Read Online The Border Empire by Ralph Compton - Free Book Online

which he expected his pursuers to ride, for there was little cover. There was only a wind-blown tree, and most of it had rotted away. Behind what remained, Wes bellied down with his Winchester where he could see down the long slope. Without an order, Empty had remained with the horses, for he hadn’t forgotten similar situations he had faced with Nathan Stone. Wes could see the seven riders coming long before they were within rifle range. They were strung out in a V formation and there was something different about the point rider. While he didn’t ride quite like an American, neither did he seem Mexican. Whoever he was, he was the enemy, and Wes had the man in his sights. But the very second he fired, he knew he had missed, for a strange thing had happened. Within the ranks of the outlaws, revolvers roared, and the lead rider pitched forward out of the saddle. Wes didn’t question his good fortune, but began firing at the remaining outlaws. He quickly emptied three saddles, and while there was virtually no cover, the remaining three men piled off with their rifles. But Wes had a surprise for them. Slugs from his Winchester began kicking up dust beneath the hooves of the riderless horses, and they lit out in a fast gallop down the back trail. There was little doubt the spooked horses wouldn’t stop short of their home corral. His adversaries reduced to three and afoot, Wes used the deadly Winchester to put the fear of God into them. Slugs flung dirt and rock into their faces, and they scrambled down the slope, intent on escaping with their lives. Wes could have gunned them down to the last man, but there was more to be gained by allowing them to stumble back to town afoot. It would do much to create an aura of mystery around the elusive gringo who killed like a merciless devil. When the shooting was over, Empty trotted out of the brush.
    â€œI reckon we’d better have a look at the dead hombres,” Wes said, “but it’s more than I can expect that some of ’em would be the murderin’ varmints from El Paso.”
    Warily, Wes approached the fallen men. The rider who had been gunned down by his companions lay facedown. While he had been hit twice in the back, the wounds were high up, and he might be playing possum.
    â€œYou’re hard hit, amigo,” Wes said. “Can you speak?”
    There was no response. The man lay unmoving. Wes tried again.
    â€œI’ll help you if I can, but only if you do not resist.”
    â€œI ... not resist,” said El Lobo.
    Wes rolled him over, and the front of his shirt was bloody. The slugs had passed on through, and if they hadn’t nicked a lung, he had a chance.
    â€œYou need some doctorin’,” Wes said. “I have medicine, bandages, and whiskey in my pack. I’m going for the horses.”
    While Wes had some misgivings about helping the wounded outlaw, the circumstances surrounding the shooting intrigued him. Why had the man’s companions shot him in the back? He wasn’t dark enough to be Mexican, and his facial features and eyes were those of an Indian. When Wes returned leading the horses, El Lobo had drawn his revolvers.
    â€œMake up your mind,” said Wes. “If you’re just waitin’ for a chance to kill me, then I’ll ride on and leave you here to die. You know I didn’t shoot you. Your companeros were responsible for that.”
    Slowly, raising his hands as high as he could, El Lobo released the revolvers, allowing them to fall to the ground. Wes took the weapons.
    â€œI’m takin’ you where there’s water,” Wes said. “I’ll help you mount.”
    But the bay shied at the smell of blood, and by the time Wes had calmed the horse, El Lobo’s eyes were closed. When Wes lifted him, he was a dead weight, and getting him belly-down across the bay horse was a fight. Wes was forced to ride alongside the bay, one hand gripping the wounded man’s belt,