CHAPTER NINE
Four riders, black dust coats enveloping their bodies, black hats crammed down upon their heads, masking features, designed to instill fear. They rode with a deliberate, slow advance as if they were well-rehearsed in this sort of intimidation.
Channi edged up close to Cruces. The Mexican stood with his six-g*n drawn, eying the approaching riders with increasing anxiety. “They look mean. Twin guns, tied down, they are gunfighters.”
“We can handle ‘em, Cruces, don’t worry.”
“But I do,” said Cruces. “Wish we had rifles.”
“I have my Winchester back with the horses,” said Len. “I could pick ‘em off with ease if that is what you think we should do.”
Looking down at Jonas’ inert body, Channi drew in a deep breath. “Jonas would know what to do.”
“I say we spread out,” said Len.
