CUT AND RUN THERE WAS in Ben Reifel the sudden leap of a wicked fury. Muscle ridged the cant of his jaw and his mouth was tight across clenched teeth as he thought of all that wasted riding and remembered the smugness in Breen’s yellow stare. He cursed as he pushed himself erect. He kicked the dirt back into the hole and started once more to twist up a smoke but again let the makings fall from lax fingers. There was a name for the kind of a guy Breen was but calling him one wasn’t going to change anything. He thrust a leg across the sill and pulled the tired rest of him into the room after it, quietly shutting the cob-webbed window. He’d have given a pretty to have known just when Breen had helped himself to that getaway money. And if it was Breen who had dropped the guard. Because if Breen had done both…. He swore again and went back to Cy’s lamp-lighted office, wondering what he was going to do now for money. He slumped a hip on the desk and heard Cy’s boots come dragging their rowels across the barn floor and the heavier clip-clop stride of the horse.
