Renegade Riders Read Online Free PDF Page B

friends of mine are looking for some horses that somebody made off with. Rumor has it that more than one herd’s made its way to the Lazy C. I aim to see if theirs is among ’em,” Trace admitted.
    Pappy looked skeptical. “Old Colonel Comstock’s place, eh? That’s a bad outfit, son. You don’t want to be messing around the Lazy C. Word is, it was a pretty square spread when the old man was running it.” He paused to sip his coffee, shooting Trace a dark look. “The son’s got it now. Ain’t no meaner hombre in the Territoriesthan Jared Comstock. Heard tell he ain’t above rustling or worse. He’d sooner shoot a man as look at him, is what people say.”
    “I’m going there just the same. You know where it is?”
    Pappy pointed. “See them mountains? That’s the Hualapai Range. The Lazy C sits just east of that gap there in the middle. But what—you aiming on walking in there single-handed, expecting him to just hand over all the horses he’s stole? And you called me addled.” He snorted.
    “I had planned to cut out a few wild mustangs, maybe even the one the Indians call Standing Thunder if I got lucky, and use them as bait to get myself hired on as a wrangler. Only, now I’ve got to catch up with those riders I asked about. I tracked them southwest to the rocks, and then lost the trail in the dark. I left a marker. I’ll head back to the spot come first light and scour the area until I pick it up again.”
    “You sure must want them hombres pretty bad,” Pappy muttered.
    “One of them stole my horse.”
    “Well, that explains you being on foot. I had you pegged for either a wrangler or a lawman. I can smell the law a mile downwind of a cyclone.”
    “Is that right? You got problems with the law, Pappy?”
    “Nope. I just spot ’em.”
    “Well, I’ve done my share of days as deputy,” Trace admitted, “but I’m no lawman. Never been on the wrong side of the law, though, if that’s what’s about to come out of your mouth. But that’s likely to change once I catch up with those riders.”
    “I don’t want nothing to do with bounty hunters,” Pappy remarked. “Can’t trust ’em.”
    Trace flashed a grin. “You might say I’m a bounty hunter—of sorts. But I hunt horses, not men.”
    “That why you tote a gun with no trigger guard? You sure you ain’t a gunslinger?”
    “I’m no gunslinger, Pappy, but I like staying alive. A man has to have an edge to survive out here.”
    “A renegade rider?” Pappy realized. Trace steeled himself against what was coming. “And you got your horse stole?” The old man shook his head and clicked his tongue, chuckling. “That don’t say much for your talents, do it? You ain’t been at it long, have you?”
    “Long enough,” Trace growled, hurling the dregs of his coffee into the fire. A plume of hissing, spitting steam shot up.
    “Don’t go gettin’ your britches in a twist. I’ll help if I can,” Pappy offered.
    “You wouldn’t happen to have a horse stashed someplace, would you?” Trace asked. “That’s about the only way you could help me now.”
    “Just that old jackass staked alongside yours over there. Where’s your partner? Did he get his horse stole, too?”
    Trace blinked. “What partner?”
    The old man crooked his thumb toward the two bedrolls.
    Trace drew the bloodstained kerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and fingered it absently. “I shot a thief stealing my horse, night before. Turned out to be a woman running from something.”
    “A woman out here? Alone?”
    Trace nodded. “The wound wasn’t bad. I wasn’t shooting to kill. What ever she’s running from must have scared her pretty bad.”
    Pappy filled in the blanks: “So she stole your horse again. And you set out after her.”
    “Yep. And I mean to get that damned horse back,” Trace concluded.
    The old-timer frowned, scratching his grizzled beard. “A man gets his horse stole, he gets mad. You ain’t mad so much as you’re worried.