The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,78

confirmed grimly. “I’ve seen it happen accidentally during cattle drives. A cowboy can fall off and get his foot stuck in the stirrup. He can be pretty torn up by the time you stop his horse and prop him upright.”

Ezra and Chester glanced uneasily at each other while Adrianna bound Chester in a similar fashion, then tied the ropes to the pommels of their saddles. When she swatted both horses on the rumps, the men gasped, then stumbled forward in an attempt to maintain their balance.

Adrianna stepped up behind Ezra to fish into the back pocket of his breeches. She retrieved the note and the money. Then she confiscated Chester’s money on her way to pluck up the discarded pistols. There wasn’t enough light to read the note so she tucked it, and the money, in the pocket of her jacket before she mounted Buckshot.

“Now then,” Cahill said ominously, “whose idea was it to torch Boston’s house?”

“We don’t know,” Chester muttered as he jogged to keep up with his trotting horse.

Cahill didn’t give them a second warning, just eased up to swat both horses, forcing the captives into a dead run to keep up. When Ezra tripped and fell, he yelped while his horse dragged him across the rocky, uneven terrain.

“Who is giving you orders?” Cahill snarled.

“We don’t know. God’s truth!” Chester howled, then stumbled and bumped along, his chin bouncing on the ground.

Adrianna watched unsympathetically as the rustlers skidded across the ground. They were a long way from having their hides peeled off but to hear the cowardly bastards wail and yelp you’d swear they had been skinned alive.

“Let’s try this again,” Cahill barked harshly. “Who is paying you to rustle cattle, cut fences and set fires?”

“We don’t know, I tell you!” Ches shrieked as he tried—and failed—to bolt to his feet.

“The same person who killed one of your partners at Phantom Springs and set me up to take the blame for murder?” Cahill snarled.

“What? Hell, no!” Ezra panted. “We don’t know nothing about that. We were paid to steal cattle, set fires and keep you and Miz McKnight at odds and that’s all!”

Cahill growled like an enraged grizzly, then sent the horses into a faster clip. “Who…hired…you?” he demanded.

“We don’t know, I swear,” Ezra gasped as his horse dragged him across the ground. “Somebody left notes and money in our trunks and told us to contact each other over a year ago. Now we receive our instructions and payments at the rock ledge.”

“Why did you kill your partners? What do you know about Ruby and Earl’s wagon wreck?” Adrianna interrogated sharply.

“Nothing!” Chester railed, then yelped in pain. “We had nothing to do with that. Just rustling and fires.”

“How long have these men been cowhands?” she asked Cahill.

“About two years, give or take,” he replied.

“Long enough to be involved in the wagon wreck at Ghost Canyon,” she decided.

“What? No! I told you we don’t know nothing about that,” Ches denied frantically. “Nobody said nothing to us about a wagon accident. I swear.”

Quin was beginning to believe the men. Which was even more troubling. It suggested that whoever was stealing from 4C and McKnight Ranch, as well as others in the area, were not necessarily involved in the robbery plot and wagon wreck that had claimed his parents’ lives.

Damn it to hell! He might never know the truth. He couldn’t locate or identify the three men who rode off that night from Phantom Springs, even when Burnett and Dog helped him follow the outlaws’ tracks.

Well, at least one thing went right tonight, he mused as he halted the two horses and allowed his captives to mount up. Boston had gone along without suffering a scratch. That was a gigantic relief.

He glanced at her, watching moonbeams bathe her elegant features in light and shadows. He couldn’t imagine why any man wouldn’t appreciate her fiery spirit and courage, rather than seeing her as a meal ticket that could make his life comfortable.

There was so much more to Boston than her wealth and outer beauty. She had a strong sense of self and she was teeming with irrepressible intelligence. She knew who she was and what she wanted, as he did. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“Something wrong, Cahill?”

He snapped to attention when she caught him staring at her. “No. Just thinking.” But he didn’t tell her about what.

“Me, too,” she said pensively. “Should we take these two men to jail or lock them in the smokehouse for the night?”

“I’ve seen more of