Read Online Ralph Compton Comanche Trail by Carlton Stowers - Free Book Online

exchange for what’s in the smokehouse and ripening in the garden, not to mention the half jug of whiskey I got hid in the house, a neighbor across the way will agree to tend things in my absence. We can be on our way at first light tomorrow.”
    â€œAnd you’re right sure about this?”
    â€œOf that, and one other thing.”
    â€œWhat else might that be?”
    Barclay broke into the first smile Thad had seen since his arrival. “Most probably,” he said, “we’re gonna get ourselves kilt dead before we can ever get back home.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The early-morning sun was just beginning to erase the shadows from Thayer’s lone street as the two men rode side by side. Neither had spoken since saddling their horses and leaving Barclay’s place. As they passed the jail, Taylor was relieved to see that Marshal Thorntree, who would no doubt argue his disapproval of their plan, had not begun to stir.
    It was not until they neared the small clapboard church on the edge of town that they heard a voice. Brother Winfrey was hurrying from the doorway, waving in their direction.
    Taylor reined Magazine to a stop. “Morning, Pastor.”
    â€œI can see that the marshal was right when I spoke to him yesterday,” Winfrey said. “He figured you were planning on going looking for some Indians who are likely hiding out one of the people who caused all that evil down the way. Against his strong warning, I understand. That right?”
    Taylor nodded.
    â€œA dangerous mission, I must say. But it appears you’ve got your mind set.” He glanced at Barclay, a man who had never set foot in his church or heard a word of any of his sermons. “Seems you’ve enlisted help that’s most qualified. I’m highly pleased to see it.”
    Barclay grunted.
    The preacher approached Taylor. “If you’re going to carry out your plan,” he said, “it might be that you could use this.” He held out the Colt he’d carried on the posse’s visit to the Bender Farm. “Truth is, it isn’t particularly Godly for a man in my position to have it. I think members of my congregation will be pleased to know it’s gone from my possession.”
    Taylor looked at the holstered pistol, wrapped tightly in awide leather belt. “I done got a Winchester,” he said, nodding toward the rifle strapped behind his saddle.
    â€œIt was my experience, long ago in another life, that a sidearm can be more useful,” the preacher said. He handed it up to Taylor. “I’ll be praying daily that the Almighty accompanies you on your journey.”

Chapter 7
    Indian Territory
    Big Boone Stallings sat beneath the shade of a large pecan tree, frowning as the small band of Comanches disappeared into the shadows of the winding trail that led away from his camp.
    â€œLook at ’em,” he said to the two heavily armed men who stood nearby, watching the visitors leave. “They’re so happy you’d think they had good sense.” As if on cue, they laughed. In his ample lap was a pouch filled with small pieces of jewelry—watches and rings mostly—for which he had negotiated a paltry payment. A couple of riders were moving the livestock the Indians had sold him in the direction of a corral that sat at the base of a nearby bluff. Two aging horses, a pair of mules, and a milk cow, none of great value.
    Bargaining and trading with renegades was not the way Stallings had planned to spend the remaining days of his life. Rarely was there a sober moment when he didn’t long for the times before he had been forced to hide away in the Cookson Hills, sharing his dismal world with savages and others likehim who were hoping to elude the law and a hangman’s noose.
    It was hardly a fitting end for one who had ridden with the legendary William Clarke Quantrill. As part of a guerilla unit along the