Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

    • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Summers' Horses
    Summers' Horses
    Summers' Horses
    Ebook279 pages4 hours

    Summers' Horses

    By Ralph Cotton

    3.5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    In this intense Ralph Cotton western, bandits steal a man’s livelihood and ignite his need for vengeance.

    Known for the role he played in taking down the notorious Peltry gang, Will Summers is a horse trader with a reputation that will intimidate even the most lawless of men. But when the cold-blooded Bendigo brothers stumble on a chance opportunity to make off with Summers’ newly acquired horses, they act quickly and ruthlessly, leaving him unconscious and his companion Layla Brooks battered and blind.

    Summers has a history of tracking down wild animals, and the Bendigo brothers are no different. He’s ready to give them his own special brand and let them live long enough to feel the burn....
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateJul 5, 2011
    ISBN9781101516720
    Summers' Horses

    Read more from Ralph Cotton

    Related to Summers' Horses

    Related ebooks

    Western Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      Lol

      Jul 14, 2021

      Lol
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      HUNTING With The Ellements…

      Sep 13, 2021

      HUNTING With The Ellements…
      19 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Good Servant

      Aug 8, 2022

      Windsor, March 1932 “Good evening, Miss Crawford.” A smart young man in uniform was waiting on the platform when she stepped off the train. She was startled. “Aye. That’s me. How did you know?” “Easy.” He smiled. “There aren’t that many young ladies

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      CHERRY GARDEN Street

      May 29, 2024

      CHERRY GARDEN Street
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Intelligent Creatures

      Jul 6, 2023

      Intelligent Creatures
      19 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Happily Ever After

      Oct 3, 2024

      Happily Ever After
      31 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      When Tracks Lead to Trouble

      Nov 2, 2020

      When Tracks Lead to Trouble
      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      BEST Friend

      Jul 2, 2024

      BEST Friend
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Glengarry Glen Mykiss

      Dec 28, 2021

      Glengarry Glen Mykiss
      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Two Poems

      Jul 1, 2019

      Ray spit in my hand. Motor oilleafed on still water and he spoke over mesaying I waver when I issue commands.He kicked the drowned cat to shower mewith its pocket of brown lake.Said I wasn’t worth the fuss I madeshowing the boys their loneliness in t

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Intarsia

      Feb 6, 2020

      Intarsia
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Take A Magpie Up To Heaven

      Nov 1, 2019

      Take A Magpie Up To Heaven
      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Water Under The Bridge

      Nov 10, 2022

      The sound of water coursing over rocks filled my ears. The creek banks reached out with lush green vegetation as if to grab and hold me, and the warm June air was sweet with the smell of honeysuckle. The creek was small. Four good jumps and I could g

      26 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Part 1 WHEN FISH FLY: The Revolt on the Slave Ship Creole

      Jan 1, 2022

      Part 1 WHEN FISH FLY: The Revolt on the Slave Ship Creole
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Puppy Love

      Mar 19, 2021

      Puppy Love
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Magnets: Carried through time, lovers seek their purpose.

      Feb 6, 2014

      Moon Colony B, 2213 Former Ponzi-schemer Mary Pillar digs through a trashcan. It smells like rotten eggs and milk. She is elderly and homeless, living in an alley between two eco-efficient skyscrapers. Dust particles dance around her. She has lost ev

      11 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Campfire Tales…

      Jan 21, 2022

      Campfire Tales…
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Living In chital Country

      Feb 15, 2024

      Living In chital Country
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Campfire Tales…

      Nov 19, 2021

      Campfire Tales…
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Fiction: Wolfdreams

      Feb 12, 2022

      Fiction: Wolfdreams
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Externalities

      Jan 10, 2023

      “In economics, an externality is the cost or benefit that affects a party who did not choose to incur that cost or benefit.”—James Buchanan and W. Craig Stubblebine The library rolled heavily into town, bearing its cargo of knowledge mundane, esoteri

      15 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Ferrets Up To Scratch

      Mar 24, 2021

      Ferrets Up To Scratch
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Racy Bedtime Reading!

