Death Rides the Black Hills: A Frontier G-Man Novel

From his perch, he could see most of the valley now. He could see the carnage of bodies strewn about the complex. He could see attacking Indians subduing what was left of Thorpe’s personnel and releasing the imprisoned slaves from the holding pens. He could see Amos Dunn and his crew taking some prisoners into tow. Francy had ventured out of the bunkhouse, leaving the others inside, while she looked to see if it was safe to leave their shelter.

  And Thorpe! Clayton was not surprised that Thorpe had stayed out of harm’s way. And there he was! Running as fast as he could to the corral behind the log house. “Give it up, Thorpe,” Jack thought to himself. “You’ll never get out of this valley.”

  The G-Man pushed himself to his feet, found a ladder, quickly climbed to the valley floor, and ran for the corral after Thorpe.

  He was almost there when a herd of riderless, saddleless horses thundered out of the corral, churning earth and creating a cloud of dust as they stampeded toward the entrance to the valley. Thorpe was inside the herd, riding a saddled big black stallion, using the herd as cover for his escape.

  As the horses passed by Clayton, he picked out a gray, reached for its flying mane and swung himself aboard, riding bareback into the melee after Thorpe.

  Thorpe’s mount could move only as there was room within the band of horses. He could barely see where he was going, much less see the two riders coming from the other direction. Pearson and Latrell had heard the gunfire and turned back. They had just ridden in as the herd barreled into them. Their horses reared and stumbled, trying to avoid the onslaught of an ocean of horse flesh. They screamed and yelled, trying to bring their mounts under control. The more they tried, the more their horses panicked and floundered.

  Thorpe was still riding forward, but as the flurry of motion ahead blossomed into full scale confusion, the herd was panicking with claustrophobic fear. The big black reared on his hind legs. Thorpe, clenched the reins tightly and tried to avoid falling off. This was when he finally saw Latrell and Pearson go down and the lead horses trample over their lifeless bodies.

  The stream of horses seemed to even out now that the obstacles in the way had been removed and the horses could continue running straight ahead. But Thorpe’s mount did not settle down. He bucked and he swiveled and reared high on two legs. Thorpe swore and grabbed the pommel of the saddle, trying to hold his perch. The big black reared again and again until Thorpe finally lost his hold. He went down screaming, tumbling into the dirt. The last thing he saw was a myriad of flying hooves coming into his face and pounding his body to shreds.

  The horses ran on, mindless of what had been left behind. Jack slid from the back of his horse and let it go with the others.

  The only horse that remained was the big black stallion who stood proudly over Thorpe’s body, his head aloft and shaking his flying mane.

  Jack strode up to the horse and patted his gleaming neck. “Good boy, old son.” Then standing over Thorpe’s body. “You took the wrong horse. I’ll bet you Regret it, now.”

  ****

  Chapter Twenty Four

  A Good Day to Die