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    Change of Plans
    Change of Plans
    Change of Plans
    Ebook74 pages1 hour

    Change of Plans

    By Harvey Stanbrough

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    About this ebook

    Sam Loredo is a former Texas Ranger who's weary of stupid people.

    He's tired of chasing the bad stupid people who seem to stay up all night dreaming up bad things to do. And he's bone-weary of protecting the good stupid people who seem always willing to go out of their way to antagonize the bad ones.

    Now he just wants to drop out, live and let live. But he has a plan. He plans to take a regular job. Maybe tending cows on a cattle ranch in El Paso. Or maybe in Arizona.
    Anything would be all right as long as he doesn't have to clean up people's messes anymore.

    But sometimes along the way, plans change. Sometimes there's no other way.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStoneThread Publishing
    Release dateJun 24, 2019
    ISBN9781393089261
    Change of Plans
    Author

    Harvey Stanbrough

    Harvey Stanbrough is an award winning writer and poet who was born in New Mexico, seasoned in Texas, and baked in Arizona. Twenty-one years after graduating from high school in the metropolis of Tatum New Mexico, he matriculated again, this time from a Civilian-Life Appreciation Course (CLAC) in the US Marine Corps. He follows Heinlein’s Rules avidly and most often may be found Writing Off Into the Dark. Harvey has written and published 36 novels, 7 novellas. almost 200 short stories and the attendant collections. He's also written and published 16 nonfiction how-to books on writing. More than almost anything else, he hopes you will enjoy his stories.

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      Book preview

      Change of Plans - Harvey Stanbrough

      Chapter 1

      As Sam Loredo topped over San Agustín pass, the day wasn’t much over an hour old. A friendly but loud mocking bird had been following his progress since he’d left Aguirre Springs at the base of the pass. His shadow, and that of his horse, stretched away to the west along the dusty road. Now that the long slope up from the Tularosa Basin was behind him, it should be a good, easy day.

      Down the other side of the pass and across the Mesilla Valley, he would make camp on the west side of the Rio Grande, then head west to Willcox in the morning. Maybe find Oney Johnson if he was still around. Either that or he’d ride south along the Rio Grande to El Paso and look up Ben Iverson. Both had been friends of Wes Crowley, so they were both to be trusted.

      Then the mocking bird disappeared.

      A sharp, familiar sound echoed among the sandstone rocks to his left.

      A repeating rifle being cocked. Close.

      He flung himself to the right off his roan gelding.

      As the horse bolted ahead, an explosion sounded.

      Sam landed hard on his right shoulder as the bullet splatted into the brown rock above him. He rolled once, crushing clumps of sparse yellow grass, and came up on his left knee. As his right boot heel shoved up a pile of sand and rocks, his Colt was in his right hand and cocked. He twisted hard left and brought the revolver to bear in both hands.

      On a boulder thirty feet away, a man. His rifle still shouldered. His head and shoulders and neck craning for a view of the kill.

      The Colt bucked, a white trail of smoke strained toward the rock, and the man disappeared.

      Sam got his feet under him, cocked the Colt again as he ran across the road to the boulder.

      He stopped against the boulder, quietly released a breath. Listened.

      Nothing.

      He edged around the boulder, leading with the Colt.

      The man lay flat on his back, arms splayed. He was huge with a big square head. An angry red scar ran from the corner of his right eye almost to his mouth. His hat and a beat-up Winchester lay a few feet away. His black vest hung open, revealing a rough-cut thin silver star on the left chest of his sweat-stained white shirt. And he was very dead.

      The top of his forehead lay open with a wide black gouge, brain matter and blood mixing with the dust on his face and in his brown, stringy hair. His worn, brown-canvas pants were topped with a leather belt darkened by sweat. Below them, his scuffed brown boots moved once, first one, then the other, as if trying to walk away. Then they lay still.

      Quietly, Sam said, Well, there y’go. He looked about warily, listening. After a long moment, he lowered the hammer on his Colt and turned away. Where had his horse gone? He put one hand to the corner of his mouth and called, Charley J?

      And brush rustled behind him, followed by a woman’s voice. Señor?

      Sam crouched and turned, the Colt again in his hand, already cocked.

      The woman froze in mid-stride, her arms to either side, her eyes wide and her eyebrows arched. She threw both hands out in front of her and screamed, "No!"

      Thin, twisted-sisal cords, one longer and one shorter, dangled from both wrists. No gun, no knife.

      Sam quickly averted the barrel of his revolver, straightened, and scowled. Damn it! Don’t run up on a man like that! He lowered the hammer on the Colt and slipped it into the holster. Even as he did, he was sorry he’d snapped at her.

      The woman’s hands went to her hips. She frowned as if holding back a retort.

      She was petite and pretty at about 5’2", maybe 20 years old, so only a few years younger than he. She was slender, too, with long black hair whipped by the wind that played among the rocks. She seemed grateful and defiant at the same time, with a touch of fire.

      Her dress was plain, sleeveless, and the same dun color as the rocks. It fell to a few inches above her knees. The filthy bandana tied loosely around her throat didn’t belong.

      Her feet were bare and covered with dust. There was something touching about that, and he almost smiled. But similar cords were tied around and ankles, again with a short bit dangling from each ankle. That stopped him. She’d been through something rough.

      Her frown disappeared as quickly as it had come and she extended her arms again, her palms up, her eyes pleading. "Please. Please help. She paused and frowned again, moved her hands back to her hips. Se habla español, señor?"

      Nah, I don’t talk much Mexican. Habla inglés?

      The girl nodded. Sí, hablo.

      Sam nodded, frowned, then gestured toward the man. He your man?

      She glared down at the man, then spat in his direction. Her face twisted into a grimace. "No! He wanted some things with me. Pero no!"

      So he brought you up here?

      "Sí. Before the sun, in the dark, I go to get water at

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