The Vigilante's Bride by Yvonne Harris Page B

other two of their party, Bud Schmidt and Stu Bronson, rode from behind the rock pile and blocked the way out. All of them worked for Axel.
    Clete Wade dismounted. Standing between Luke and the other way out of the canyon, he unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it aside. He made a dusting motion with his hands, brushing them together. “Get off the horse, I said.”
    “Why? I’m hunting strays, same as you.” Luke’s senses sharpened, and though he looked straight at Wade, he was aware that the other three men had brought their rifles up and had them resting across their saddles.
    Clete gave a nasty laugh. “We ain’t hunting strays. We’re hunting you, Sullivan, and you’re trespassing.”
    “I’m not and you know it.”
    “Four of us here say you are.”
    “Stand aside, Wade. You’re looking for trouble, and I got work to do.”
    “It can wait. Mr. Axel thinks you need to learn some manners.” Clete smirked over his shoulder to the men behind him.
    Luke lounged in the saddle, his shoulders relaxed. With a tight smile he said, “I’m going out and you’re in my way. I’d rather not ride a man down, but you suit yourself about that.”
    Clete’s eyes mocked him. “What suits me right now is teaching you a lesson. You’re a little too high and mighty, if you ask me. You learn that up at Stuart’s with the rest of your hanging friends?” He braced his legs. “Now get off that horse.”
    A slow burn started under Luke’s collar. In a way, he was surprised trouble hadn’t come before this. He looked down at Clete, feet planted apart. He’d never run from a fight in his life, and he wasn’t about to start. He also suspected riding out of here meant a bullet in the back. He tightened his hands on the reins.
    Bugle’s head snapped up. Neck arched, the horse flared his nostrils wide, eyes fixed on the man in front of him as if waiting Luke’s signal to charge.
    “He’s bluffing, Clete.” Stu Bronson, big and wide-shouldered in a green plaid jacket, shifted in the saddle and spat.
    “Don’t count on it, Stu,” Luke said.
    Luke had run into Bronson in Repton a few years before.
    Bronson was quick to provoke a fight, which he usually won because of his size. Bud Schmidt, beside him, was plank thin and almost as tall as Luke.
    “Get off before I pull you off.” Clete grabbed for the bridle.
    Bugle jerked his head and dug his back hooves in. His powerful front shoulders gathered.
    Luke hurled himself from the saddle and onto the man beside him. Gouging, grunting, he and Clete went down together in a blur of arms and legs and boots. Bugle galloped off into the trees.
    Clete piled on top of Luke. Straddling him, he drove a fist down into his jaw. “That’s from Bart Axel, and this is from me.”
    The blow that followed rolled Luke’s head.
    The warm, salty taste of blood in his mouth pumped rage through Luke’s veins. Shaking the ringing from his ears, Luke wrested an arm free and drove a left up into the underside of Clete’s jaw, snapping his head back. Clete gagged and rolled aside.
    Luke heaved himself out from under and stood up, fists clenching, unclenching. None too gently, he nudged Clete’s arm with his boot. “Get up, Clete. I got some questions I want answered.”
    Arms shot around him from behind. An elbow forked his neck like a vise, cutting off his wind. Stu Bronson’s hot breath grunted in his ear. Luke swept his arms upward, rammed an elbow back, and broke the hold. Bronson staggered a few steps, then lunged. Luke spun and swung at the man coming at him. Stu ducked. The punch glanced off his shoulder. The two men sprang apart, facing each other. Wesley and Bud moved next to Bronson, one on either side.
    Luke’s mind raced. Four of them, no way. This fight he would lose. As a group, the three men stepped forward. Luke brought his fists up.
    Clete scrambled to his feet behind him. Luke’s immediate problem was Stu and Bud and Wes coming at him. Clete picked up a rifle. Gripping