Read Online The Lawless by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online

rise and looked down on the vast sweep of the land below. It was rolling hill country thick with scattered mesquite, piñón, and a few red oak. Coming in hard off the Gulf of Mexico, the south wind was strong enough to lift veils of dust from the dry ground and toss the branches of the mesquite and piñón into a frenzied dance. The smoke was rising briefly from behind a hill where the red oak grew before it was shredded by the wind.
    He remounted and searched for a way off the ridge but everywhere he looked the rock face toward the smoke was thirty feet straight down. He decided to go back the way he’d come and loop around the base of the rise, a twenty-minute detour in a wind that tore at him and his horse. The big Thoroughbred weathered the storm and once among the mesquite, Trace slid the Henry out from under his knee and rode toward the smoke.
    Squatters were a possibility and outlaws were another. He discounted the possibility of Lipan Apaches. They were unlikely to have a fire that smoked so much it gave away their presence. Only white men did that.
    A few yards of the hill, Trace swung out of the saddle and went forward on foot. Not Indians or white men. Blanket-wrapped Mexicans—a man, woman, and three children—huddled around a mesquite fire that smoked better than it burned.
    â€œHowdy.” Trace held his rifle across his thighs, a sight that made the woman afraid. “This is Kerrigan land.”
    In truth, Kate claimed any land she could ride a horse over.
    Trace didn’t move. “What are you doing here?”
    The man rose to his feet. He wore the shapeless white cotton garb of a peasant and the wind tugged at the sombrero he pulled low down on his head. “We’re not here to steal, señor.” He spoke hesitant missionary-taught English. “We are lost. No food for the niños or ourselves.”
    â€œWhere are you from?” Trace asked.
    â€œChihuahua, señor. But there is no work at home and my wife and I seek employment.”
    Trace shook his head. “It’s a wonder you’re alive to seek anything. The Apaches are out. Didn’t you know that?”
    The man shook his head. “No, señor. We did not know.” One of the children started to cry, and he said, “She is hungry.”
    â€œDamn it. I took a ride for my health’s sake, but I didn’t count on meeting pilgrims.”
    â€œI am sorry, señor. We will move off your land.”
    â€œWait. I have grub, probably enough for three hungry men.” Trace backed away to his horse and untied the sack his mother had tied to the saddle. She would not let him leave the cabin without his lunch.
    He returned to the Mexicans with the sack. “What did I tell you? Beef sandwiches and a piece of dried apple pie. Maybe dried apple pie doesn’t sound good, but it is.”
    â€œTo a hungry man, all food sounds good,” the Mexican said.
    Trace passed the sack to the man. “I guess there’s enough to feed all of you.”
    â€œBut you must eat, señor,” the man said.
    Although he was hungry, Trace saw a need greater than his own. “I’ll get something later. I ate a big breakfast.”
    The adults fed the hungry children first—and this met with Trace’s approval—before they shared what was left. The food seemed to help. The button-eyed children smiled shyly at Trace and their parents, though still thin and gaunt, were more animated.
    â€œWe will leave your land now, señor,” the man said. “Thank you for what you have done for us.”
    â€œWhere will you go?”
    The man shrugged. “Wherever a good blacksmith is needed.” He smiled. “And a Mexican woman who can cook.”
    â€œThe fall is here. And next thing you know, winter will be cracking down hard. Your children could die in this country.”
    â€œThey will most certainly die in my own country if I can’t feed them,”