Read Online Bullet Creek by Ralph Compton - Free Book Online Page B

hard!”
    The Arizona Territory was still a generally lawless land, with Apaches still wild as mustangs, so Vannorsdell kept a sentry posted atop the house at all hours of the day.
    â€œWho is it?” the rancher yelled, lifting his chin toward the porch roof.
    â€œA Mex . . . and a cream Arab! Looks like Miss Vannorsdell’s horse.”
    Navarro and Vannorsdell rose quickly. The rancher reached to set his coffee cup on the railing but missed. The mug hit the stone tiles with a pop. Ignoring it, Vannorsdell followed Navarro down the porch steps and into the yard, both men gazing toward the open front gate, hands on the butts of their holstered pistols.
    Beyond the gate, dust rose along the curving desert trail. The thud of hooves grew louder. The rider galloped around a clump of pines—a tall Mex in a red calico shirt and high-crowned sombrero. Behind him, trailing on a lead line, loped Karla’s cream Arab, twitching its ears angrily, shaking its head and fighting the bit. The rider jerked on the rope as he checked his own mount down to a trot and came on through the gate, crossing the yard and drawing back on his bridle reins as he approached Navarro and Vannorsdell.
    â€œWhere’s my granddaugher?” the rancher asked sharply.
    The Mexican turned his horse quarter-wise to the house and threw the Arab’s lead at Vannorsdell, who swatted at it halfheartedly and missed. The Mex had Indian-dark features and a thin, patchy beard. Sweat streaked his cheeks. “Real de Cava sent me. You want your granddaughter back, ride alone to the top of Hatchet Butte in one hour. Even exchange, you for her. Remember, come alone. Do not wear a gun.”
    The vaquero reined his horse around and was about to boot it back toward the gate when Navarro reached up and grabbed the man’s left arm. Tom gave the arm a hard pull. With a surprised grunt, the Mex tumbled off the horse’s left hip and hit the dust with a thud. He clamored onto his hands and knees and jerked his head up, his nostrils flared, his eyes pinched with outrage.
    Reaching for the ivory-gripped Russian revolver strapped butt-forward on his left thigh, he wailed, “Son of a—”
    Tom rammed his pistol barrel into the Mex’s open mouth, drove the man to the ground. On one knee, Tom thumbed the big Colt’s hammer back and stared flintily down into the Mex’s startled, frightened eyes. “That wasn’t quite enough information, you son of a bitch.”
    The Mex stared up at him, the sun glistening off his small black eyes. When he’d let his arms fall to his sides, Navarro removed the pistol from his mouth but held the barrel an inch from his lips.
    The Mex turned his gaze to Vannorsdell standing over Tom’s right shoulder. “He killed Don de Cava!”
    Vannorsdell crouched beside Navarro. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    â€œYou know!”
    â€œIf I knew I wouldn’t be askin’ you.”
    â€œWe found the old man with half his brains blown out last night after he rode off with you.”
    Navarro turned to Vannorsdell, who met his gaze, frowning. Turning back to the Mex, Vannorsdell said, “Francisco’s dead?”
    The man glared up at him around Navarro’s cocked Colt.
    â€œMust’ve happened after I left him,” the rancher said, returning his gaze to Navarro. “I heard a shot behind me, on the other side of the ridge. I figured it was just one of the hands shooting a coyote.”
    No one said anything for several seconds. The Mex lay on the ground, chest and belly rising and falling sharply, shuttling his sun-bright eyes between the two men crouched over him.
    â€œReal thinks you pulled the trigger,” Navarro said.
    â€œObviously.” Vannorsdell squinted his eyes and pursed his lips as he inclined his gaze to the Mex. “He must’ve nabbed Karla on her morning ride.”
    Bunching his lips with fury, Navarro turned back