Ghost Moon Read Online Free Page A

chase,” one of the hands yells as five or six large birds explode from a nearby stand of trees. Immediately, three of the hands launch into a gallop after the animals, leaving only Brewer and a man called Middleton with the horses. Bill wheels his horse and rides out to join the hunt.
    â€œWhat about the horses?” I ask Tunstall.
    â€œDon’t worry about them. They’re well trained. As long as Dick Brewer and Middleton stay ahead and I sit behind, they’ll keep plodding along the trail until you boys come back with some excellent fat wild turkeys for the dinner pot. Off you go.”
    I hesitate, but Tunstall smiles and nods at the men who are careening wildly about the hillside after the panicked birds. I smile back. In less than a day, I have become very fond of my new boss. I’m going to enjoy working for him. His easygoing attitude and ready smile remind me of my father. I trot off after Bill.
    I’ve almost reached the crest of a low rise, about half a mile from the trail, when I hear a shout behind me. I rein in Coronado and look back. Four men are riding along the trail toward Tunstall. Several others are following them, spread out along the valley. Brewer is riding toward us, calling and pointing at the pursuers. Bill has heard the shouts and arrives at my side.
    â€œThat’s Jesse Evans,” he says under his breath. “Looks like Billy Morton, Tom Hill and Frank Baker with him.”
    â€œDolan and Riley’s men. What are they doing here?”
    â€œNo good,” Bill replies. He stands in his stirrups and shouts, “Mr. Tunstall. Get away from the horses. Come up here.”
    Tunstall seems unsure of what to do. Middleton is riding back toward him. “Come away, Mr. Tunstall,” Middleton shouts as he swings his horse up the slope toward us. A shot rings out with startling clarity in the still morning air. I don’t know who fired it or who it was aimed at, but it is followed in quick succession by three or four others.
    Middleton spurs his horse on, shouting urgently back over has shoulder, “Come on, Mr. Tunstall. Those boys mean us harm.”
    Tunstall, still looking around uncertainly, slowly leaves the horses. Evans and the other three ignore us and ride toward Tunstall who stops after he has gone a few yards and turns back.
    â€œNo.” I hear Bill say, under his breath.
    Tunstall appears to be talking to the approaching men. He has dropped his reins and spreads his hands out wide, palms up to show he is not holding his gun. The four men slow to a trot, and Bill and I, joined now by Brewer and Middleton, watch the scene unfold. We are too far off to do anything.
    Tunstall keeps talking, and the four men sit, spread apart, and appear to be listening. Maybe it’s just some misunderstanding. Tunstall is waving up the trail at the horses, which are standing around grazing idly now that no one is urging them on. He’s obviously explaining that these animals are not part of the warrant that Sheriff Brady has issued.
    â€œJust give them the horses,” Brewer says under his breath.
    Without warning, one of the men raises his rifle and shoots Tunstall full in the chest. For a moment, the Englishman sits immobile, his hands still held out wide; then he slips sideways and falls to the ground. His bay horse skitters a few steps to one side, confused by the noise and the loss of its rider.
    Tunstall is lying on his front, struggling to push himself up with his arms. A second of the attackers dismounts and walks calmly over to stand above Tunstall, who twists his head to look up. The effort seems too much, and he sags back down. In one swift motion, the standing man draws his pistol and fires one shot into the back of Tunstall’s head. The body jerks and lies still.
    Bill screams a string of foul curses, drags his Colt out of its holster and urges his horse forward. Brewer lunges forward and grabs his reins to hold him back. Bill turns to