Read Online Midnight Rider (Ralph Cotton Western Series) by Ralph Cotton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ralph Cotton
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it.”
The men only nodded and continued eating, afraid to even reply.
“That aside,” the Giant said, turning to Rochenbach with a milder tone and expression, “I am obliged to you for what you did, Rock. I’m ashamed that I was goading you… yet you jumped in and saved my life all the same.”
Rochenbach gave no response apart from a short, silent nod.
The Giant looked around at the others and said, “From now on, anybody says anything bad about this man—I
still
need a good coin purse.” A wide, big-toothed grin spread across his face, making him appear all the more menacing in the flicker of firelight.
The men nodded as they ate.
After they’d finished the meal and washed it down with strong, hot coffee, they sat in silence around the fire and waited until darkness set in purple and deep around them.
Rochenbach noted that a calm air of confidence seemed to come over the five men riding with him. Without being prompted to do so, they each sat checking pistols, rifles, ammunition and equipment. When they’d finished, they sat quietly until each of them appeared ready for the trail.
With a sigh, Casings stood up and slung coffee grounds from his empty tin cup.
“It’s time to do it,” he said quietly.
In a ragged tent saloon on the lower, eastern outskirts of Central City, a former ore wagon guard named Macon Ray Silverette relieved himself over the edge of the rocky trail as the six horsemen passed behind him a few feet away. Recognizing Spiller, Batts and Casings all three, he quickly ducked his head, buttoned his fly and hurried back inside the tent before the six were out of sight, headed deeper into town.
At a rickety table in a darkened corner, a hard case named Dirty Dave Atlo sat with his hand up the dress of a young woman perched on his lap. She stared into his eyes with a frozen grin, wiry red hair and lips painted redder than rabbit blood. Across the tent, a drunken accordion player drooled with his mouth agape as his hands squeezed out a mournful rendition of “Sweet Betsy from Pike.” Candle, lamp and lantern flickered around him like a broad circle of footlights.
“Damn it!” Dirty Dave growled, seeing Macon Ray weave toward him through a maze of tables, chairs and standing drinkers.
“You’re not going to believe who I just saw riding in from Denver City!” Macon Ray said in an excited voice, stopping less three feet away.
“Christ Almighty, Ray!” said Dirty Dave. He looked embarrassed. “Don’t you see what’s going on here?”
Hurriedly, Macon Ray shot a glance at the accordion player, then back to Dirty Dave.
“Yep, it’s fine music no doubt,” he said. “But I just saw some of Grolin’s men ride past the tent… headed into town…?” He left his words hanging as a suggestion.
“Whoa!” said Dirty Dave. “Now, that
is
some good news.” His hand came down from beneath the woman’s gingham dress. “Hop on up, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”
He stood, forcing her to stand too or else fall to the dirt floor. To Macon Ray he said, “How long ago?” He fished a gold coin from his vest pocket with damp fingers and flipped it toward the table. The woman caught it before it landed.
“I just saw them and ran right in here. I knew you’d want to hear about it,” said Ray, hurrying along behind him as Dirty Dave headed for the wide-open tent front.
“Where’s Albert and Fackler, betting the birds?” He looked toward a far rear corner where a small group of miners were gathered around two battle-scarred roosters locked in mortal combat beneath a flurry of batting wings.
“Joe is. Albert’s just watching. Want me to get them?” Macon Ray asked.
“Hell yes, get them!” shouted Dirty Dave. “Get them, get your horses—all of you bring shotguns, catch up to me on the trail. Once I hone in on these boys, I’m not letting them out of my sight.”
As Macon Ray hurried, weaving through the crowd, Dirty Dave looked down at a table and
The men only nodded and continued eating, afraid to even reply.
“That aside,” the Giant said, turning to Rochenbach with a milder tone and expression, “I am obliged to you for what you did, Rock. I’m ashamed that I was goading you… yet you jumped in and saved my life all the same.”
Rochenbach gave no response apart from a short, silent nod.
The Giant looked around at the others and said, “From now on, anybody says anything bad about this man—I
still
need a good coin purse.” A wide, big-toothed grin spread across his face, making him appear all the more menacing in the flicker of firelight.
The men nodded as they ate.
After they’d finished the meal and washed it down with strong, hot coffee, they sat in silence around the fire and waited until darkness set in purple and deep around them.
Rochenbach noted that a calm air of confidence seemed to come over the five men riding with him. Without being prompted to do so, they each sat checking pistols, rifles, ammunition and equipment. When they’d finished, they sat quietly until each of them appeared ready for the trail.
With a sigh, Casings stood up and slung coffee grounds from his empty tin cup.
“It’s time to do it,” he said quietly.
In a ragged tent saloon on the lower, eastern outskirts of Central City, a former ore wagon guard named Macon Ray Silverette relieved himself over the edge of the rocky trail as the six horsemen passed behind him a few feet away. Recognizing Spiller, Batts and Casings all three, he quickly ducked his head, buttoned his fly and hurried back inside the tent before the six were out of sight, headed deeper into town.
At a rickety table in a darkened corner, a hard case named Dirty Dave Atlo sat with his hand up the dress of a young woman perched on his lap. She stared into his eyes with a frozen grin, wiry red hair and lips painted redder than rabbit blood. Across the tent, a drunken accordion player drooled with his mouth agape as his hands squeezed out a mournful rendition of “Sweet Betsy from Pike.” Candle, lamp and lantern flickered around him like a broad circle of footlights.
“Damn it!” Dirty Dave growled, seeing Macon Ray weave toward him through a maze of tables, chairs and standing drinkers.
“You’re not going to believe who I just saw riding in from Denver City!” Macon Ray said in an excited voice, stopping less three feet away.
“Christ Almighty, Ray!” said Dirty Dave. He looked embarrassed. “Don’t you see what’s going on here?”
Hurriedly, Macon Ray shot a glance at the accordion player, then back to Dirty Dave.
“Yep, it’s fine music no doubt,” he said. “But I just saw some of Grolin’s men ride past the tent… headed into town…?” He left his words hanging as a suggestion.
“Whoa!” said Dirty Dave. “Now, that
is
some good news.” His hand came down from beneath the woman’s gingham dress. “Hop on up, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”
He stood, forcing her to stand too or else fall to the dirt floor. To Macon Ray he said, “How long ago?” He fished a gold coin from his vest pocket with damp fingers and flipped it toward the table. The woman caught it before it landed.
“I just saw them and ran right in here. I knew you’d want to hear about it,” said Ray, hurrying along behind him as Dirty Dave headed for the wide-open tent front.
“Where’s Albert and Fackler, betting the birds?” He looked toward a far rear corner where a small group of miners were gathered around two battle-scarred roosters locked in mortal combat beneath a flurry of batting wings.
“Joe is. Albert’s just watching. Want me to get them?” Macon Ray asked.
“Hell yes, get them!” shouted Dirty Dave. “Get them, get your horses—all of you bring shotguns, catch up to me on the trail. Once I hone in on these boys, I’m not letting them out of my sight.”
As Macon Ray hurried, weaving through the crowd, Dirty Dave looked down at a table and
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