Night Hawk Read Online Free

“Where is he?”
    â€œCattle car.”
    Ian headed for the end of the train.
    Inside the cattle car, he found the tense-looking sheriff feeding shells into his Colt while keeping an eye on the approaching riders through the opened door of the car. Ian surveyed the woman. The rope was no longer binding her but her hands were cuffed.
    The sheriff looked up and scanned him silently before saying, “You’re Vance Bigelow, the Preacher.”
    Ian adopted the Bigelow name when he became an outlaw in order to hide his true identity, and continued to use it when the death of his wife, Tilda, turned him into a bounty hunter. He acknowledged the sheriff’s words with a nod. “Came to see if you needed my gun.”
    â€œHeard Judge Parker made you a deputy marshal.”
    It was true, and although Ian still had the star, the appointment wasn’t something he crowed about.
    â€œMy name’s Wells, by the way. I’m the sheriff over in Dowd. The riders belong to Hank Langley. He’s holding her responsible for his son’s death.”
    The sound of gunfire was steady and close.
    â€œI didn’t kill him,” the woman said hotly, “but Langley wants me to hang anyway. Give me my gun, Sheriff, so I can defend myself.”
    â€œAnd have you maybe shoot me and the marshal and make a run for it? No, miss.”
    Ian studied her while loading his gun. Was she a deadly beauty? The sultry set of her mouth alone could set brother against brother, and even with the fresh-looking scars and scrapes marring her skin, she was stunning.
    He was about to ask for more details on the riders when the scream of the emergency brakes filled the air and they were thrown off balance as the train screeched to a halt.
    â€œNow what?” Ian grumbled. “Stay with her, Sheriff. I’ll be back soon as I can.”
    There were three mounted men in the middle of the track. The brakes had been applied to keep the train from mowing them down. Surveying them from the engineers’ station at the front of the train, Ian sighed. At this rate, he wasn’t ever going to get home.
    One of the men yelled, “Send out the squaw and we’ll let you pass!”
    Ian assumed they meant Wells’s prisoner. To hear her called a word as demeaning as the ugly word nigger didn’t improve his mood.
    The scared-looking conductor whined, “I have a schedule to keep and lives in my hands. Tell the sheriff to send her out.”
    â€œHow about we send you out instead?”
    The man drew back.
    Ian stepped out of the car and down onto the track. As he did, he noticed that the five riders had caught up with the back of the train. They had their guns leveled on the sheriff and the woman and were forcing them to walk up the tracks while the wide-eyed train passengers looked on.
    Ian added the number of men with the sheriff to the three waiting on the track. Eight against one, or maybe two, if the sheriff was able to wade in. Still, Ian liked the odds.
    When he reached the three riders on the tracks, the big bearded man positioned in the middle, who appeared to be too heavy for such a small mount, asked disdainfully, “And who are you?”
    Ian ignored the derisive tone and held up his star. “United States deputy marshal. You?”
    The man quickly covered his shock with bluster. “Hank Langley. That squaw murdered my son.”
    â€œAnd what are you going to do with her?”
    Wells and the woman arrived. Wells looked angry. The woman did, too, and Ian saw her meet Langley’s mocking eyes with disgust.
    â€œGonna teach her about justice.”
    â€œJustice doesn’t need a mob.”
    Langley turned red as the conductor’s hair. “You calling me a coward?”
    â€œSure am. Also advising you and your boys to head home before you get hurt. I’ve been on a train for weeks and my temper’s not real good. I’m liable to shoot you just for making us