Drawn and Quartered: Classic Western Series (Bloody Joe Mannion Book 7) by Peter Brandvold

Author:Peter Brandvold [Brandvold, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781639778409
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2023-07-24T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Severance reined the black around to face the crow-like matriarch of the Triangle Cross and her gun-hung punchers spread out to each side of her, the black-hatted and vested Garrett sitting his dun to her left. Ethel Beech wore a black knit cape with the hood drawn up, and a long, dark-green wool skirt beneath the hem of which showed worn, black, stovepipe boots.

Severance doubted he’d seen the woman in twenty years. Believed to be a recluse or suffering from some malady, possibly arthritis, Mrs. Beech usually made herself scarce and left the range work to her drovers. She preferred her harsh reputation precede her and speak for itself. That made her more mysterious and threatening. When there was especially dirty work to be done, however—like hanging nesters or rustlers—she usually led the way.

She was rarely seen in town but couldn’t resist leaving her ranch for a good, old-fashioned necktie party. She had more than a bit of the she-wolf in her.

Anger rose in Severance, as did chagrin. How had he let a dozen riders shadow him without his knowing about it? Had he been living at the Half-Moon long enough without trouble that he’d grown careless? Or maybe he’d been distracted by sentiment, with wool gathering, remembering the good ol’ days when he and Roy had been young, when they’d still been brotherly with no unspoken chasm between them…

He shifted his gaze from Garrett to his mother and gave a caustic chuff.

“You think I’d ride up here lookin’ for the loot in broad daylight?”

“I don’t know,” Ethel Beech said, blinking those black, crow’s eyes once, slowly, then drilling her gaze into him from across the forty yards between them. “Are you?”

“No.” Or was he? What if he’d had the claim paper?

Ethel Beech glanced to her left then to her right and nudged her cream forward. The others booted their own horses forward, as well, moving slowly but steadily toward Severance. Fear touched him. He knew what Ethel Beech was capable of. He wanted to swing the black around and run. But he wouldn’t have done that even if he had anywhere to run to but into the canyon, where he’d surely be run down.

He was done running. Even from Ethel Beech.

He sat the black tensely. The horse could sense his anxiousness. Severance felt it tense its muscles beneath the saddle. It shook its head, nearly throwing the bit.

“Easy, boy,” Matt said, maintaining a mild expression as he watched the twelve riders including the old matriarch herself move toward him, several of the riders at each end of the procession curving around him to partway encircle him, so he couldn’t escape if he tried.

The old, crow-like eyes of Ethel Beech bore into him as she rode toward him, her long, pale craggy face, framed by the cape’s black hood, as hard as stone.

She drew rein ten feet away from Severance. The others checked their own mounts down then, as well, at nearly the same distance away from him, nearly surrounding him.

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