Diamond Buckow by A. J. Arnold Page B

dirty, blood-loving sheriff’s appointee. Newt and his stupid twin cohorts, Willy and Clem, had shared the bunkhouse with Buck while they made their search for the cattle rustlers. What in hell would he do if he found them still sleeping there?
    Yes, but he had to go, he determined as he flung off a shiver of fear. He needed to get his money and gear, and he’d best get the mare back. If he had to run, at least he’d be on his own horse.
    Buck grew pleasantly tired now that he’d made some plans, but forced his eyes to stay open in watchfulness until full dark. At length, exhausted, he rolled up in his sleeping blanket on the knoll and had a long and dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twelve
    It was well past midnight when Buck walked the long-legged gelding into the Blough yard, dismounting near the corral gate. He put his hand over the geld’s nose in warning. God, if it whinnied now! But it stilled, obedient. Buck took his lariat and slipped into the enclosure, finding his grulla standing against the far fence. She waited expectantly, recognizing him and flicking her ears in greeting. The other animals in the corral moved away, all but one yearling stud Buck had liked to pat and tease.
    The little horse raced up to him, but when he reached out to touch its nose, it wheeled and kicked up its heels. Buck would have sworn its loud, raucous snorting could have been heard half a mile away. He tensed and froze while he waited to see if a light would come on. But when it appeared that the brief commotion hadn’t stirred anything up, Buck led the mount out and changed his saddle from the gelding to the mare.
    Turning the geld into the corral and tying the mouse-brown to the fence, he crept toward the bunkhouse. As he reached the door, he remembered that it always shrieked shrilly.
    If he could just pull up on it, that might do the trick, Buck reassured himself. He moved with painstaking effort, getting riled at how long it seemed to take to lift the latch. At last he pushed the door inward, gently, but still the screech should have wakened the dead. When it didn’t, he took heart, sure now that nobody was in there.
    But, on the other hand, Buck fretted, what if somebody had heard that damned door and was standing in the dark with a sixgun? If he flung it wide, he’d be a good target, silhouetted in the doorway. He held on rigidly to the latch while he sucked in a deep breath and willed his galloping heart to slow down.
    In the stillness his eyes finally adjusted to the dark in the little cabin while he nudged the door open, open—an inch at a time. As he sneaked into the room on cat feet, Buck’s jaw dropped at the sight. Faint moonlight through the single window showed Yocum and the two brothers. Turned on their sides in heavy coma-like sleep, the wall by their faces absorbed the ragged broken snores.
    As Buck’s mouth snapped shut, his stomach lurched and seemed to leap into his throat. Should he quit now and get the hell off Blough’s property, as far and as fast as he could ride? Or should he wake up these bastards one by one and kill them?
    He fought against the hate-filled battle inside him. No, he thought at last, shaking his head to clear it. Buck forced his common sense to prevail. He’d come for his money and belongings, that was all. Anything else, and it would all be for nothing. He had to go and find his gear.
    Quietly he went down the length of the quarters to the last bunk. Reaching underneath it, with an eye on the sleeper there, Buck felt for his bag, found it, and fished it out with caution. He was thankful that all his clothes were as he’d left them. Next he got down on his belly and groped for the split in the base log where he’d hidden the money from Glenn Saltwell, three gold eagles.
    Examining with his fingers in the crevice, he thought, holy cow! It wasn’t all there. One—no, there was another one, after all. Ah, yes, all three. Good!
    Suddenly