Read Online The Savage Trail by Jory Sherman - Free Book Online Page B

walked back toward his office. Then he broke out in a clammy sweat that oiled his palms and wet his armpits. His throat went dry and he wanted a drink in the worst way.
    â€œYep,” he said to himself, “somebody’s sure as hell goin’ to die.”

11
    Ben and john turned their horses toward the spring, followingthe tracks and a sign pointing the way. They rode up a draw that branched off in two directions. Another sign pointed to the location of the spring, and again, there were plenty of tracks to show them the way. At the head of the canyon, someonehad erected a stone cairn in the shape of a horseshoe. Insidethe horseshoe, there was a small pond that rippled with flowing water.
    â€œHorses are mighty thirsty,” Ben said. “You been pushing it, Johnny. My canteen’s plumb empty and my butt bones are kickin’ up again.”
    â€œFill your canteen, Ben, and quit bellyachin’.” John’s eyes were on the tracks and the horse manure scattered around the spring in small piles.
    â€œSee!” Ben said. “You’re getting as testy as me.”
    â€œI’m not testy,” John said. “I’m calculating how far behindHobart we are. He and that Delgado woman were at this spring.”
    â€œMaybe. But how long ago?”
    â€œI’ll know in about two minutes,” John said as he swung down from his horse.
    He and Ben filled their canteens, then let the horses drink from the low end of the pond where it spilled into a trickling stream that coursed a few yards, then went underground.
    John walked around, examining each pile of horse manure. He matched tracks with offal and then went down on one knee. As Ben watched, John picked up a brown nugget from the top of the pile, cracked it in half, and smelled it. Then he touched the insides. He dug lower in the pile and picked up another, one of the first apples to fall. He did the same thing with that one, then stood up.
    â€œNot good enough to eat?” Ben asked.
    â€œDon’t get smart, Ben. You can tell how old a chunk of horseshit is just by feeling how wet it is, how stale it smells.”
    â€œWhere’d you learn that?”
    â€œFrom my pa, only we were tracking deer or elk when he showed me what to do.”
    â€œAnd what does that horseshit tell you, Johnny?”
    â€œIf that’s a smirk on your face, I might not answer you, Ben.”
    Ben made a show of straightening his face, wiping the faint smile from his lips and dragging his chin down until he bore a reasonably sober and serious expression on his visage.
    â€œHell, you can tell from the tracks how long it’s been since they come here,” Ben said. “I know you can do that.”
    â€œI can. But doing this backs up what I already know. And gives me a better line on how much time has passed since Ollie was here.”
    Ben took off his hat and scratched his head.
    â€œI say maybe three hours, just lookin’ at the tracks. Not much crumbled dirt in ’em. Mud’s dried some. Three hours. Four at the most.”
    â€œYou’re sure, huh, Ben?”
    â€œReasonably sure.”
    John raked a pile of horse apples with his foot, spread them out. There was no steam, the insides were nearly dry. He looked up at the sky, shaded his eyes, raked a glance across the sun’s position, avoiding a look into its fiery, blindingheart.
    â€œI figure closer to six hours, maybe seven. Near a day’s ride to catch up with them.”
    â€œHow could they be that far ahead of us?” Ben asked.
    â€œI didn’t see them make a night camp. They’ve been riding all night.”
    â€œIn an all-fired hurry, ain’t he?” Ben asked.
    â€œI was hoping to catch him in Cheyenne and be done with all this,” John said.
    Ben walked around, flexing his legs. John heard his knees crack and saw Ben wince. He drank from his canteen, then refilled it. He didn’t know how far they were from