Read Online Death Rides Alone by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

apprehension of a criminal. The tradition dates back centuries to England—”
    â€œYeah, well, I don’t give a damn about what they do in England.”
    â€œIn that case . . . no. Sheriff Axtell in White Fork didn’t authorize payment of the reward.”
    That seemed to surprise Tyler. He frowned, swallowed the last bite of biscuit, and said, “Why not?”
    â€œIt seems there’s a provision stating that you have to be turned over to him personally before the reward will be paid.”
    Tyler’s eyes got wide. Even in the bad light, Luke could tell that the young man’s face had turned pale. Tyler said, “No. Hell, no!”
    â€œWhat do you mean? You had to be aware that if you were captured, you’d be taken back to White Fork for trial. I admit, I’m a bit annoyed by this development. I expected that the sheriff up there would send some deputies to collect you, or come himself. But I suppose I can deliver you if that’s what I have to do.”
    Tyler leaned back against the wall and started to laugh, although there was no humor in the sound. In fact, it was downright bleak. Luke put up with it for a moment, then said, “What’s so blasted funny?”
    â€œYou, Jensen,” Tyler said. “You’re a damned fool. You really think you’re gonna ride up there and get that reward?”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I think.”
    â€œWell, you’re wrong. You’ll never make it to White Fork alive, and neither will I! Axtell and that gang of murderers he calls his deputies will see to that!”
    * * *
    Before Luke could ask what Tyler meant by that brazen claim, someone knocked on the office door. He had locked it after Mary left, and since Donovan surely had his own key, that meant the visitor was someone else.
    Luke turned and walked out of the cell block, but it was hard to put Tyler’s stricken expression out of his mind. The prisoner really had looked terrified for a moment.
    Drawing one of the Remingtons, which he had carefully cleaned and oiled during the night, Luke asked through the door, “Who’s there?”
    â€œIt’s me, Mr. Jensen,” a young voice answered. “Hardy McCoy. I got your clean clothes.”
    Luke glanced at the heap of muddy clothing he had discarded after the battle with Hobson. They were piled in the corner, and there was no time to get them cleaned at the local laundry. He would have to stuff them in his saddlebag and take them with him when he left with Tyler. Maybe when they came to a stream, he could stop long enough to rinse the dried mud out of them.
    Keeping the revolver in his hand, Luke unlocked the door and opened it. Hardy stared at the gun as he came in carrying a paper-wrapped bundle with twine tied around it.
    â€œYou figurin’ on shootin’ somebody else, Mr. Jensen?” the redheaded boy asked.
    â€œNot unless I have to.”
    â€œWell, I sure won’t give you no cause to ventilate me.”
    Luke chuckled and said, “I didn’t expect that you would, Hardy. You’re up awfully early.”
    â€œNaw, Mr. Beale gen’rally has me up and workin’ at some chore before the sun rises. I’m an orphan, you know, and he gives me a place to sleep, so I got to work for my room and board.”
    â€œA boy like you, who’s accustomed to hard work, will go far in this world,” Luke told him.
    â€œI hope so. I wouldn’t mind seein’ Laramie or Cheyenne one of these days.”
    Luke laughed again, holstered the Remington, and took the bundle of clothes from Hardy. He gave the boy a silver dollar and said, “My saddlebags and rifle should still be in the room I was supposed to use last night. Can you get them and bring them over here?”
    â€œSure thing, Mr. Jensen!”
    Hardy hurried out. Luke took advantage of the momentary privacy to get out of the borrowed duds and pull on his own clothes. He had put his