Free Riding For The Brand: Sage Country Book Three by Dan Arnold Page B

them in. Jacob is six and Sarah is four years old. At first they couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t know who they were or where they came from. Over time, we were able to get bits and pieces of the story. We learned that both of their parents were dead. I did some research and found the deed you spoke of. I decided to ride down here and see if the kids have any family in the area. I found the ranch abandoned, and I had a little run in with a local tough who claimed it was his place now…”
    “…He still there?” The old man interrupted, coldly.
    “No, I ran him off. I came on here to get some supplies over at the general store. They told me what happened to the Murphy’s.”
    He looked at me, waiting to hear what had become of his friend and partner.
    “Bill, someone lynched Sean Murphy, for rustling…”
    “…That’s a damned lie. Sean would never steal another man’s cattle.” Bill said, slapping his hand on the table.
    “I understand. Even if it were true, lynching is illegal. Whoever is responsible will be brought to justice.”
    “Damned right they will, and mighty soon,” he agreed.
    I didn’t like his tone. I could tell he figured to be the one to administer justice, his own brand of justice.
    “I was told Mrs. Murphy had been ill for some time and the death of her husband was more than she could bear. She died shortly after he was killed. The folks over at the general store saw to both burials.”
    “I owe um for that.” Bill observed.
    “They seem like good folks. Their name is Burke, Henry and Lida Burke. When they heard Mr. Murphy had been lynched, they went out and retrieved his body and buried it at the ranch. Sometime later, when they realized Mrs. Murphy hadn’t come in for supplies, they went out to the ranch and found her dead. They buried her beside her husband. By then, the children had walked all the way to Bear Creek.”
    Old Bill put away his pipe.
    “Seems like you told me near all I need to know. I’m obliged to you for taking in Sean’s kids. They ain’t got nobody else. You go on home to your wife and take care of those children, John. I’ll do what needs to be done here.”
    “No, I’m staying. I’ve had supplies sent out to the ranch. You’re welcome to join me there.”
    “The ranch is half mine, and none of yours.” He said.
    “That’s right. I’m representing the owners of the other half, Jacob and Sarah.”
    He nodded thoughtfully. “It’ll take some work to put things right.”
    “Two heads are better than one and many hands make light work.” I quoted.
    He nodded again.
    “So I’ve heard
    “So you’ll throw in with me out at the ranch?”
    “It might go that way. I’ll be along, directly. I want to ride around and see what I see.” Bill said, standing up.
    He wore striped pants tucked into high moccasins with rawhide soles, a Colt revolver rested casually in his waistband. He was holding the rifle that had been laid across his lap as we talked.
    I found myself staring at the rifle. The old man, seeing my interest, spoke up.
    “Christian Sharps, Creedmoor rifle. This un’s a .45 caliber breechloader. She’s accurate out to at least a thousand yards. You ever et antelope?”
    I whistled.
    “That’s more than a half mile. Naturally, I’ve seen many a Sharps carbine or rifle, and the Remington version of them. I’ve heard of Creedmoor and the sharpshooting contests, but I’ve never seen one of those rifles rigged like that before. The engraving is beautiful.”
    “You won’t likely see another.”
    “Are those sights adjustable?”
    “Yep, windage and elevation, front and back. Peep sights the thing.”
    We walked outside to the only horse still tied in front of the saloon. It was a spotted horse with a silver worked saddle and bridle. The heavy Spanish spade bit was silver as well. The horse also wore a pencil bosal, He was secured with a neck rope and not tied by the bridal reins.
    “Hackamore man, huh?” I