Read Online Way of the Gun (9781101597804) by Charles G. West - Free Book Online Page B

ridden from Fort Laramie. It seemed as stout a horse as those ridden by Moody, Summer, and Collins, and he and the horse seemed to get along fine.
    With avoiding a discussion in mind, Carson picked up his saddle and threw it on the bay’s back, causing Tice to comment, “You didn’t waste much time takin’ your pick. We ain’t had time to look ’em over ourselves.”
    â€œThey’re all about the same,” Carson told him, “and this is the one I rode here on.”
    â€œSeems to me we was the ones that took them horses, so we oughta get first pick before he does,” Swann complained.
    â€œLike he said, ain’t none of ’em much better’n the others,” Red Shirt said. “Let him take any horse he wants, long as it ain’t that black one there.” Like that of a stern father with his children, Red Shirt’s word was not disputed. Carson suspected they seriously feared their savage partner, and he could readily understand. Red Shirt was a powerfully built man with wide shoulders and large hands that looked strong enough to crush a man’s throat.
    â€œI had a packhorse when they arrested me,” Carson said, figuring he might as well try.
    Red Shirt gazed at him with a raised brow. “Is that a fact? Well, you ain’t got one no more,” he informed him. “You’ll be ridin’ with us, so we’ll make up some packs and put ’em on a couple of horses. That oughta do for all of us.”
    â€œRight,” Carson said, “whatever you say.” Tice and Swann both grinned at him as if he had been accepted into a highly desirable society. He wasn’t given any choice about joining them, so Carson’s hopes of leaving them right away became suddenly dim.
    The issue was settled, as far as Red Shirt was concerned, so he turned his mind to other things. “We might as well camp right here tonight. It’s gettin’ along toward evenin’, so it don’t make no sense to start out, then set right down and make camp again.”
    â€œHow ’bout all them dead bodies?” Tice asked. “They’ll be gettin’ to stinkin’ and bringin’ a flock of buzzards down here, maybe coyotes, too.”
    â€œWe ain’t gonna be here that long,” Red Shirt told him. “We’ll be leavin’ in the mornin’. They ain’t gonna start stinkin’ that quick.” When he saw Tice wrinkle his nose as if he already smelled the bodies, he said, “Drag ’em off in the bushes yonder if it turns your belly that much, you damn woman.” He turned to Carson then. “What about you . . .” He paused, then asked, “What the hell is your name?”
    â€œCarson,” he replied.
    â€œCarson, huh? Well, what about you, Carson? Does the smell of dead bodies turn your belly?” His question was punctuated by a contemptuous smile.
    It was obvious the half-breed was looking to amuse himself, and maybe test the fiber of the new member of his little gang of cutthroats. Carson labored to hide the feeling of disgust he felt, one caused by the savage disregard for human life demonstrated by this squat, broad-shouldered murderer more so than the bodies lying about. “I reckon not,” he finally answered. “Like you said, they ain’t hardly had time to get ripe yet.” His answer caused Red Shirt to laugh again, obviously pleased with Carson’s attitude.
    â€œMaybe you can help ol’ Tice drag those bodies into the bushes,” Red Shirt suggested.
    â€œAll right,” Carson responded, got to his feet, and signaled to the sour-faced Tice. “Come on, partner, and we’ll get rid of ’em.”
    â€œI ain’t your partner yet,” Tice immediately replied, “not till I see how good you are when the shootin’ starts.” He followed him to Varner’s body, however, and the two of them cleared the camp