Death Rides Alone by William W. Johnstone Page A

and we’re headed right toward them. You just wait, Jensen. Problem is, by the time you see them . . . it’s probably gonna be too late for us to save ourselves.”
    * * *
    Over the next couple of days, Tyler kept up a litany of complaints, most of them centered around the pair of handcuffs he wore. Luke had to take the cuffs off every now and then so that Tyler could attend to his personal needs, but when he did that he made Tyler get down on his knees first and then lean forward so he couldn’t move fast. Then and only then would Luke unlock the cuffs, key in one hand and a Remington ready in the other.
    Luke listened to Tyler’s grousing as they rode along until he was ready to gag the young fugitive as well as cuff him. He threatened to do just that. The threat shut Tyler up for a while, but gradually he began to complain again.
    â€œI’m not saying you have to take them off entirely,” Tyler said as they rode toward one of the pine-dotted ridges that crossed their trail. “Just let me wear ’em with my hands in front of me. That way, my arms won’t be pulled back behind me unnatural-like, and I can at least hold on to the saddle horn when I need to. It’s sure tiring, riding this way.”
    â€œWith your hands in front of you, you can grab a gun or swing a punch,” Luke said. “With your hands behind your back, all you can do is annoy me with your constant bellyaching.”
    â€œAnd here I thought you believed me when I told you what really happened back in White Fork. I’m mighty disappointed in you, Jensen.”
    â€œI’ll try to live with that disappointment,” Luke told him. “As for that yarn you spun . . .” They hadn’t really discussed Tyler’s story since that first day on the trail. “I found it . . . believable. That doesn’t mean I think you were telling the truth, but at least it wasn’t a blatant pack of lies.”
    â€œNone of it was a lie. I wouldn’t dishonor Rachel’s memory by lying about her.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” Luke said.
    They reached the ridge, climbed to the top, and Luke reined in as he saw that the far slope was too steep for them to descend right here. They would have to ride along the narrow top until they found easier terrain. It was a matter of whether they should turn right or left, and since the drop-off was almost sheer in both directions as far as he could see, the choice was a toss-up.
    Luke decided to head right. He moved his horse in that direction, then tugged on the reins of Tyler’s paint and guided the pony around him, putting Tyler between him and the drop-off.
    â€œWhat’s that for?” Tyler asked.
    â€œJust in case you get any ideas about crowding me and my horse off that cliff,” Luke explained.
    Tyler craned his neck to look down the steep slope and said, “Hell, I wouldn’t do that, Jensen. The fall might kill your horse, and I told you . . . I’m no killer.”
    Luke grunted, but he couldn’t stop a faint smile from tugging at his lips. He tightened his grip on the reins and nudged the gray into motion. He led the paint behind him and to the left.
    â€œThis is pretty damn nerve-rackin’,” Tyler said after a while. “I don’t care for riding this close to the edge.”
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” Luke told him. “Just don’t try anything funny and you won’t be in any danger.”
    â€œThis pony can be a little skittish at times.”
    Luke sighed and said, “Fine.” He veered the gray slightly to the right and tugged on the paint’s reins. They were closer to the other slope now, but although it was steep, it was nothing like the one on the far side of the ridge.
    Tyler started singing some ballad about a lonesome cowboy and the señorita he had left behind on the border. Luke hipped around in the saddle to frown at him.
    â€œAre you trying to signal