      Feb 7, 2021

      Racy Bedtime Reading!
      9 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Dark Timber, Troubled Thoughts

      Sep 8, 2020

      Dark Timber, Troubled Thoughts
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Poetry

      Jun 1, 2021

      Poetry
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Fear In The Time Of The Javelina

      May 13, 2020

      Fear In The Time Of The Javelina
      15 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Running Away

      Feb 22, 2021

      Leaving London behind her, Millie drove faster, picturing thousands of crazed fans in pursuit, desperate for what – a lock of her hair? Or Julian; except after the last gig, somehow she knew he wouldn’t follow. She knew from bitter experience that di

      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Summers' Horses

    3.5/5

    2 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Summers' Horses - Ralph Cotton

      PART 1

      003

      Chapter 1

      004

      Colorado Territory

      Will Summers followed the big spotted cur up the last stretch of trail to a clearing on the mountainside. He guided a string of six horses and a sorrel mule on a lead rope behind him. The mule brought up the rear of the string at a gangly, uncooperative pace.

      Summers looked back over his shoulder as one of the horses chuffed and grumbled at the worrisome mule. These were all good horses, he told himself, eyeing the rope respectively. All six, and the one he was riding. He patted a gloved hand on the withers of the silver-gray dapple beneath him.

      On the string: Three dark bays, an Appaloosa mare soon to foal, a paint horse and a black Morgan cross . . . , he accounted to himself, as if taking inventory. Seven fine horses . . . He turned forward in his saddle and rode on.

      From a window in a weathered cabin, Layla Brooks watched Summers and the animals disappear and reappear brokenly through the trees, filing along at an easy pace.

      The first living human I’ve seen in weeks, she reminded herself. The thought of it caused a lump to move into her throat. She kept her eyes from welling and took a breath. She trembled slightly. When she recognized Summers, she’d eased the hammers down on the shotgun in her hands and leaned the gun against the wall. Of all people . . .

      She gave herself a thin, tight smile and touched her fingertips to her hair. All right, she had no brushes, no combs, she told herself. She looked down her front at the soiled, grease-spotted gingham dress she wore. Quick . . .

      She stripped the dress over her head and tossed it aside. Picking up her denim trousers from across a stool, she shook them out and wiggled into them. She pulled a loose woolsey shirt over her bare breasts and smoothed it down—Lee Persons’ shirt, she thought for a moment.

      She touched her tangled hair again, this time with both hands, and looked all around in desperation. The water bucket . . . ? She hurried across the floor to the big wooden bucket, hearing the sound of horses’ hooves make the turn in the trail and head upward to the cabin. Is there time? Yes, there has to be, she said to herself.

      When he reached the turn in the trail, Summers stopped and looked at the cabin thirty yards away. A thin curl of smoke rose and drifted above the stone chimney. The yard looked clean enough for the time of year. Firewood filled much of the side yard, some split and stacked, some lying strewn around a chopping block where an ax stood, its handle up.

      Looking to the right of the yard, Summers saw the plank grave marker standing at the head of a freshly turned mound of earth.

      Through the wavy dusty window glass, Layla peeped out and watched him ride over to the grave, leading his string of horses and mule behind him. The big cur anticipated Summers’ path, and loped ahead of him.

      Take your time, Will, Layla said to herself, seeing Summers stop his horse and his string and look down at the mound of earth. She dipped water up from the bucket with both hands and let it run down her bosom.

      L. Persons, Summers murmured, reading the crudely carved pine grave marker. So long, Lee. He took off his battered Stetson and held it at his side, the lead rope in the same gloved hand. Across the grave from him, the spotted cur plopped down on his bony rump and scratched an ear. Summers turned in his saddle when he heard the front door of the cabin swing open.

      Who’s there? Layla called out from the front porch. She stood with a towel raised to the side of her wet hair. Is that you, Will Summers?

      Summers turned his horse in Layla’s direction. Yes, ma’am, Layla, he said. It’s me. The cur sprang to a stand and loped across the yard, leading him. I brought Lee the mule he asked for. His hat still in hand, he gestured it back toward the grave and said respectfully, I see he won’t be needing it now.

      Layla stopped drying her hair for a moment and looked over at the grave. Then she raised the towel again.

      No. He won’t need it now, she said. I will, though. I’ll be moving back down to Prospect. After a moment’s pause, she said, How much for the mule?

      Summers considered the question quickly. Lee paid for it in advance, Layla. He pulled the string forward until the mule stood nearest to his side. So, here it is, delivered as promised. It’s all yours.

      "Oh, really? Layla said skeptically. She put a hand on her hip, the damp towel hanging from it. Lee Persons never paid in advance for anything in his life. So, let’s try again. She gave him a sharp, knowing smile. How much for the mule, Will? she repeated. I’m not a charity case."

