Read Online The Savage Curse by Jory Sherman - Free Book Online

heels.
    Just as Ben reached the end of the hill, another shot rang out and John heard the bullet slam into the hill. He looked back and saw that Ben was still coming. He was bent over the saddle horn and seemed untouched and unhurt.
    John raced toward another hill and turned Gent so they could round it. He slowed the horse after passing the hill and Ben caught up to him.
    Both men were panting, out of breath. The horses’ sides were heaving.
    â€œEnough of that fast gallop,” John said. “From now on, we pick our way south real slow.”
    â€œThink Crudder will come after us?”
    â€œHe might for a ways, but he’ll give it up. If we go real slow, we won’t leave much sign on this hard ground. Unless he’s a damned good tracker, he’ll give up.”
    They rode through a series of narrow passes, through small and slightly larger hills, varying their direction, putting more hills behind them. John watched their backtrail and drew his rifle. If he saw Crudder or any of the others come around a hill, he would stop and draw a bead, try to drop the pursuer.
    â€œCrudder fire that last shot at you, Ben?”
    â€œI—I think so. Couldn’t tell. What are you thinkin’?”
    â€œJake was on the flank. I hope he didn’t shoot at you.”
    â€œAw, he wouldn’t do that. He’s on our side.”
    â€œHe might have loosed a bullet to throw Crudder off. Jake won’t want to show his hand.”
    â€œHell, he should be ridin’ with us.”
    â€œNo. Better that he stay with Crudder and that bunch. If we get to Hobart, he might come in handy.”
    â€œYeah. He might.”
    They heard pounding hoofbeats, shouts. It was difficult for John to determine how close Crudder and his men were because of the hills. He and Ben walked the horses south for several moments, cut in and out of saguaros and hills, their horses sleek with sweat, their foreheads dripping wet. They sopped up the moisture with their bandannas and rode on, keeping quiet, listening, looking over their shoulders.
    â€œThese horses need rest, John,” Ben said, his voice a croak in his parched throat.
    â€œI know. I don’t see any shade, do you?”
    â€œCan’t we just stop and give ’em a rest?”
    â€œMight be our last stop, Ben. No telling where Crudder is. He might know this country. Hell, he could be waiting just up ahead for us.”
    Ben swore.
    â€œHey, don’t talk that way, Johnny. My stomach’s still tied up in a hundred different knots.”
    â€œJust keep quiet and keep riding, Ben. We’ll stop when we’ve lost Crudder for sure.”
    John headed toward a low hill, crossing a patch of rocky land dotted with prickly pear, saguaros, ocotillo. Something caught his eye and he turned suddenly in the saddle to seek out the source. A glint of light, like a spear, needled him in his right eye. He raised a hand to shade his face. He looked upward, toward a peak jutting up, its top framed by blue sky.
    â€œBen,” John said, his voice pitched low, “watch it.”
    Ben turned and looked at that same peak and swallowed hard.
    â€œWe been snookered,” Ben said, shading his eyes with a hand.
    One of the riders, John didn’t know which at that distance, was at the top of the peak, looking down on them. Sunlight glinted off the barrel of his rifle as he brought it to his shoulder and took aim. The horse under him sidled on unsure footing and the rifle came down for a moment, then rose again to the man’s shoulder. John saw him sighting along the barrel.
    In the fraction of seconds it took for the man to steady his horse and take aim, John judged the distance between him and the muzzle of that rifle.
    At least two hundred yards, maybe more, he figured.
    A hundred thoughts flashed through John’s brain in those meager seconds. Distance. Trajectory. Angle. Windage. All useless, all numberless. But he thought of them and