CHAPTER SEVEN
Touching his jaw where the Winchester had cracked into him, Cole leaned forward, pulled up the bottom of his thick, sweat-stiffened trousers, and tugged free the Wells Fargo Colt holstered at his ankle. He checked the load and sat back against the stall wall. Over to his right he heard Parrot shuffling in the straw, groaning as he did so. “You’ve got a darn good right cross on you there,” said the young soldier, “likes you might be a prize-fighter.”
“Only job I have is I work for the Army,” came Cole’s neutral reply. “I’m here to do that job and find who made off with them horses. Who was responsible? Seems like I’ve cracked that part, now all I need do is figure out where them horses have got to.”
“Well, that’s something only Burroughs knows.”
Cole turned his head and wa
