The Law at Randado
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Phil Sundeen thinks Deputy Sheriff Kirby Frye is just a green local kid with a tin badge. And when the wealthy cattle baron's men drag two prisoners from Frye's jail and hang them from a high tree, there's nothing the untried young lawman can do about it. But Kirby's got more grit than Sundeen and his hired muscles bargained for. They can beat the boy and humilate him, but they can't make him forget the jog he has sworn to do. The cattleman has money, fear, and guns on his side, but Kirby Frye's the law in this godforsaken corner of the Arizona Territories. And he'll drag Sundeen and his killers straight to hell himself to prove it.
Jordan.” Frye’s gaze shifted to Jordan, then returned to Sundeen. He hesitated before saying, “You won’t try to stop me because that would be resisting arrest, but there’s no warrant for him and if I put a hand in my pocket he’ll draw and you’ll all swear he shot in self-defense…” “This boy’s a thinker,” Sundeen said to Digo. “That’s if he shoots first,” Frye added, and immediately, in the silence that followed, he was sorry he had said it. Sundeen was grinning again as he turned to Jordan.
Sundeen, his horsebreaker and his hired gunman. Sundeen came to Randado again late Wednesday morning. He brought with him Digo and Jordan and they went directly to De Spain’s. Many of his riders had left during the past two days, including the four who had been present when he ran off Frye and Mendez, and he believed that if they were still around he would find out at De Spain’s. Sundeen stood at the bar, but Jordan and Digo took a bottle and glasses to a table. “He drinks too much,” Jordan
another because it seemed more direct, less likely to bring him back to a point he had already passed. Twice he heard the verdin, perhaps a hundred yards ahead of him and up on the slope. Then again. This time it seemed to be closer. Frye entered the narrowness of a defile and stopped in the deep shadow of it to drink from his canteen. He took a bandanna from his pocket and wetting it, wiped his horse’s muzzle, cleaning the nostrils. Then, as he started out again, he stopped and drew back into
“Frye…I’ll make you a bet!” Silence. “I’ll bet all the money I got you’re not man enough to stand up the same time I do!” What about your ankle? “You hear me!” I hear you…but I’m not buying in. “I’m counting three and then standing up!” Frye looked down the Winchester. “One!” Silence. “Two!” There was a longer pause. “Three!” Frye saw the crown of a hat edge hesitantly above the rocks. He was ready to fire. But the hat tilted awkwardly and he knew it was being held by a stick. His
where you are!” Against the wall next to the window, Tindal could see them now straggling in almost single file. The first ones were reaching the company buildings now. He heard Sundeen go over to the shelf along this side wall where his blankets were and slip his rifle out from between them. Then another sound— He looked back to see Stedman reaching the door and going out, stumbling as he started down the slope, then regaining his feet and running, sliding in the loose sand, shouting