Read Online Marauders' Moon by Luke; Short - Free Book Online

and pride. But ever since the day Hugo Meeker had found Mitch Budrow gaunt and starved and sick and delirious in his mean fugitive’s camp up over the Frying Pans, Bannister had never seen him show spirit. He had gladly consented to act as a spy in Tolleston’s home ranch; had even shown an amazing resourcefulness when he wandered into a Broken Arrow line camp and collapsed. He had been taken by Tolleston’s hands to the home ranch, and in time had easily found a place there. More than once he had given Bannister valuable information, but Bannister despised him. He even despised the petty blackmail necessary to insure Mitch’s loyalty.
    He was barely civil now. “Come back when you’ve got what I asked.”
    Mitch left quietly, cowed to the very core of him.
    In a few minutes Bannister rose and went over to the blacksmith shop. He said to Symonds, “Some of the boys will be bringing their ponies in for shoeing, Symonds. I want you to look their feet over carefully.”
    â€œStartin’ when?”
    â€œThis morning.”
    To Symonds this meant only one thing. There would be considerable riding on rock. And the only considerable expanse of rock around these parts lay over in San Patricio County.
    â€œAll right,” he said. It was none of his business.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Tolleston had his horse saddled by the time the hands were finished breakfast. He stopped Mac and Webb, and told Webb his duties; they were all simple, all petty, all pointedly trivial, designed to keep him within sight of the house. While two of the hands cut and hauled cedar poles from the hills, Webb was to set the anchor posts for a new corral. He was to clean the old feed corral, then patch the roof on the cookshack, then do some needed blacksmithing on wagon tires. All the jobs, Tolleston had emphasized, would place him in clear view of the horse corral, where Martha Tolleston’s pony was. If Webb saw her take her horse out, he was to take the blaze-face sorrel from the corral and follow her. With these instructions given, Tolleston left for town, and Webb set about work under Mac’s watchful eye.
    In mid-afternoon, as he was pitching dirt on the bunk-house roof, he saw Martha Tolleston leave the house. She was dressed in an outfit of deep brown, a divided skirt, blouse to match, man’s Stetson, and boots. He waited until she had saddled her horse and ridden off west, then went over and threw his loop over the sorrel, Mac coming to watch. The horse was docile, and even though he had been on grass for months, did not offer a show of spirit.
    Saddling him, Webb was angry at the man who had ruined him, for the horse had lines that argued speed and bottom and fight.
    Once out of sight of the house, Webb reined up and considered. Right now, for the first time, he was free of Mac’s prying watchfulness. He had a poor horse under him. He had no canteen, no gun, no food. He was remembering everything that Wardecker had told him about the trouble of getting out of this country. To hell with Wardecker. He would try it.
    North looked best, the mountains lowest. He would try it there.
    He lifted his horse into a lope, but inside of a mile knew he would have to ease up. The horse was blowing hard. Then, to make up for his slow time, he headed for the closest rock he could see. Here, at any rate, they would have a hard time trailing him. He had not been on his way twenty minutes, when he looked back. He saw a rider following him, stopping occasionally to pick up his track.
    Webb spurred his horse on, cursing. In another quarter mile, he had to stop. The horse was heaving violently, useless to him as a mount.
    Cursing bitterly, Webb waited. Presently the rider came into sight. It was Mac. He rode up to the waiting Webb and pulled up.
    â€œI figured you’d try that. You don’t believe a rock’s hard till you butt your head against it, eh?”
    Webb grinned suddenly. “You can’t shoot a man