Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter by William W. Johnstone Page B

broken up by ranges of small but rugged mountains running north and south. Luke had no trouble going around those mountains or finding passes through them, so they didn’t slow him down much. Some of the valleys between the ranges were barren salt flats, while others had small streams running through them at least part of the year, resulting in enough vegetation to support small ranches. Those spreads had to have some sort of supply point, so Luke wasn’t surprised when he spotted a few tendrils of chimney smoke rising in the pale blue sky. He followed them until he saw the scattered adobe buildings of a small settlement in the distance.
    He didn’t recall ever being in that exact spot before and didn’t know the name of the place, if it even had one. But there would be at least one saloon or cantina, he thought, and he could ask there about the men he was pursuing. The same would be true at the general store. Kelly and Dog Eater might have stopped for supplies.
    He could use a few things himself. No telling how long the chase might go on. There was bound to be a public well where he could fill up all four of his canteens. Anybody traveling in the dry country had to take on water wherever it was possible.
    The town, if you could call it that, consisted of only a dozen buildings. The place seemed to be dozing in the afternoon sun. A few horses stood at the hitch rails, their heads down and their tails flicking lazily. A couple dogs were sprawled out sleeping. A gray and white cat sat on the seat of a parked wagon, giving itself a bath.
    Luke didn’t see any people moving around.
    A faint prickle of unease stirred the skin on the back of his neck. He told himself he was worrying over nothing. It wasn’t a ghost town, the horses and the wagon proved that, and it really wasn’t that unusual for the street to be deserted at that time of day. It was siesta, after all.
    He spotted a building with the word Cantina painted on it and was reminded of Rio Rojo and Magdalena. He didn’t expect to be that fortunate again, but would settle for confirmation that Kelly and Dog Eater had come through there.
    A couple horses were tied at the hitch rack in front of the building. As Luke rode up and dismounted, he took a good look at the hoofprints left by those animals, just on the off chance they were the two horses Kelly and Dog Eater had used to escape from Rio Rojo after the bank robbery. Nothing about the prints distinguished them. It was what Luke expected, but he was in the habit of being careful.
    He went into the cantina and was immediately grateful for the relative coolness of its dim interior behind the thick adobe walls. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust after being in the bright sunshine outside.
    Tables were scattered around the room. The bar was in the back. To the right was a big fireplace where an iron pot of something that smelled spicy and delicious simmered over a small fire. A couple vaqueros sat at one of the tables, playing cards without seeming all that interested in the game. Two more men stood at the bar passing a bottle of pulque back and forth. The short, fat bartender stood with his hands resting on the broad, thick planks laid across barrels that formed the bar.
    Luke didn’t see a woman anywhere in the place, let alone one as attractive as Magdalena.
    He walked through the room to the bar. The card players didn’t look up at him. The two men at the bar didn’t pay any attention to him, either. One of them looked like a blacksmith, judging by muscular arms as thick as the trunks of young trees. The other could have been a stableman or even a clerk in the general store.
    None of them carried a gun, Luke noted. In the case of the two townsmen that wasn’t really a surprise, but he would have expected the vaqueros to be armed. You never knew when you might need to shoot a snake or something when you were out riding the range.
    The bartender shifted over to face Luke