      Summers looked her up and down, her wet hair hanging to her shoulders, Lee’s old shirt open deep down the front and clinging to her wet breasts. He looked away, but his eyes kept drifting back to her.

      How long has he been dead? he asked.

      It’s been weeks since he died, Layla said. I’m going to say ten weeks at the least. She stared over at the grave as she spoke. I wrapped him and laid him in the springhouse until the ground thawed. I finally buried him three days ago. She paused, then added, I’m past grieving him.

      I see, said Summers. He put on his hat and crossed his wrists on his saddle horn. Ten weeks . . .

      At the least . . . , Layla pointed out quietly, her hand still on her hip. I woke up in the night because the fire had gone out. I found him lying there, dead, eyes wide open. He was clutching his chest.

      Summers shook his lowered head. At the edge of the porch, the big cur had plopped down again and sat staring back and forth between them as if following the conversation.

      He was a good man, Lee Persons, Summers said. He considered it for a second, shrugged and added, Good enough anyway.

      Yes, he was, Layla said. And now he is dead and buried, she said bluntly, trying to get past the subject of Lee Persons and on with whatever came next.

      Summers sighed; he looked away again, then set his gaze back on Layla. Long shallow skiffs of snow still clung to shadowed rock ledges and low spots up on the steep hillsides.

      Ten weeks, huh? he said, giving her a curious look.

      Ten weeks, Will, Layla repeated, staring knowingly back at him. How many times are you going to ask me that?

      That’s all. Summers gave a shrug.

      Good, said Layla. Now, how much for the sorrel mule? she asked again.

      I hate to take money from you, Layla, Summers said.

      Then don’t, she said. She stared at him.

      What I mean is I hate to charge you anything, Lee dying and all, Summers said.

      "I want you to, Will, Layla said bluntly. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

      "Jesus . . . ," Summers whispered, looking down at his crossed wrists. After a moment he shook his bowed head and swung down from his saddle.

      No, Layla, he said. I just didn’t want to take advantage.

      Get yourself in here, she said, gesturing toward the door.

      Yes, ma’am, said Summers.

      Atop a high ridge overlooking the Persons’ cabin, Arlo Hughes, Dow Bendigo and his half-breed brother, Tom Cat Tracker Bendigo, sat atop their horses and watched the man and woman from the shelter of trees and rock.

      Fine-looking animals, Arlo Hughes said in a hushed tone.

      The other two men offered no reply.

      In the fading evening light, the three watched Will Summers take his rifle from its boot and untie his saddlebags. He threw them over his shoulder, carried his Winchester repeater and followed Layla Brooks into the cabin.

      At a height of two hundred feet, both man and woman looked small; so did the short stretch of turned earth in the front yard. Along the hitch rail, seven horses and a mule stood at rest, some of them shaking off trail dust.

      I expect your pa will want to hear about this right away, Hughes said to Dow Bendigo. He started to turn his horse back to the narrow trail. The half-breed sat staring at the pair, knowing his brother, Dow, wasn’t finished with the matter.

      Dow Bendigo stepped his horse over in front of Arlo Hughes, stopping him.

      Wait a minute, Dow said without taking his eyes off the cabin below them. What’s your hurry anyway? Me and Tom are still looking. Right, Cat Tracker?

      The half-breed made no reply.

      Hughes stared at Dow Bendigo, noticing that his mouth hung slightly agape as he stared at the cabin.

      "Like I just told you, Hughes replied with clear deliberation. Your pa will want to hear about this, first thing."

      My pa can wait, said Dow. What do you think those two are doing in there right now? His voice sounded rushed and shallow.

      Hughes stared at him. "What do you think they’re doing in there? Because if you can’t figure it out—"

      That’s not what I mean, said Bendigo, cutting him off. "I mean right this very minute . . . they just walked inside the door. Where do you figure their hands are right now?"

      Damn, Dow, Hughes said in disgust. Let’s get going before you need some time to yourself.

      I don’t need no time to myself, Arlo, said Dow Bendigo. He turned to him, red-faced, wearing an angry scowl. It’ll be dark before long. We could ride down there and peep in some through a window, couldn’t we?

      "We could, but we’re not going to," Hughes said firmly.

      Why not? said Dow. It would give us more to tell Pa about when we get there.

