Free Golden Riders by Ralph Cotton Page B

their back trail if they need it. I expect you fellows
need it
?”
    â€œOh, yes, we need it,” he said. “We’ve been riding for over two weeks, getting away from the Midland Settlement and heading to the hideout to tell Brax his brother is dead.”
    â€œCordy, dead?” said Gorn, looking around Stevens at Prew.
    â€œYep. Killed by Ranger Sam
by-God
Burrack, according to Bonsell and Cleary there,” he said bitterly. He threw back his shot of rye and set his glass down hard. “We’ll be leaving here come morning. If Burrack comes through behind us, kill him.”
    â€œWe’d love to, Prew,” said Stevens, him and Gorn both nodding in agreement. “And so you know, if he slips around us we’ve got gunmen in every little town between here and the hideout. Nobody’s getting through this stretch of hills.” He raised a shot glass as if in toast. “Here’s to killing Rangers,” he said, “be it for
good reason
, or just
good sport
.”
    â€œDamn right,” Prew agreed. He raised his refilled shot glass and drank it down. “That aside . . . ,” he said, looking back at the woman’s hand inside his shirt.“Little darling, how would you like to give me an all-over bath and send my clothes out to get boiled and beaten clean?”
    She gave him a red-painted smile.
    â€œFor two dollars, I’d be both thrilled and delighted,” she said. “What about your friends?”
    Prew looked along at the bar at the miserable, stinking gunmen, realizing that he was the only one with any money. He thought about it, then said, “Yeah, why not? You gals get them all cleaned up and smelling better. Me first though”—he drew her against him—“in case you run out of water too soon.”

Chapter 7
    In the morning, Prew stepped from the front door of a dusty plank and adobe hotel onto the even dustier street. The men following him stopped and watched as Prew looked down at the Bluebird sitting wrapped in a ragged blanket, leaning against the front wall. The flat brim of the Indian’s hat hid his face.
    â€œWake up, Bluebird,” Prew said. He reached his boot sideways and jingled his spur near the Bluebird’s ear. The Bluebird didn’t move.
“Hey . . . ,”
said Prew, a little louder. He tapped his boot against the Bluebird’s leg. The Indian stood up—too quickly to have been sleeping—Prew thought, and turned and looked at him from beneath his hat brim. “Let’s eat and get out of here,” said Prew.
    The Bluebird nodded his head, unwrapped himself and held the ragged blanket over his shoulder.
    â€œLook at this, Prew,” said Cutthroat Teddy. He nodded at the horses lined along the hitch rail, saddled and ready for the trail. A few loose grains of feed lay in the dirt at their hooves. The night before, the men hadunsaddled the animals and lined their saddles along the edge of the short boardwalk.
    â€œMy, my,” said Prew, “but I do like a Mex-Injun who’s willing to pitch in and help out a little.” He looked at the Bluebird as he spoke. The Bluebird nodded and walked to his horse. The men walked to their respective horses and looked them over good, pleased to see that the animals had been well attended to the night before.
    â€œI believe we ought to let the Bluebird take care of the horses from now on,” Bonsell chuckled. He looked at the Bluebird who saw his thin smile, saw his lips moving as he looked at him. “What do you say to that, Senor Bluebird?”
    The Bluebird only nodded again. “Yes, even so . . . ,” he said tightly. Again, he nodded.
    â€œ
Whoa
, did you hear that?” said Bonsell as if taken aback at the sound of the Bluebird’s voice. “This Mex-Injun can talk after all!”
    â€œDon’t act like an ass, Bonsell,” Prew said. “We all knew he could