Border Dogs (Ranger (Signet))
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Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack allies himself with revenge-driven bank robber Willis Durant against an army of ruthless outlaws who kidnapped Sam's partner Maria.
certainly financed by top hats and cigars. He knew that much. “Sergeant Baines.” Lieutenant Howell called out to him from ten yards away. “Get your men into position…prepare to attack immediately.” “What? Sir?” Sergeant Baines came from behind a large boulder, his hands spread. He couldn’t believe it. They had Zell’s men broken up now, having tactically let a large part of them charge through and make a run for the border. He had no idea how many were still up there. This was the time to wait,
the canyon floor could get to him. He could hold here for as long as his bullets lasted. He looked at the bullets on the rock beside him. Six for a reload, and six in the rifle. It would have to do. On his right, near the edge of the canyon, Willis Durant lay prone behind a stand of mesquite, down in a shallow pit he’d scraped out for himself. From there, Durant could fire across the flatland or down into the canyon itself. On the Ranger’s left, Sergeant Baines had taken a position behind a
pistol into the midst of the huddled townsfolk at old Ramon, who lay on the floor like a bundle of rags. “Want me to drag him out here too, Payton? He ain’t doing nothing there but taking up space.” From the darkened corner, the people watched as Payton Parker dragged Hernando by the short length of rope around his neck. The tip of a single-barrel shotgun lay against the base of Hernando’s skull. Payton’s hand lay around the shotgun stock, his thumb across the cocked hammer. “Naw, Leo,” Payton
mesquite and sun-bleached twigs and kindling. The Ranger caught a glimpse of Durant staring at him now and again as he and the old man laid out the makings for a cook fire. “Willis Durant is a serious hombre,” the old goat tender said. “I would not want to face him with a pistol in his hand.” He looked over at Durant, thirty feet away. “I think he does not plan on you taking him back to town.” The Ranger only nodded. But the old Mexican was wrong, he thought. Durant would make a break for it if
in one hand, a rifle in the other. The Frenchman’s rifle? It damned sure was! Behind him, the woman struggled to keep up. Yep, they were headed for the gold—he’d bet on it. Old man Dirkson grinned to himself, pressing a hand against the wound in his chest. He still had some play left here. All he had to was bide his time. He stayed in the cover of rock, ten feet above them, watching…. Willis Durant heard a sound ahead of him and turned around in the dry wash. He said over his shoulder in a low