Valley of the Gun (9781101607480) Read Online Free Page B

dun moved forward and sidelong, high-stepping, ready to go now that his grousing had somehow been reckoned and assuaged.
    â€œThat’s all you wanted, a little appreciation?” Sam said as if in surprise. He gathered his reins, collected the horse and with a tap of his knees set the animal into an easy gallop, knowing it would take the better part of the night to shorten the gap between himself and Dad Orwick’s men.
    Once out of Whiskey Bend, Sam let the dun set its own pace, riding across a stretch of sandy flatlands leading to the black hill line standing in the grainy purple distance. By the time the dun had started up into the rising hills, a waxing three-quarter moon lit the night, outlining the black ribbon of trail where it snaked up the hillside’s rugged barren face.
    The dun slowed its own pace at points where the trail fell blackened behind stands of boulders and shadowy stretches of pine and brush. But then, as if knowing what the Ranger expected of it, the horse kicked up its pace as the trail cleared and the moonlight returned.
    So far so good,
Sam told himself, grateful to have the moon and starlight on his side.
    He rode on.
    Nearing dawn, at a fork in the trail, the Ranger stopped the horse and stepped down. In the grainy light he lowered himself on one knee and checked the hoofprints in the trail dust, seeing the four riders had taken a trail leading upward and in the direction of Silvery Hills, or
Colinas Plateadas
as the Mexicans had called the mining town since as far back as the days of Spanish rule.
    Another good break, he reminded himself. The town lay at the top end of the narrow trail. Sam knew he was looking at the only way in and the only way out of Silvery Hills, unless Orwick’s gunmen wanted to risk their and their horses’ lives on one of the countless game paths that crisscrossed the steep, treacherous landscape. He had no reason to think they would do that. But he did have reason to believe their only possible motive for riding up to Silvery Hills would be to rob the mine payroll.
    Yep,
he decided, reminding himself it was nearing the first of the month—payday for the hard-rock silver miners. Robbing the mine payroll with a posse on their trail was exactly the sort of brazen thing a bunch like Orwick’s men would do, he thought. Besides, if he was wrong, they would still have to come down this same trail. Either way, as he knew he couldn’t get to the Silvery Hills mines quick enough to stop anything, the best thing for him to do would be to stake out a position somewhere high along the trail and lie in wait. He was certain he wouldn’t get Dad Orwick himself, but he would settle for four of Orwick’s gunmen.
    â€œAnd I know just the spot,” he murmured to himself, gazing into the grainy darkness ahead. Beside him the dun piqued its ears and raised its nuzzle, as if looking out with him. The Ranger stood and patted the horse’s jaw. Then he stepped back up into his saddle and put the animal forward at the same easy gallop.
    When he reined the dun down to a halt again, a sliver of daylight had seeped up and wreathed the eastern horizon. He stepped down from the horse, but this time he didn’t bother stooping to look at the hoofprints. He could see them well enough to know that nothing had changed.
    â€œLet’s find you a good spot. It’ll be daylight soon enough,” he said quietly to the dun, guiding the horse off the trail onto a steep, winding game path that led deep into the rocky hillside.
    â€”
    An hour later, after eating a breakfast of dried elk sliced from a shank he had packed inside his saddlebags, Sam washed his meal down with tepid water from his canteen and waited. Lying behind the cover of rock he’d strategically chosen overlooking the trail from Silvery Hills, he pressed his ear to the back of his gloved hand on the ground at the first sound of distant rifle fire.
    Here we go.
 . . .
    He soon