Showdown at Widow Creek Read Online Free

rolling behind us, driven by Wally and pulled by a pair of mules.
    With the extra cowboys keeping the herd in the center of the streets, we slowly made our way through less and less populated areas. Soon we were traveling down a two-lane blacktop in a more rural area just outside of town.
    As we traveled farther, Sarah and Hondo waited on the shoulder, then fell into step beside us.
    “How do you like riding drag?” she asked.
    “Excuse me?” I asked.
    “Riding behind the herd,” she explained. “All the greenhorns start out riding drag.”
    Joe jutted a thumb to himself and then to me. “That’s us. We’re the greenhorns.”
    “Why do we—the greenhorns—start in the back?” I asked.
    “Because you don’t have to do much, to be honest,” she said. “Just drive the stragglers forward. But on a real cattle drive, riding across the dry plains, the back is the dustiest place to be.”
    “Not to mention the land mines that the cows leave behind,” Joe added.
    Sarah laughed. “There is that, for sure. But don’t worry. We’re almost to the good part.”
    “Oh, yeah?” I asked.
    “We’re about to reach the first ranch,” she explained. “From here on out, we cut through different ranches until we get to ours. That way we’ll be off the streets so it’ll feel more like a real cattle drive.”
    “Cool,” said Joe.
    True to her word, we rounded a bend and saw the cattle file through an open gate. The cows immediately spread out and began grazing on the lush grass.
    Once we were all through, including the wagon, Dusty closed the gate and waved at the departing ranch hands, who turned and rode back toward town.
    “Now, this is more like it,” said Joe.
    It was pretty cool. It wasn’t quite the open plains, but the large pasture made it seem like we were in cattle country.
    Joe nudged the sides of his horse. He held out his hat as his mount broke into a trot.
    Then the horse began to buck. Joe dropped his hat and held on to the saddle horn with both hands. The horse bucked even more, and Joe flew off the horse!

4
HOLD YOUR HORSES
JOE
    O NE MOMENT I’M CLINT EASTWOOD , riding across the open prairie, and the next I’m Joe Hardy, flying off the back of my horse.
    Okay, so it didn’t happen as fast as that. I kicked Norman into a trot, and then a lope, when I felt a pop vibrate through the saddle. Norman must not have liked it, because he began to buck. That’s when I experienced the whole flying-off-my-horse thing. Not so fun.
    I hit the ground hard, landing on my hip. Even though the pain was agonizing, I was aware of my situation well enough to roll away from the jumping horse. Norman bucked his way into the grazing herd of cattle. His saddle slid to his side with only the chest straps and belly strap holding it in place. Those straps didn’t hold for long, though. Norman moved around so much that the thin straps snapped and the horse trampled the saddle under his hooves. The saddle and blanket stayed on the ground while the horse bucked away. He kicked a few more times before coming to a stop.
    As I lay on the ground moaning, I heard galloping hooves approach. Sarah and Frank rode up to where I’d fallen. They slid off their horses and bent over me.
    “Joe, are you all right?” asked Frank.
    “Hang on!” I ordered. “Don’t touch me.” I waited for the throbbing in my hip to subside.
    Sarah walked over to my saddle, then examined it. “The cinch broke,” she reported.
    The cinch was the main strap keeping the saddle on the back of a horse. Only the worst thing to break.
    “Hopefully that’s all that’s broken,” I grunted. The throbbing eased a bit, and I reached toward my brother. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Don’t just stand there; help me up.”
    Frank helped me to my feet. I rubbed my sore hip.
    “Think you broke anything?” Frank asked.
    I shook my head. “But there’s going to be a whopper of a bruise.”
    “Wait a minute,” said Sarah. She unbuckled the cinch