Two men huddled alongside their
fire. Wind-driven sleet stung their faces.
“Down your coffee. We’d better
get movin’ before this storm hits.”
“Knew we should’ve stayed in
Texarkana,” Quinn Mason complained.
“Never mind bellyachin’,” Texas
Ranger Jim Corey ordered. “If you hadn’t robbed that bank, we wouldn’t
be in this fix.”
“Never figured you’d follow me
into Arkansas,” Mason muttered.
“A Ranger never quits a trail.”
“Reckon I learned that. You
think you’ll get me back to Fort Worth?”
“Give me any trouble and you’ll
find out,” Corey promised. He headed to where his pinto gelding,
Sultana, and Mason’s bay were tied.
“Mornin’, boy,” Corey called to
his pinto. Corey gave him a biscuit, then scratched his ears. Sultana
nuzzled his shoulder.
Watching his handcuffed
prisoner, the Ranger saddled and bridled both horses.
“Get mounted,” he ordered.
“Yessir,” Mason shrugged. “You
sure we shouldn’t ride this norther out here?” he questioned.