Read Online Lawless Trail by Ralph Cotton - Free Book Online Page B

waiting—not after what that outlaw did to me.” He started to move forward again. Crane grabbed his arm.
    â€œYou’re not thinking straight, Artimus,” said Crane. “You don’t even know it’s them.”
    Folliard stared down at the wiry little detective’s hand clasped around his forearm. Crane turned him loose quickly.
    â€œIt’s them all right,” Folliard whispered. “Who else would be on this trail this close to where we found the wagon?”
    â€œI don’t know. But Garand said wait,” Crane insisted. “If this is them, where’re the doctor and the woman?”
    But Folliard would have none of it.
    â€œI’ll find out from one after I’ve killed the other,” Folliard whispered. He turned and moved away silently in a crouch toward the firelight.
    â€œHe’s lost his mind . . . ,” Crane murmured to himself, moving forward a few steps to keep Folliard covered. He watched Folliard move slowly until he stood over the nearest blanket on the ground. As Folliard held a borrowed Colt out at arm’s length, cocked and aimed down at the blanket, Crane cursed under his breath, even as he started to step closer.
    But before he could take his next step, he recognized the feel of a cold rifle barrel against the back of his neck. He froze, staring straight ahead where Folliard stood ready to pull the trigger on the big Colt.
    Oh no!
He had a sinking feeling deep down in his stomach as he watched Folliard reach out with his boot and kick it sidelong against the sleeper on the ground.
    â€œWake up, long rider. It’s time to die,” Folliard growled through his swollen jaw. He pulled the Colt’s trigger and sent a streak of fire blazing down through the blanket. As soon as he’d pulled the trigger, he swung the Colt toward the second blanket on the other side of the campfire, cocked it and braced to fire again. He stood waiting for a second. When no movement came from the other blanket, he looked back down.
    â€œWhat the hell?” he said. He swung around toward Crane. But instead of seeing his partner standing fifteen feet away where he’d left him, he saw the shadowy outline of a man drawing back the butt stock of Winchester rifle. “Oh no,” he managed to say just as the rifle butt jabbed forward with a fierce blow and nailed him squarely across his forehead.
    The Colt in Folliard’s hand fired wildly as he fell backward to the ground. The Ranger ducked to one side instinctively as the bullet whistled past him, past Hardaway, toward the detectives’ waiting horses.
    â€œHo—
ly
!” shouted Hardaway, he and Crane both flinching, turning toward the horses, seeing the bullet had stricken Folliard’s saddle horn and shattered it into pieces. The exploding saddle horn sent Folliard’s terrified horse into a wild, rearing, bucking frenzy. Crane’s horse, also badly spooked, charged across the campsite. But Sam caught its reins and held on, letting the animal spin in a full circle until it settled and drew to a halt. Folliard’s horse went racing away in the dark, whinnying loud and long in the otherwise quiet night. Bits of the shattered saddle horn sprinkled down like raindrops.
    â€œAll right,
ambusher
, start talking,” Hardaway said to the other detective as Sam led the horse over to them. He kept his face hidden beneath his lowered hat brim from force of habit. “How many more
ambushers
are out there?” He gave the man a poke with his gun barrel for good measure.
    â€œThere’s a whole posse of us coming, mister,” the wiry little detective said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll lower the rifle and give yourselves up to me.”
    â€œNow, why on earth would we do that?” Hardaway asked as the Ranger walked over to them leading Crane’s horse, Folliard’s smoking Colt dangling in his hand.
    â€œTo keep us from