Pale Horse by Robert L. Ross (read 50 shades of grey TXT) 📕

he sauntered over to their table, his partner kept an eye on him the entire time.
“Mind if I sit in, fella's”?, he asked. As each of the players at the table looked up at the new arrival, the guy dealing the cards for the moment said,
“Sure, why not”? He pulled out a chair and introduced himself. “I'm Colt Mathews, it's been quite awhile since I've played, so I might be a little rusty.” “The ante is 2 dollars mister and there's no limit”, said the guy sitting to his immediate right. “Sounds fair”, he said, pulling out his money clip, as he went on to ask,“Whats the game, boys”?
“Straight poker, nothing's wild”, said the burly gent sitting directly across from him. Colt, waiting for the next hand to be dealt, pulled the cork from the Irish Jacks and poured himself half a glass. Looking around and holding the bottle up, label showing, as to entice those who have heard of, or had the fine elixir before, asked,“Anyone care for a glass”?
“That's some high dollar hooch you have in your hands there, and from the likes of mother Ireland I see”, says the short fellow on his left, as he held out his glass for the offering.
“The name's Patrick O'Flannery he said, as he generously filled the fellow's glass to the brim.
“Glad to meet you, friend, I'm guessing your from the Emerald Isle, by the Irish brogue you're sportin'”, replied Colt.
“That I am, my good man, where a man bleeds forever green and the heart is honest and true”, he replied back.
“And where would it be you hail from”?, asked the diminutive Irishman. Before he could answer the mans question, the big bear of a fella across from him announced in a rather stern and abrupt voice,
“It your turn to bet mister, u gonna run that yap of yours, or you gonna play cards”?. Rather than brace the man as was his nature, he glanced again at the cards he was holding, and while deliberately looking at the man that had just berated him, announced,
“I'll see your two dollars, and raise you ten”. Three of the players proceeded to fold, tossing their deficient cards on the table.
“You're bluffing” bellowed the big fella. Colt, sensing the strangers frustration, egged him on a little more by saying,
“You're gonna have to pay to see 'em big boy”. The Irishman, next in turn and with little reaction, laid down his bet of twelve dollars and said,
“I'll see your twelve and raise ya a couple more.” The bet was now in the hands of the frustrated cowboy across the table.
“That's 14 to me”, he said, as he threw his money on the table and replied,
“I'll see your 14 and raise you another ten”. The Irishmen then responded to the substantial raise by folding his cards in disgust, and finishing off the whiskey in his glass. Beginning to slightly boil at the unsavory and crass demeanor of the one remaining, Colt announced,
“I'll see your 24 dollars and raise you 20 more.” The big man was visibly agitated at Colt's persistence, but chose to bite his tongue, and determined to beat this arrogant new-comer, angrily threw the 44 dollars required on the table and said rather abruptly,
“I call”. Colt, right-sure of his more than sufficient hand, with a brazen gesture, tossed his 3 aces and pair of queens on the table facing his opponent, and said,
“Read 'em and weep”! The big man, sorely beaten and now fuming, up-ended the table towards Colt as he stood up and foolishly drew his gun. Lightning Mathews had seen this scenario play out time and time again, and with the deadly accuracy and swiftness required, placed a bullet squarely between the mans eyes. The other players said nary a word as they hit the floor and scrounged for the remainder of their winnings, then scurried away as if nothing had happened. Colt, as he looked at the green tinted glass, now shattered on the floor in front of him, mournfully announced, “Damn, there goes a full bottle of Jacks, wasted “!
Pale Horse, disappointed, and assured beforehand of the outcome, had watched the whole thing unfold. As Colt walked over to their table, he interrupted him before he could chastise him for his intemperance.
“I know, I know, I let that man and my temper get the best of me, and without asking a single question.”
“Yes you did, but I'm not going to pretend I would've handled it any different, given the surliness of the fool you were dealing with”. While Colt pulled up a chair, his friend and partner continued,
“There's still people here to ask, so there's no harm done.” As he poured himself a drink from the bottle his friend had and nodded his head in agreement, the town's Sheriff approached their table, and pulling up a seat for himself, said,
“From what I've just been told, It was a clean shoot, but I would like to ask the two of you, seeing that you're new in town, just what your business is here, or are you just passing through”? “Colt spoke up and answered the lawman,
“We're bounty hunters, here on business, trying to find an outlaw, or any information we can about him, or any of the group that runs with him”. The sheriff, with his eyes fixed on the expensive bottle of Irish whiskey that sat before him, asked before continuing on with the conversation,
“You mind”? “Pale Horse answered back,
“Have your fill.” The sheriff motioned to one of the saloon girls for another glass, and as she was retrieving it, he continued with his questions.
“Who might you be, If you don't mind me asking”?
