.
    “Yeah, well, we’re just hoping you’re worth the trouble,
Midnight Rider
,” said Shaner.
    “Enough talking. Why don’t we go see?” Casings said quickly, knowing Rochenbach’s low tolerance for surliness and badmouthing.
    “That’s what I say,” said Penta, catching the apprehension in Casings’ tone of voice. “Let’s go do what we do best.” He gave him another thin smile.
    “Yeah,” said Bryce Shaner, “let’s go see what you’ve got.” He gave an exaggerated sweep of his hand. “After you, Midnight Rider.”
    But Rochenbach only sat staring at him.
    “Are you a gambling man, Shaner?” he asked in an even voice.
    “I’ve been known to lay down a stack on the right play. Why? What’s the wager?” Shaner asked.
    “I’ll bet you fifty dollars I can put a bullet in your right eye before you can call me Midnight Rider again,” Rock said.
    Uh-oh!
Casings snapped his gaze to Rochenbach.
    “Hang on, Rock—
Jesus
!” he said. “Bryce didn’t mean nothing by that! He gives everybody a little nickname like that. Right, Bryce?”
    Rochenbach saw Shaner’s prickly attitude and demeanor change quickly.
    “Yeah! Hey, amigo! I was just trying to get acquainted, more or less funning with you!” he said to Rochenbach, his pretense shattered.
    “Is it a bet?” Rochenbach asked flatly, unmoved by Shaner’s sudden change of heart.
    Frank Penta sidestepped his horse away from Bryce Shaner; the other men backed their horses a step.
    “Hey, come on, Mid—I mean
Mr.
Rochenbach!” Shaner said, talking fast, correcting himself. “I came out to do a piece of work tonight,” he said soberly. “I didn’t come out looking for a gunfight.” He slid nervous glances back and forth from Casings to Penta, looking for any support he might find. “All I want to do is make some money,” he said shakily. “That’s all I’m here for.”
    “Me too,” said Rochenbach, letting up a little now that he saw Shaner was only acting tough. “I heard you playing big dog, little dog. I thought I better make sure I showed up at the right party.”
    “He’s right, Bryce,” said Casings. “You come up acting like a turd—”
    “I was joking, damn it,” Shaner insisted, cutting him off.
    “Good enough,” said Casings, ready to turn his horse away and dismiss the matter. “Settle this to suit yourself. Rest of us have a job to do.”
    “Jesus, all right! Okay!” said Shaner. “I was being a little testy. I’ve had lots on my mind lately. Can any of yas understand that?” He looked at each stone face in turn, seeing nothing in their eyes in the shadowy purple moonlight.
    “Does this mean the bet’s off?” Rochenbach said coolly.
    “Yes, it’s off! Damn it, it’s off—hell, it never was on!” said Shaner, sounding even more shaken than before. “I was only kidding. I want all of you to know that.” He looked all around.
    “Look at me, Shaner,” Rock said quietly.
    “Huh…?”
Shaner said, turning back to Rochenbach.
    “So was