Read Online Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron by RALPH COMPTON - Free Book Online Page A

Boss,” said Jorge Sentores, grinning. “I thinks maybe you gots the plan for that pretty woman, eh?”
    â€œWatch your dirty mind, Jorge,” said Earl, his voice turning tight with indignation. “I’m not some pig ... some animal who would dishonor a man’s woman, him standing by whilst I done it.”
    â€œNo, Boss, of course not,” said Jorge, shrugging, unable to tell if Earl was serious or not. He looked at the others for some sort of clue. The men only stared down at the house in silence.
    â€œAll right, here’s the deal,” said Earl without taking his eyes off the house below. “We’re going down there. Any of yas says anything out of the way to that little redheaded woman, it’ll take you the rest of the day to pull my boot out of your ass.”
    â€œCan’t we even say howdy?” asked Sherman Fentress, tweaking his thin, well-trimmed mustache.
    â€œNo,” Earl said bluntly. “You especially can’t say howdy to her.”
    â€œNot even if she says howdy first?” asked Fentress.
    â€œKeep in mind the size of my boot,” Earl Muir warned. He heeled his horse forward at a walk, down onto a thin path.
    â€œDamn,” Sherman Fentress objected quietly. “I never seen a person you can’t even say howdy to.”
    Beside him, Dirty Joe said in a whisper, “I wouldn’t cross him now if I was you, Sherman. You see what he did to that town back there.”
    â€œYeah, I saw. I also saw that nobody back there ever told him a damn thing,” said Fentress. “We’ve got no more notion where that woman and the old man is than when we started out.”
    â€œI know Earl,” said Turley. “He’s got a plan. I figure instead of riding into those hills, maybe facing an ambush, Earl figures after killing all them folks, that woman and the old man has got to come looking for us.” He nudged his horse forward. “Then we’ve got them.”
    â€œYeah, or they’ve got us,” Sherman retorted, looking around at Jorge and the others. “I ain’t sure which.”
    â€œI think this is a bad thing we have done, killing those peoples. I always steal the cattle. I am never been a murderer,” Jorge said to Avery McRoy as they stepped their horses onto the trail behind Sherman and Dirty Joe.
    â€œWell, you are now, Jorge,” McRoy said, “so tell it to yourself a few times and get used to it. You’ve killed once, and I expect you’ll have to kill some more before this traipse is over.” The five horses moved down the path silently in single file.
    Out front of the house, Ellen Waddell sat atop one of the horses, a small black gelding. “Dave, I thought you were in such a hurry to leave?” she called out playfully to the open door.
    â€œJust one second,” Dave replied. He jerked open the bottom drawer of the battered oak desk sitting against the back wall and pulled out the extra pistol he kept there. He hefted the small .36 caliber Navy Whitney in his hand, made sure it was loaded, and shoved it down into his belt. Then closed and buttoned his suit coat over it. “I want to make sure we don’t leave here forgetting something we might need down the road.” Before shutting the desk drawer he caught sight of a dusty bottle of whiskey. “One to grow on,” he said to himself. He pulled the cork, raised the bottle to his lips, and drained it. Letting out a breath, he corked the empty bottle, put it back in the drawer, and locked the desk with a small key.
    â€œDave ... ?” Ellen’s voice trailed off with an edge of apprehension that Dave didn’t notice in his rush to get under way.
    â€œShhh,” said Cherokee Earl, sitting on his horse beside Ellen, lifting the reins from her hands. He leaned in close to Ellen’s ear and said softly in his raspy voice, “Let’s surprise ole Davey, what do you