William W. Johnstone - Deadly Road To Yuma (Blood Bond, Book 13)

Im thirsty, Matt Bodine said.

When are you not? Sam Two Wolves said.

No, really, Sam, my whistle could sure use wettin.

I repeat

Were stoppin up there in that town, Matt said, interrupting his blood brother.

Of course we are, Sam said. He waited a moment, then added, Do you think we could try to stay out of trouble this time?

We always try to stay out of trouble. At least I do.

Sam just rolled his eyes, shook his head, and hitched his horse forward, starting down the long, gentle slope toward the flat where the settlement was located.

They had crossed the border between New Mexico Territory and Arizona Territory not long before, following the San Francisco River as it twisted through this bleak, rugged country. The Gila Mountains loomed to their right, the Peloncillos to the left. The settlement they were approaching was the first one Matt and Sam had come to in several days.

It had been a long, relatively uneventful ride from Sweet Apple, Texas. The blood brothers were in no hurry to get anywhere, because they didnt have anywhere to be. They were just drifting, seeing what was on the other side of every hill they came tothe same way they had spent most of the past several years.

One of these days, they would settle down and return to the ranches they owned in Montanaone of these days. But until then, they had good crews running those spreads, so Matt and Sam were free to roam. It suited their restless nature to do so.

Best friends and blood brothers since childhood, Matt Bodine and Sam August Webster Two Wolves could have almost passed for real brothers. Both young men were tall and muscular and had ruggedly handsome faces.

Sams longish hair was midnight black, a legacy from his Cheyenne father Medicine Horse along with the faint reddish tint to his tanned skin. Matts close-cropped hair was a little lighter, dark brown rather than black.

The Cheyenne ritual that had bonded them together made them onihomihan brothers of the wolf. They were brothers of the gun as well, because despite what Matt had said about trying to avoid trouble, it seemed determined to follow them wherever they went.

Luckily for their continued survival, both young men were plenty tough and plenty fast with a gun. In fact, Matt Bodine was known to be as slick on the draw as just about anybody west of the Mississippi, in the same league as famous pistoleros such as Smoke Jensen and Falcon MacCallister. He wore two irons in holsters supported by crossed cartridge belts and was deadly accurate with either hand.

Sam carried only one Colt and was a little slower than Mattwhich still made him faster than nine of ten men he ran into. A razor-sharp bowie knife rode in a fringed sheath on his left hip.

There was fringe on his buckskin shirt as well, while Matt wore a faded blue bib-front. A battered old brown Stetson was thumbed back on Matts head. Squared up on Sams head was a black hat with a flat brim, a slightly rounded crown, and a band studded with conchos.

What do you reckon this place is called? Matt asked as they reached the bottom of the slope.

Sam shook his head. I have no idea. I dont think weve ever been through here before.

I couldnt remember. Weve been so many places.

Thats certainly true. And in most of them, they were glad to see us leave.

Hey, thats not our fault.

Didnt say it was.

This was ranching countryit wasnt good for much of anything elseand the settlement appeared to be a typical cow town with a wide, dusty main street that stretched for several blocks. Most of the residences, a mixture of adobe and frame houses, were on the cross streets.

A small, whitewashed church with a steeple sat at the far end of the main street, just beyond a wooden bridge that crossed the San Francisco where it looped around the settlement. At the nearer end was a building that was probably a school. That put this place ahead of some frontier towns that had neither of those harbingers of civilization.

In between were businesses, including a livery stable and blacksmith shop, barbershop and bathhouse, a couple of mercantiles, and half a dozen saloons, another sure sign that this was a cow town. Cowboys had to have plenty of places to blow off steam when they collected their forty-a-month-and-found.

A few wagons were parked in front of the general stores, and a couple of men on horseback moseyed along the street. Pedestrians made their way here and there, including several women in long dresses and sunbonnets. A big yellow dog dozed in the middle of the street.

Peaceful-looking town, Sam commented.

Mighty peaceful, Matt agreed.

Sam looked over at him. How long do you reckon itll stay that way?

Now, Sam, why do you have to be such a pessimist? Maybe nothin badll happen while were here. Maybe itll be plumb dull the whole time.

I went to college, you know.

Matt grinned. Yeah, I seem to remember hearin somethin about thatlike every time you try to convince me that Im wrong and youre right.

Its just that I study history. And theres an old saying about how those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

And what do you mean by that? Im just a poor, uneducated cowboy, Sam. Youre gonna have to explain things to me.

Im saying that just because someone annoys you, thats no reason to start a brawlor a gunfight.

Youre sayin that Im touchy. That I lose my temper too easy.

If the Stetson fits

Whats this got to do with my hat?

Sam held up a hand. Never mind. Lets just have a drink or two, stock up on supplies, and sleep in real beds for a change.

For a redskin, you sure do like what you call your creature comforts. You mustve got spoiled back there at that university in the East.

Yes, wellId say something insulting about you being a white manbut I cant think of anything right now.

Matt threw back his head and laughed. Sam Two Wolves struck speechless! Lordy, I never thought Id live to see the day.

Just remember what I said about trouble, Sam grumbled.

He turned his head to nod politely to several ladies who were going into one of the mercantiles, but they didnt smile or return his nod. In fact, they hustled on into the store as if trying to avoid looking at him.

A man driving a wagon that they met refused to meet their eyes, too, Sam noted. The fellow whipped his team up into a trot instead as he rolled on past them.

A frown creased Sams forehead under the broad brim of his hat, but he didnt mention the odd behavior of the townspeople to Matt, who seemed not to have noticed it.

They reined their horses to a stop in front of a false-fronted building with a gilt-lettered sign on its awning proclaiming it to be the Ten Grand Saloon. More fancy lettering on the big front windows promised cold beer and friendly hostesses.

A stocky, bearded old-timer in bib overalls and a plug hat was sitting in a chair on the saloon porch to the right of the batwings, whittling. He looked up at the newcomers and grunted, Howdy, boys, as Matt and Sam swung down from their saddles and looped the reins around the hitch rail. New in town?