Free Ralph Compton Comanche Trail by Carlton Stowers Page B

coming, so I fetched my horse and hid away to see what their intention might be. Turns out they were the no-goods I expected. Nothing more than roaming thieves.”
    Taylor had pushed the dead man from his chest and climbed to his feet. “Appears my indebtedness to you keeps growing,” he said. “Now you’ve saved me from getting my money stole and my throat cut. It’s the latter for which I’m most thankful.”
    Barclay just smiled.
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    It was dawn by the time they had dragged the two lifeless bodies to a nearby ravine and covered them with rocks and brush. “Ain’t hardly what you’d call a Christian burial,” Barclay said, “but I had no indication that they was exactly the God-fearing kind. I ’spect this is better than they rightfully deserve.”
    Taylor shook his head and sighed. “Seems all I been doing of late is burying folks.”
    In the stream he washed the blood of his attacker from his shirt and hung it on a bush to dry while Barclay collected the bandits’ weapons and rounded up the mules they’d been riding.
    â€œI’ve a mind to just leave ’em here to tend for themselves,” Barclay said, “but chances are the wolves would get to ’em before the day’s out. Might be we can use them for tradin’ along the way. They’re pretty broke down but still worth something.” He mounted his horse. “Best we be on our way.”
    They rode in silence for several hours, their hats pulled low against their faces to ward off the sun’s glaring heat. For the first time since their departure, Barclay kept his shotgun resting across his saddle.
    â€œI’m guessin’ you’ve had time to do some thinking on what took place back there,” he finally said. “Likely, you’re wondering why I didn’t fire a couple of shots into the air and just warn those men away.”
    â€œThe thought might have crossed my mind.”
    â€œWoulda been no use. If they’d run, they would eventually have come back at another time to carry out their thievin’ plan. Or, if they weren’t the cowardly type, they would have stood their ground and raised their guns for a shoot-out thatmighta left the both of us dead. As I seen it, the situation called for fast and simple fixin’.”
    â€œAm I guessing right that it wasn’t the first time you’ve shot a man dead?”
    Barclay chuckled. “And it ain’t likely it’s gonna be the last. From here on, we’ll do our sleeping with one eye open.” He pointed toward Taylor’s hip and the preacher’s holstered Colt. “Better figure on usin’ that sidearm soon.”
    By nightfall, they were nearing the base of the Cookson Hills.
    As they made their way along a powdery red trail that ascended into an endless canopy of trees, they became aware of signs of life. Whispery clouds of smoke rose from cabins so deeply hidden in the woods they were barely visible. As they rode higher, the faint sound of children playing could be heard.
    â€œWelcome to the back end of nowhere,” Barclay said. “Know that we’re bein’ watched. I’d advise your best behavior from here on and let me do the talking if it’s needed.”
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    A mile away, on the highest of the hills, a sentry climbed from his post and rushed to find Big Boone Stallings. “Strangers coming,” he said. “Two riders with a couple of mules trailing.”
    â€œIndians?”
    â€œWhite men, it appears.”
    â€œRide down and tell them I ain’t in the market for more mules,” Boone said. “If it’s a place to hide out they’re seeking, tell them to go looking elsewhere. If they’re wearing badges, shoot ’em and feed ’em to the hogs.”

Chapter 9
    The hilltop clearing appeared abruptly as the riders