Free Death Rides Alone by William W. Johnstone

hat near the stove overnight, so the mud was dry on it. He was able to knock most of it off by swatting the hat against his leg.
    Once that was done, he took a tin cup off a small shelf and poured what was left in the coffeepot into it. The brew looked pretty thick and unappetizing and didn’t smell much better, but Tyler could drink it or do without.
    Luke took the coffee into the cell block. Tyler had come back to the cell’s door and gripped the bars again.
    â€œListen, you can’t take me back to White Fork,” he said. “Take me anywhere else and let ’em put me on trial there, but don’t go to White Fork.”
    â€œBecause we’ll be killed on the way.” Luke held out the cup.
    Tyler reached through the bars, took it, and gulped down some of the cold coffee. He didn’t seem to care what it tasted like; he just wanted its bracing effect.
    â€œYou don’t know the whole story, Jensen. I told you I didn’t kill Rachel Montgomery, but I didn’t tell you who did .”
    Luke was a little intrigued by that, despite all the desperate lies he had heard over the years from criminals he had captured. Judd Tyler was probably lying, too, but he was putting on a good act. He looked and sounded like he was genuinely innocent and feared for his life.
    â€œWe have a long ride in front of us, Tyler. You’ll have time to tell me plenty of stories. More than I really care to listen to, I imagine.”
    Tyler’s face twisted in a grimace as he said, “You’re gonna get us both killed, that’s what you’re gonna do.”
    Before either of them could say anything else, the door of the marshal’s office opened. Luke turned in that direction and saw Chet Donovan coming in. The lawman stopped just inside the door and scowled.
    â€œI thought I told you to be outta here with that prisoner by now, Jensen.”
    â€œWe were just getting ready to leave, Marshal,” Luke said. “How does it look out on the street? Any sign of lynch mobs?”
    Donovan let out a contemptuous snort and said, “At this hour of the mornin’? Some folks are still asleep, and the ones who are awake ain’t in any mood to start trouble.”
    â€œDid you have a chance to look through your collection of wanted posters last night before the trouble started?”
    â€œFor that fella you shot in the hotel, you mean?” Donovan shook his head. “I looked, but I sure didn’t find any paper on him. Reckon you won’t get to collect on that corpse.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I stopped by the stable and told Fred Crandall to saddle your horses, if you hadn’t already been there and picked ’em up. So they’ll be ready to ride by the time you get over there.”
    â€œI’m obliged to you for that, I suppose.”
    â€œI don’t want your thanks, I just want you gone.” Donovan came on into the cell block, drew his revolver, and unlocked the cell. “Get outta there, Tyler. You’re not gonna be stinkin’ up my jail anymore, you killer.”
    Tyler gave Luke a desperate glance and said, “Jensen . . . ?”
    Luke pulled out one of the Remingtons and said in a hard, flat voice, “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 9
    As Donovan had promised, Crandall had Luke’s gray and Tyler’s paint saddled and ready when the two of them, accompanied by the marshal, arrived at the livery stable.
    â€œHear tell you had some more trouble last night,” the old-timer said to Luke.
    â€œSome.”
    â€œThere’s been more excitement in Bent Creek since you rode in than we usually have in a month of Sundays.”
    Donovan said, “A hell of a lot more excitement than we need, if you ask me.”
    â€œNow, Chet, you got to admit, things around here can get to be a mite borin’,” Crandall said.
    Donovan harummphed .
    â€œThat’s just the way I like ’em,” he