Death Rides Alone by William W. Johnstone Page B

somebody?”
    Tyler stopped singing and asked, “Why do you say that?”
    â€œI figured such caterwauling had to have a purpose.”
    â€œCaterwauling, is it? I’ve been told I have a fine singing voice.”
    â€œI’ve attended the opera in both San Francisco and Denver,” Luke said. “That’s fine singing. I’ve even heard Lily Langtry perform. So I know something about the subject.”
    â€œWell, I’m stuck travelin’ with a sour-faced ol’ bounty hunter. Got to do something to pass the time.”
    â€œYes, but you sound like you’re passing a stone. Figure out something else to distract yourself.”
    â€œFine, fine,” Tyler grumbled.
    Luke turned around to face forward again, and as he did, he realized that he had drifted pretty close to the slope while he was talking to Tyler. Suddenly he sensed as much as heard sudden movement behind him. As he twisted in the saddle, he saw Tyler gouging his heels into the paint’s flanks to send the startled pony leaping forward and to the right. Tyler yelled at the top of his lungs to spook his mount even more.
    The gray outweighed the paint, but the smaller horse was moving faster as it rammed into Luke’s mount. The collision staggered the gray, and as close to the edge as it was, it began to lose its balance. The horse let out a shrill whinny as it reared up and started to fall. Luke hauled back on the reins and tried to bring the gray under control, but it was too late.
    He cursed as he kicked his feet free of the stirrups and threw himself to the left, out of the saddle. He had lost his grip on the paint’s reins, but he couldn’t worry about that now. If the gray fell on him and rolled over him, it would break bones and crush organs and doom him to a painful death.
    Luke leaped clear as the horse began to slide down the slope. He landed hard and awkwardly, stunning him for a moment. As he lifted his head he spotted Tyler riding hell bent for leather along the ridge, risking a possibly fatal fall himself because his hands were still cuffed behind his back and he couldn’t control the animal. He had to trust to the paint’s nimble hooves to keep them upright.
    Luke scrambled to his feet and yanked out one of the Remingtons. He lifted the revolver and sighted over its long barrel at the fleeing Tyler as he pulled back the hammer. His finger was about to tighten on the trigger when he let out another curse and lowered the gun.
    Tyler was already out of good range, he told himself as he jammed the Remington back in its holster. His lack of a shot had nothing to do with him not wanting to put a bullet in the young man’s back.
    He turned instead to see what had happened to the gray. The horse was about twenty feet down the slope, struggling to stand up. Luke hurried down, grabbed the reins, and helped as much as he could. Within moments, the gray had its legs underneath it again.
    Quickly, Luke checked the horse for injuries. He fully expected that the gray had broken at least one leg in the fall.
    Miraculously, though, the animal’s bones seemed to be intact. Luke led the gray up the slope, watching how it moved. The steps were a little tentative at first but didn’t appear to be pained. The horse shook its head, blew out its breath, and looked aggravated, but as far as Luke could tell it was all right, which made him heave a sigh of relief.
    He looked along the ridge, but Tyler was no longer in sight. Luke could still hear the faint rataplan of hoofbeats, though, so he knew which direction the fugitive had gone.
    Occasionally in the past, a prisoner had gotten away from him. That always angered Luke. He had gone after those outlaws and captured them again, every time.
    It looked like he was going to have to do the same thing with Judd Tyler.
    â€œHate to ask it of you after you took that tumble, big fella,” he said to the gray as he swung up into the saddle, “but