the Key-Lock Man (1965) Read Online Free

and beside it, scratched in the hard-packed sand, were the words: Foller the signs.
    Chesney jerked off his hat and threw it to the ground. "Why, that dirty, no-good-to " The words trailed off as he scuffed his foot through the message written in the sand.
    "He's makin' light of us," Short said bitterly. "That damn' back-shootin' killer's goin' to pay for this!"
    They started on again, their quarry's horse leaving a plain trail, here and there deliberately marked by an arrow of broken branches or stones.
    They were serious men riding on serious business, and the seeming levity, if not contempt, added to their irritation. Now the matter was becoming personal with each of them, for not only was the man evading them with success, but he was taunting their inability to catch up. The worst of it was, such a horse as the killer rode, handled with such care, might go on for days, even for weeks.
    The vast basin was now behind them, lost in the misty purple of distance. The sun was going down, but all could see ahead of them the message chalked on the rock wall in big, sweeping letters. The flat piece of chalk rock with which it had been written lay in plain sight below:
    Shade, so you won't get sunstroke.
    Tired and surly, they merely stared at it without comment. The shadows lengthened, and their horses moved on without eagerness. In the desert air was a growing chill. Neill, riding at the end of the line, turned in his saddle to look back.
    Behind them lay an enormous sweep of country, the mountain ridges and the edge of the escarpment touched by gold, the sky shot with great arrows of crimson.
    The desert's purple had grown deeper, and black shadows crouched in the open jaws of the canyons. Far away back there his wife would be at the door, looking up the trail toward town. Soon, despairing of his return, she would feed the stock they kept in the corral and then would go inside and feed the baby. She would eat alone, still watching the trail.
    Before them, he thought, the days might stretch on and on, and suddenly he was shaken by a strange premonition that none of them would ever see Freedom again.
    Who was this strange man who rode ahead of them, taunting them, but never deliberately trying to kill?
    Was it logical that a man who had shot another in the back would act in this way?
    Kimmel and McAlpin, who had been riding side by side, halted suddenly, and the others rode up and gathered around. Before them on the trail an arrow of stones pointed down to a narrow, forbidding cleft in the rock; a chill wind blew from it, adding to their misgivings. Once within that cleft, where the walls lifted several hundred feet on either side, there would be no turning back, nor could more than one man at a time ride into the narrow space.
    Kimmel dug into his shirt pocket for the makings and rolled a careful cigarette, his narrowed eyes studying the cleft, the cliffs above it, the rocks around.
    "What do you think, Hardin?"
    "Well, he ain't tried it yet, but if he's goin' to make a stand, this could be the place. A good man with a rifle could do about as he had a mind to, once he got us in there."
    "I don't think he wants to."
    Neill spoke without thinking, and the words hung in the still air.
    "What's that mean?" Chesney sounded belligerent.
    "I don't know." Whatever Neill's reasons, they weakened under Chesney's hard stare. "Only he's had chances. Seems to me if he wanted to kill somebody he could have done it. I'd say he's wasting a lot of time."
    The others ignored him, and he withdrew into himself.
    Nevertheless, having said it, he wanted to bolster his argument with facts. Only he did not speak them aloud. Why, he told himself, he had us dead to rights when he left that first note. He could have killed at least some of us, and when we hunted cover he could have taken out.
    That canteen shot... he had been a good three hundred yards off when he fired, and it was a clean hit. No sooner had Neill considered this idea than he asked himself