Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do by Ralph Compton

drifting through.
    McCarthy’s mount was wheezing again, and every so often it would stagger but right itself. It did so now, and he firmed his hold on the reins and said, “Whoa there.”
    â€œJust what we need,” Tyree said.
    â€œDo you ever look at the bright side of things?” Fred asked.
    â€œWhen there is one.”
    Fred checked on the Arapahos. They were closer. No doubt about it. He could see their buckskins as plain as anything. “We need to pick a spot to make our stand.”
    â€œThere you go again, General,” Tyree said.
    Fred ignored him. “A gully, a ravine, anything will do.” A bluff would be ideal to defend if they could climb to the top, only there weren’t any in sight.
    â€œDo you hear that?” McCarthy asked suddenly.
    â€œTyree complainin’ all the time?” Fred said.
    â€œNo. Listen.” McCarthy drew rein.
    Fred followed suit. All he heard was the horse wheezing. “What is it I’m supposed to be listenin’ to?”
    â€œYou don’t hear anything . . . unusual?”
    â€œI do,” Tyree said.
    Presently Fred heard it too, a fluttering sound he couldn’t identify. It reminded him of air being forced from a blacksmith’s bellows, only quietlike. He gigged the bay and had only gone a dozen feet when he came on a hollow that he’d never have suspected was there.
    And in the middle of the hollow was the last thing he would have expected to find.

Chapter 11
    It was a man.
    Sound asleep.
    The sleeper had used his saddle for a pillow and was curled on his side, his blanket pulled as high as his ear. The fluttering sound came from underneath, and was him snoring. A shock of black hair was all that poked out. His hat and a coiled rope were next to him, and a rifle butt stuck from the saddle scabbard. Near him on the other side, a palomino was tied to a picket pin.
    â€œDon’t this beat all?” Tyree said. “It’s not even nighttime.”
    â€œWe have to wake him,” Fred said.
    â€œWe don’t have the time to waste. Let’s go around and leave him to his dreams.” Tyree raised his reins.
    â€œWe leave him there, the Arapahos will find him. And you know what they’ll do.”
    Tyree nodded. “It will delay them so we can get away.”
    â€œYou could do that?” Fred was appalled. “Let someone be killed and scalped to save your own skin?”
    â€œHe’s nothin’ to me.”
    â€œYou are worse off than I thought,” Fred said. To do that to a fellow human being was incomprehensible. “I’m wakin’ him up and warnin’ him.” Clucking to the bay, he rode into the hollow.
    McCarthy came with him, but Tyree sat theremuttering. Glancing back at the Arapahos, he said, “You’d better make this quick.”
    Fred intended to. Dismounting, he stepped up, bent, and nudged the man’s shoulder. “Mister?”
    The man went on snorting.
    â€œMister?” Fred said again, and shook him harder. “You need to wake up. You’re in danger.”
    The snorting stopped and a deep voice said, “What?”
    â€œMister, consarn it all. Hostiles are after us.” Fred shook him harder yet. “Wake up or you’re liable to lose your hair.”
    The edge of the blanket inched down and a blue eye peered out. “Go away. Can’t you see I’m sleepin’?”
    â€œDon’t your ears work? Didn’t you hear me?” Fred touched his badge. “I’m Marshal Hitch out of Sweetwater. We’re takin’ a prisoner to Cheyenne and an Arapaho war party is after us. They’ll find you here if you don’t get your ass up and light a shuck with the rest of us.”
    Another blue eye appeared. “Is that all?” he said with a slight drawl.
    â€œThere are seven of them and they mean business.” Fred tried to impress his peril upon him.
    â€œI can mean