“I'm Colt Mathews, and this is Buck Rankin Sheriff, and you are?”
“Bill Thornton's the name”, answered the lawman as the girl handed him his glass and he poured himself some Jack's.
“Pleased to meet you Sheriff Thornton.” The sheriff, downing the shot, and then holding out his now empty glass, looked over at Colt. Mathews nodded his approval, and the sheriff poured himself another before asking,
“So, who's this outlaw you're looking for, and what's he been accused of”? Pale Horse answered with a seriousness well perceived by Sheriff Thornton,
“We're looking for Shane Walters, and our reason would be that we are sanctioned and hired by Sheriff Ben Turner of Rifle Stock.”
“I see”, said the sheriff, “and what did Walters do to warrant your business, if you don't mind me asking”? Pale Horse hesitated before answering, then, looking the Sheriff in the eyes, he said coldly,
“He kidnapped the daughter of Sheriff Turner, as well as my sister, and is holding them hostage for ransom”
“I see”, said Thornton.
“Well, I might be able to help you some, but seeing that you're already here in Denver, you're apparently on the right trail.” After hearing this, Colt, fueled with excitement, asked the lawman,
“What do you mean sheriff, Are you saying you know something we should know”? The sheriff, lowering his voice, not to be heard by anyone but the two at the table, answered,
“What I do know is, he's around here somewhere, rumor has it, that his hide-out's somewhere in the Wolf Canyon Bluffs, but exactly where, Well gents, that's still a mystery to me, I've been out there with a posse a couple of times, but we haven't been able to locate his whereabouts to speak of, but we are trying.”
“That's a start Sheriff, and a good one at that”, said Colt, as he began to feel the blood surging through his veins, knowing that they were on the right trail. “How do we get to these bluffs you speak of”, he asked, anxious to get underway.
“They're just Northwest of here, about 5 miles,” Pale Horse answered before the sheriff could.
“I spent a couple of years just north of here, though I never rode through it, I know exactly where it is” The sheriff spoke up,
“I should warn you before the two of you ride out there alone, there are Mexican bandido's that roam those bluffs, and they're as nasty a bunch as that Shane Walters or any of those outlaws that runs with him.” Pale Horse and Colt weren't at all concerned with them, though Colt did ask how many there were, for the sake of curiosity.
“As far as I know, about 10 or so, but that might not be an accurate number, because we've never counted.”“If you find you're in need of assistance, I have some good men that'll be more than willing to give you a hand,” said the Sheriff, as the men downed the rest of their whiskeys and stood, readying to leave.
They each thanked the Sheriff for the information, and graciously left him the remainder of the bottle for the help he had given them. Colt suggested they get a room for the night, and head out at first light, being that it was well past dark, and they had little idea of the terrain that was ahead of them. His partner agreed, and the two of them took their horses to the livery stables, and then walked over to The Branding Iron to have something more substantial and filling than the jerky that had sustained them on their trip so far.
After a hearty meal of steak and spuds to satisfy them, they walked across the street to the hotel for a good night's sleep. Pale Horse couldn't help but feel eager to get on the trail of the desperadoes, but knew in the dark, trying to find the trail, much less the outlaws whereabouts, would be near impossible. It had been days since Winter Crow and Temperance had been kidnapped, and he couldn't help but speculate of what the two of them were going through.
As the sun was breaking on the desert horizon, the town slowly came to life, and the daily hustling and bustling of the locals penetrated the thin glass of the hotel windows. The bounty hunters quickly got dressed and set out for their mission. Knowing they were likely to encounter the Mexican bandits along the way, the two men loaded heavy and made sure there were no empty chambers among them. As always, Biscuit and Spirit were raring to go and made it clear when they heard their masters talking as they were entering the livery stables.
“How much do we owe you, friend”?, asked Colt, as he approached the stall were Biscuit was being kept.
“That'll be two-bits apiece” said the hostler, as he reached out his hand. Colt, after saddling his horse, looked over at his friend, and with a look of determination said, “Let's Ride”.
Their mind set was an ominous and deliberate one, as the two men knew it wouldn't be long before blood would be spilled, though they hoped they would be able to get to the bluffs without incident. Winter Crow and July were all they could think about, and they were eager to get their hands on the fools ignorant and daring enough to abduct them. Pale Horse had revenge and blood on his mind, and Colt was no different. Five desolate miles of barren plains, ill tempered rattlesnakes and sagebrush withered, lie between them and Wolf Canyon.
The morning light painted the desert with shadows of doom as the two rode at a steady pace towards the winding canyons and jagged bluffs that they hoped concealed the outlaws, who's unknown fate rode towards them with a vengeance. Colt looked over at his friend and asked the question that he already knew the answer to, but wanted to assure himself of just the same,
“When and