Read Online Lawless Trail by Ralph Cotton - Free Book Online

to his horse.
    â€œIt’s not so much that I forgot as it is that it’s not the foremost thing on my mind,” he said. He loosened his horse’s saddle and pulled it off onto the shoulder. “The foremost thing on my mind is how bad Wes Traybo is going to want to kill me stone dead when he finds out I led you there.”
    â€œI don’t believe you, Hardaway,” Sam said, walking past him to the remaining two standing walls of the adobe shack.
    â€œDon’t believe me
how
?” Hardaway said, walking along beside him.
    â€œI don’t believe you spook this easily.” As he spoke, Sam stooped and gathered some dried brush for kindling and some broken, weathered boards for a fire. Hardaway did the same.
    â€œOh?” said Hardaway. “What makes you say so?”
    â€œYou’ve been a rounder and a tough gunman all your life,” Sam said, walking through a low tangle of brush surrounding the shack. “This is not the first time you’ve done something to make somebody come looking to kill you.” He stepped across a short stone foundation, looked all around and dropped his saddle and an armload of firewood on the dirt floor. “I don’t think you fear the Traybos as much as you’re letting on.”
    â€œWell,” said Hardaway, dropping his saddle and more broken boards and dried brush on the ground. “I expect you’re right. I fear no man that much. I’ve had my scrapes and spills, same as any man who set out to do his own bidding. But fearwise, I’d spit in the devil’s eye.”
    â€œWhat is it about the Traybos, then?” Sam asked, turning, facing him.
    Hardaway stooped and piled some wood and brush inside a circle of soot-smudged rocks surrounding an old and blackened campfire site.
    â€œTo be honest, Ranger,” he said, taking out matches from his shirt pocket, “I hate letting the Traybos down. I kind of admire them ol’ boys. Not just the Traybo brothers. Hell, everybody that rides with them.”
    â€œ
Admire
them?” Sam said to keep him talking.
    â€œMaybe that’s not the right word,” said Hardaway. “Maybe I mean I respect them?” He looked up from the ground, a match burning between his fingers, fire starting to dance among the brittle brush and kindling.
    â€œAll right, you respect them,” Sam said.
    â€œDamn it, I hate to say it,” Hardaway said. “I know we’re every one of us a bunch of no-good sons a’ bitches out here, top to bottom. But the Traybos are . . . well, they’re different. They’re the kind of hombres you want to ride with—old Baylor Rubens . . . Carter Claypool. You don’t find those kinds of men long-riding these days.”
    â€œThen why’d you stop riding with them?” Sam asked quietly. He stooped and took a canteen of tepid water from his saddle, uncapped it and took a sip. A small fire began to flicker and glow.
    â€œHell if I know,” said Hardaway, reaching around, taking his own canteen from his saddle horn, opening it, sloshing it around. He contemplated the matter further for a moment, watching the fire grow, then said, “For some reason I expect I knew I wasn’t good enough to ride with them . . . the truth be told.”
    Sam wiped a hand across his lips and just looked at Hardaway for a moment.
    â€œAll right, I know that sounds crazy,” Hardaway said, under the Ranger’s gaze. “There’s a lot of no-good bastards you wouldn’t have to pay me a Mexican peso to jackpot. I’d give them to you, just to watch them die over a foaming mug of beer.” He paused; his voice lowered, softened. He tipped his canteen almost in a toast. “I’m just saying, the Traybos and their men? They
ain’t them
.”
    Sam watched him toss back a drink of canteen water. When Hardaway had wiped his mouth, he continued.
    â€œI remember once