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

I,” Rochenbach said with a thin trace of a smile, turning the matter loose now that he’d established himself with another of Grolin’s men.
    A low ripple of laughter stirred among the other gunmen. Casings chuckled, but he let out a sigh of relief as he did so.
    “He got you good, Shaner,” he said.
    Shaner was too baffled and browbeaten to do anything but let out a tense breath and try to collect himself. He shook his head.
    “Damn it to hell…,” he growled, amid the chuffing and stifled laughter of the men. He knew he’d been made to look like a fool, but he was also aware he’d set it up himself, then walked into it blindly. He jerked his horse away from Rochenbach and stared upward along the windy mining trail. “Some folks you can’t fun with,” he mumbled, trying to save face at least with himself.
    As Shaner rode a few yards away, Casings shook his head and adjusted his hat atop his head.
    “Don’t go scaring our dynamite man away,” he said quietly to Rochenbach.
    “Dynamite man?” said Rock, looking back and forth between Casings and Penta. “What are we doingwith dynamite? I thought Grolin wanted to see you men waltz cheek to cheek with this safe.”
    “He does,” Penta cut in. “But Shaner and I are going to blow it afterward, just to keep folks from knowing there’s a big-time safe opener in these parts.” He looked Rochenbach up and down. “Sound good to you?” he asked, appearing amiable enough.
    “Sounds like good planning to me,” Rochenbach replied. He turned his horse with Penta and Casings. The riders spread out single file and rode on, upward into the night.
    Stay calm and collected,
Rochenbach reminded himself, riding along the steep uphill trail.
It’s all coming around.
He didn’t like playing this tough, desperado role all the time. But it was what the job called for. It was what these men understood. Calling Shaner down in front of the others was risky, but it had to be done. He could never allow Grolin’s men to talk down to him in any way. That wasn’t the way to play this game—likely it would get him killed one day.
    Had Bryce Shaner stood up to him and chosen to fight, Rochenbach knew without a doubt that he would have killed the man. But he had decided on the spot that Shaner was only trying to buffalo him—acting tough to impress both Rock and the others.
    It was clear that Shaner was scared, Rochenbach had decided, basing his judgment on experience, having faced down the same kind of men under the same set of circumstances countless times before. It was risky doing it, he had to admit, but he knew of no other way to play this game of life and death except to play tough and play to win.
    Luckily he’d been right—
again
, he reminded himself, riding along in the chilled night air. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Call it luck, call it skill, call it experience. Whatever it was, he thought, he wouldn’t question it. He was still in the game.…
    At midnight the men pulled their horses off the trail, to the rear entrance of Hercules Mining. Dismounting, they led their horses quietly through a cluttered alley strewn with ore buckets, iron storage bins and broken hand tools. Across the rear yard from a dim-lit shack, they tied their horses to an iron hitch. While Bonham stayed with the horses, the others crept nearer to the shack and stopped behind a broken-down freight wagon.
    “Giant, get over there with your dirt sock and do your stuff,” Casings whispered to the Stillwater Giant. Turning to Rochenbach he said, “You’re going to like this, Rock.”
    The Giant walked boldly but quietly toward the rear door of the shack, a long sock filled with dirt and gravel hanging from his large right hand.
    Without being told, Penta and Shaner slipped away across the yard in different directions. In a crouch they both circled wide of the shack and took positions, watching the trail from the edge of the dusty front yard. Spiller and Turley Batts stayed