Brothers in Blood by Dusty Richards Page B

they’d need to get up early, but there was no need for them to get up then.
    â€œI’ll have breakfast on before sunup. You three come eat with us,” Nell announced.
    â€œWe sure will, and thanks much. If you ever come to our country, you come and stay with us at my ranch.”
    â€œI don’t know when or how that could happen, but I’d love to do that.” The round little woman beamed.
    They slept in the hay barn that night. The weather wasn’t as cold as it was at home, but wrapped in his bedroll he thought of his warm wife at home and wished he was there with her.
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    Nell fixed them a large breakfast the next morning. Then she sent several loaves of sourdough bread with them, along with two jars of her peach jam. They rode off laughing and teasing her that if she got tired of her husband they’d marry her.
    Out of the gate, they trotted their horses south. Midmorning, they found where the outlaws had camped and slept. Chet hoped to catch sight of them by midday.
    The sun warmed things up quickly, so they shed their coats. They rode around most of the irrigated land that the outlaws had probably avoided in order to not be seen.
    Late afternoon, Chet and his men spotted some loose horses at a building at a well. Then they saw a big black horse hitched with others out in front. The unpainted building had a sign: GOLDBERG STORE/SALOON.
    â€œThey don’t know us, so we can be some dusty cowhands needing a drink. They’ll be nervous. Unless we need to shoot, hold your fire. Walk up to the bar and act like we don’t know them.”
    â€œHey, I’m going to wash a ton of this dust down my throat,” Cole said.
    â€œMe, too. Damn, this country is dry,” Chet said.
    â€œIt is a malo country,” Jesus said.
    They hitched their horses outside and Chet entered the open doorway first. Out by itself, there was no need to have batwing doors on the saloon. No women passed by on the boardwalk that might not want to see the contents and activity going on inside.
    â€œHello, amigos. You ride a long ways?” the Mexican bartender asked.
    â€œFrom the border,” Chet replied.
    He’d seen the big man at the table and the other two, but avoided looking at them as he and his men bellied up to the bar and ordered beers. In the shadowy light, he could see the three in the mirror behind the bar. The bartender brought their beers and asked if he should wake up the putas out back for them.
    â€œNo, we’re just passing through.”
    The man nodded and took their thirty cents off the counter.
    Chet saw that Curly was swilling down whiskey by the shot glass and looked mad about something. No telling what that was about. And no reason to stall.
    He turned from his beer. “Put your hands on the table.”
    â€œWho the hell are you?” Curly asked, then swallowed at facing the three pistols pointed at them.
    â€œLawmen. You’re under arrest for horse stealing and trying to murder a rancher. Disarm them, men.”
    â€œHow in the hell did you find us?” Curly demanded.
    â€œWe followed your horse apples here.”
    â€œThose guys banditos ?” the bartender asked, sounding upset.
    â€œYes, they are. You ever seen them before?”
    â€œNo, señor . I never seen them before today.”
    â€œWell, they’ll soon be serving time in jail in Preskitt.”
    â€œAre you the sheriff?”
    â€œNo. I’m the US Marshal.” He motioned to Jesus. “Get the handcuffs.”
    â€œDo something. Do something, Curly!” the kid screamed.
    â€œWhat the hell you expect me to do, kid?”
    â€œShoot them. Shoot them, like you did that old sumbitch up there.”
    â€œShut up,” Curly said.
    â€œYeah, do that, kid. If he dies, you three will hang.” Jesus clamped the cuffs on him. “You better listen or we’ll have you gagged.”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Cole asked the old