      You’ve got plenty of explaining to do as it is, said Hughes. "You lost more money playing poker than some men make in a season. It was cattle money at that—"

      Forget how much money I lost, said Dow, cutting him off. Besides, you was supposed to keep me in line, remember? He gave a scornful grin. Anyway, he said sheepishly, nodding down toward the cabin, I’d like to see those two going at it . . . you know.

      "Yeah, I know, said Hughes. I’m riding on up to the cliffs. You two can do what suits you. He gave the half-breed a glance. I’ll let your pa know that you’re both watching the woman get her belly rubbed. He’ll be overjoyed to hear that. He looked at Dow and added, After all the money you lost gambling." He heeled his horse away toward the thin path.

      Damn it, wait up, Arlo, said Dow, jerking his horse’s reins and pulling it around beside the older gunman. I just thought it would be fun, is all.

      Fun? questioned Hughes, the two riding along. Did you see who that was with her?

      No, who? said Dow.

      It’s that horse trader from south of here, Will Summers, said Hughes. Ever heard of him?

      I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never run into him, said Dow.

      You don’t want to run into him either, if you can keep from it, said Hughes. Leastwise, not peeping through a window at him, especially while he’s occupied with a woman like Layla Brooks.

      Do I look scared of him? asked the young gunman.

      Hughes turned and looked him up and down appraisingly.

      No, he said. Do I?

      You sound like it, said Dow.

      Hughes stopped his horse and sat staring at the younger gunman.

      Let’s get something straight here and now, Dow, he said. "I’m not afraid of Will Summers, nor should you be. But he is a man to be left alone. He’s not a man to trifle with."

      So you say, Dow Bendigo returned. All I know is he’s a horse trader. I haven’t seen a horse trader yet that I would cross the street for.

      Hughes turned forward in his saddle and stepped his horse around Dow’s horse, blocking his path.

      You don’t know about Summers, do you, Dow? he asked over his shoulder.

      I suppose not, said Dow Bendigo. He spit and ran a hand over his mouth. But I’m betting you’re going to tell me about him.

      Hughes shook his head. He was used to young Dow Bendigo’s haughty attitude. He was used to Tom’s stonelike silence. It was his job to try to keep the pair out of trouble, as if anyone could perform such a feat.

      You ever hear of the Peltry Gang, Dow? he asked.

      Yep, said Dow Bendigo. The Peltry Gang is a bunch I’ve heard lots about. My pa knew them. Goose and Moses Peltry are a couple of bad sonsabitches is what I’ve heard.

      "Not are, Dow, said Hughes. They were. Will Summers is one of the men who killed them and their whole gang."

      No kidding? Dow turned attentive. The half-breed watched the two with uninterest.

      No kidding, said Hughes. He stuck their heads on a stick and rode them around as a warning to the remaining members.

      He did all that? said Dow.

      He did, said Hughes. You can ask Lucian Clay when we get up to the cliffs. He rode with the Peltrys. He still harbors some ill feelings toward Summers and the others over it.

      "Who are the others?" Dow asked.

      Along with Summers, there was a schoolteacher from Rileyville named Sherman Dahl and a lawman from the same town named Abner Webb, said Hughes.

      Abner Webb . . . , Dow said studiously.

      There were others, said Hughes, but that’s all the names that come to mind offhand—

      Hold it, said Dow, cutting him short as recognition came to him. "You’re talking about what the folks around Rileyville call Webb’s Posse?"

      That I am, said Hughes. Is it coming to either of you now?

      The half-breed only looked away and spit.

      Damn right it is, said Dow. So this horse trader rode with Abner Webb and the Teacher.

      Some say he’s the one who led the posse, said Hughes.

      Dow grinned and said, Well, he’s not leading a posse now. He’s lying between Layla Brooks’ knees.

      You’re not paying any attention to what I’m telling you, are you? You need to leave this man alone, said Hughes.

      I’d like to, Dow Bendigo said with a grin. But all I can think of now is how easy it would be for the three of us to slip in and steel that string of horses out from under his nose while he’s tacking Layla to the mattress.

      That’s what I thought, said Hughes. He shook his head and let out a breath.

      Look at it this way, Dow chuckled. We take the horses home with us, it’ll make up for the cattle money I lost. The old man will forget all about it.

      You’re playing with fire, messing with your pa the way you do, Hughes warned. Warton Bendigo is another man not to take lightly.

      You worry too damn much about too many things, said Dow. He jerked his horse around toward his half brother. What about you, Tom? he said. Are you game for taking them horses—maybe getting a little poke at Layla Brooks to boot?

