Midnight Rider (Ralph Cotton Western Series) Read Online Free PDF

out, cocking the single-barreled shotgun. “My pa’s dead. He said we had time to clear out of here. Grolin can have this place soon as my woman and I—”
    “
Close enough
?” Spiller said, cutting him off. He pushed his horse closer, then stopped with a cruel, bemused smile. The other two stopped beside him. “I’ll tell you what’s
close enough
,” he said, his Colt coming up fast, firing on the upswing. “Point a scattergun at me!”
    The bullet grazed Sonny Bell’s upper arm and twisted him sideways. The shotgun flew from his hands and hit the ground. Rochenbach saw the shotgun hammer drop as the gun hit the ground. But no shot exploded from the barrel.
    Empty…?
    “Hold up, Spiller!” Rock said, seeing the gunman ready to fire again, this time taking close aim.
    Spiller stared at Rochenbach as Rock nudged his horse forward, dropped from his saddle, picked up the shotgun and checked it.
Yep, empty,
he told himself, looking up at the young man.
    “That’s either awfully brave or awfully foolish,” he said between the two of them.
    “What the hell choice did I have, mister?” the young man said through clenched teeth, gripping his bleeding arm. “My pa said I’d have time to get us out of here before you men came back.”
    “How long has that been?” Rock asked.
    But the young man didn’t answer.
    Mira Bell, who had seen her husband get shot, threw open the door and rushed outside screaming, her hands supporting her large, round belly.
    “Get back in that house, Mira!” the young man shouted at her, but she ignored him.
    “This is starting to look like fun,” Spiller said to Casings. “Come on, Pres, let’s get acquainted with this little filly.”
    “Jesus! Are you crazy, Dent?” said Casings. “She looks ready to foal any minute.”
    “I don’t have time for this,” Rochenbach said under his breath, watching Spiller and Casings swing down from their saddles. He asked Sonny Bell, “How much money can you give them, get them out of here?”
    “I don’t have a penny, mister,” said young Bell. “We’re sharing dead cow with buzzards. That’s the God’s honest truth.”
    With his back to the other two, Rochenbach fished a fold of dollars from inside his coat. Sonny’s eyes widened as he watched Rochenbach riffle through the money.
    “Mister, my wife is not for sale,” Sonny said to Rock.
    “Take this,” Rock said, stuffing eighty dollars down into one of the young man’s shirt pockets. He shoved thirty dollars more down into his other pocket.
    Sonny reached for his shirt pocket with his bloody hand. “Mister, I told you, my wife ain’t for—”
    His words were cut short as Rock’s fist nailed his jaw and sent him sprawling on the ground.
    The young woman screamed and tried to run to her husband’s side, but Spiller caught her by her arm.
    “Hey, little filly, you ain’t going nowhere,” Spiller said, “unless it’s back inside that shack with me.”
    Rochenbach stooped down over an unconscious Sonny, jerked the money back out of his shirt pocket in a way that allowed the two gunmen to see it.
    “Here we go,” he called out, standing, holding the money toward Spiller and Casings. “Eighty dollars. Turn her loose, Spiller.”
    The two gunmen looked surprised at the money; so did Mira Bell.
    But Spiller kept a firm grip on the young woman’s thin arm.
    “Too late,” he said. “This will teach them not to hold out on us next time we come to collect.”
    Rochenbach calmly stooped down and shoved thirty dollars of the money back into Sonny’s shirt pocket. Sonny shook his head, trying to regain consciousness.
    “Take the rest, and you and your woman clear out of here before they come back,” he whispered under his breath. “Do you hear me?”
    “Ye-yes, but—” Sonny stammered.
    “Shut up,” Rochenbach said in a firm tone. “Next time you pull that shotgun, have it loaded.”
    “My—my wife,” Sonny said, trying to struggle up onto his feet.
    Rochenbach