Riding for the Brand (Ss) (1986) Read Free Page A

might also know who the killers were.
    Walking out on the wide terrace overlooking the green valley beyond the ranch house, Jed stared down the valley, his mind filled with doubts and apprehensions.
    It was a lovely land, well watered and rich.
    Here, with what he knew of land and cattle, he could carry on the work George Baca had begun.
    He would do what Michael Latch would have done, and he might even do it better.
    There was danger, but when had he not known danger? And these people at the ranch were good people, honest people. If he did not do more than save the ranch from Seever and his lawless crowd he would have adequate reason for taking the place of the dead man. Yet he was merely finding excuses for his conduct.
    The guns he wore meant something, too.
    Carol had recognized them, and so had Seever.
    What was their significance?
    He was in deep water here. Every remark he made must be guarded. Even if they had not seen him before, there must be family stories and family tradition of which he knew nothing.
    There was a movement behind him, and Jed Asbury turned. In the gathering dusk he saw Carol.
    "Do you like it?" She gestured toward the valley.
    "It's splendid! I have never seen anything prettier.
    A man could do a lot with land like that. It could be a paradise."
    "Somehow you are different than I expected."
    "I am?" He was careful, waiting for her to say more.
    "You're much more assured than I expected you to be. Mike was quiet. Uncle George used to say. Read a lot, but did not get around much. You startled me by the way you handled Walt Seever."
    He shrugged. "A man changes. He grows older, and coming west to a new life makes a man more sure of himself. She noticed the book in his pocket. "What book do you have? She asked curiously.
    It was a battered copy of Plutarch. He was on safe ground here, for on the flyleaf was written, To Michael, from Uncle George.
    He showed it to her and she said, "It was a favorite of Uncle George. He used to say that next to the Bible more great men had read Plutarch than any other book."
    "I like it. I've been reading it nights."... He turned to face her. "Carol, what do you think Walt Seever will do?"
    "Try to kill you or have you killed"... She replied.
    She gestured toward the guns. "You had better learn to use those."
    "I can, a little."
    He dared not admit how well he could use them, for a man does not come by such skill overnight, nor the cool nerve it takes to use them facing an armed enemy. "Seever has counted on this place, has he?"
    "He has made a lot of talk."... She glanced up at him. "You know, Walt was no blood relation to Uncle George. He was the son of a woman of the gold camps who married George Baca's half-brother."
    "I see."... Actually, Walt Seever's claim was scarcely better than his own. "I know from the letters that Uncle George wanted me to have the estate, but I feel like an outsider. I am afraid I may be doing wrong to take a ranch built by the work of other people. Walt may have more right to it than I. I may be doing wrong to assert my claim."
    He was aware of her searching gaze. When she spoke it was deliberately and as if she had reached some decision.
    "Michael, I don't know you, but you would have to be very bad, indeed, to be as dangerous and evil as Walt Seever. I would say that no matter what the circumstances, you should stay and see this through."
    Was there a hint that she might know more than she admitted? Yet it was natural that he should be looking for suspicion behind every phrase. Yet he must do that or be trapped.
    "However, it is only fair to warn you that you have let yourself in for more than you could expect.
    Uncle George knew very well what you would be facing. He knew the viciousness of Walt Seever. He doubted you would be clever or bold enough to defeat Seever. So I must warn you, Michael Latch, that if you do stay, and I believe you should, you will probably be killed."
    He smiled into the darkness. Since boyhood he had lived in