      Tom Bendigo didn’t answer. He knew it made no difference what he said. Dow had made up his mind. There would be no stopping him.

      Chapter 2

      005

      Darkness had set in by the time Will Summers rose from beneath a thin cotton blanket and sat up on the side of the bed. Beside him, Layla Brooks drew the blanket up above her naked breasts and snuggled under it. She heard the sound of a match striking and saw the flicker of its flame, which Summers held beneath the globe of the oil lamp sitting on a nightstand beside the bed.

      Why are you getting up? she asked.

      The dog’s at the door, said Summers. I best let him out.

      He adjusted the glow of the lamp.

      Layla rose onto an elbow and looked at him in the shadowy circle of soft light.

      Where did you get the dog? she asked. I never knew you to travel with a dog.

      I don’t, said Summers. I caught him on a trade from Marvin Brannerd. Got the mule out of it too. I haven’t found a buyer for him yet. It’s doubtful I will. A big dog like him can come and go as he pleases. Luckily, the trade was already square. I figure the owner just wanted to get rid of him.

      What’s his name? Layla asked.

      I don’t know, said Summers. He doesn’t have one right now. I think he once belonged to an army sergeant.

      Why do you think that? Layla asked. The big spotted cur stood watching them, his tongue lolling.

      Brannerd said he used to wear a leather collar with the name Sergeant Tom Haines tooled on it, Summers said.

      The big cur’s ears perked up. He stepped forward in anticipation then stopped. He stared at the two expectantly for a moment. Then he relaxed.

      Did you see that? asked Layla.

      I saw it, Summers said. He heard me call his owner’s name. He’s done like that before when Brannerd said the name out loud.

      Maybe it’s not his owner’s name, said Layla. "Maybe it’s his name."

      I doubt it, Summers replied. That’s a long name for a dog.

      Maybe so, Layla said, giving up the notion. I do believe a dog should have a name, she added.

      That’ll be up to his new owner, soon as I find him one, said Summers.

      The cur turned restless at the closed front door, looking toward the bed. He scratched a big paw down the doorframe and gave a whine as Summers stood up, lamp in hand, and walked toward him.

      All right, settle down, ol’ buddy, said Summers, crossing the floor in his bare feet. I’m coming.

      "Buddy, huh? said Layla, watching from the bed as Summers loosened the latch and swung the big pine door open. Buddy could be his name."

      I suppose it could, Summers said. I call him whatever comes to mind. He looked out across the dark sky and saw lightning flicker on the horizon. Following the blue-yellow streak, thunder rumbled like distant cannon fire.

      Storm building, he told himself, staring off above the black silhouette of hill and tree line.

      The dog raced out across the plank porch and bounded out into the pale moonlight. Summers could only make out a high wagging tail until darkness engulfed the animal.

      I know, let’s name him, said Layla, rising on her side as Summers closed the door, bolted it and walked back toward the bed. The circle of soft lamplight spread around her.

      I don’t think so, Summers said quietly.

      Why not? said Layla. It’ll be fun.

      Summers stopped and looked at her for a moment, recognizing the voice of a woman who had been alone for some time, not talking to anyone. She had wintered here with a dead man, waiting to bury him when the earth would finally allow it. She was still edgy from the experience, he reminded himself.

      He put the lamp back on the nightstand and sat down on the side of the bed.

      Name him, then, if it suits you, he said.

      Can’t we name him together? she asked.

      Yes, he thought to himself, the edginess was still there in her voice.

      All right, he said, going along with her, we can name him together. How about Victor? That’s a good, strong-sounding name.

      Victor? She gave a slight laugh. That’s not a dog’s name.

      Why not? asked Summers. You were all set to think his name was Sergeant Tom Haines.

      That’s different, she said.

      Different how? Summers asked.

      Because, she said, it just is. Anyway, I’ve never heard of a dog named Victor.

      He slipped under the covers and reached over to put out the lamplight.

      No, she said, leave it on awhile, please.

      He heard the slight desperation in her voice and understood. She needed to talk.

      All right, he said It’s on. He adjusted under the covers and faced her, lying on his pillow in the dim lamplight. Where are you from, Layla?

      That was good, Will Summers, she said. She looked at him with a slight smile. You sound like you couldn’t care less where I’m from.

      I do care, Layla, Summers said. It’s just that I never got around to asking you before now.

      She drew a circle on his chest with her finger and said, "All those times

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1