Robert M Starr

The Mountain Valley Wrangler Robert M Starr

They rode into the valley on horses ridden too fast, too far. They were five desperate men riding with rifles ready and the harried look of hunted men. They rushed past the ranch house and rode straight for the barn and corrals."Charlie boy! Trot out them horses!"The man's voice was loud in the silence that followed the thundering hooves of worn out horses. Older by twenty years than three of the other four, half again as big as the biggest of them, he was unquestionably their leader. He sat his horse like a cavalry officer, barked orders with the confidence of a commander. He had once been an officer, but he was no gentleman, and his military career had ended in dishonor. Now, he sat his horse puzzled, wary."There'll be no horses."The voice came from the darkness beyond the open barn door."Where's Charlie?""He's rasslin' with rawhide in the back of the barn."The man behind the voice stepped from the darkness of the barn into the bright sunlight outside the door. At first glance, there wasn't much to notice about him, he was a man like many of the men of his time. He stood tall in well- worn boots; lean and hard, his weather-beaten skin showed the crinkles of "laugh lines" at the corners of his eyes, but there was nothing laughable about the sawed-off double-barreled shotgun he held in gloved hands."There'll be no horses," he said again. "S'pose you fellers just ride on out of here, an' there'll be no trouble either."