Read Online A Coffin Full Of Dollars by Joe Millard - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Millard
Tags: Western
Ads: Link
daylight," the hunter said. "You figure he'll be back sooner or later for another try at getting even with me?"
"He has to, particularly after today. And it has to be sooner rather than later. Every day you go on living adds another layer of tarnish to his cherished reputation as the most terrible and bloodthirsty outlaw of them all. He could end up the laughingstock of the banditry business."
"Pardon me if I sound commercial, but what do I get out of playing the pigeon in your shooting gallery?"
"A generous share, friend. Let's say a full twenty-five percent of everything."
The hunter got to his feet.
"I must be getting along. I'd say it's been nice knowing you, Shadrach, but I hate a liar."
"Oh, come back and sit down, you hothead," Shadrach said. He heaved a deep sigh. "You're a bigger thief than Apachito, but I haven't any choice. An even split, then—fifty-fifty. And since we're equal partners, we ' ll have to forget our differences for the time being and trust one another."
"Absolutely, partner . I'll trust you as far as I can throw a bull by the tail, and I'm sure you'll have just as much faith in me. By the way, if or when this character shows up again, how do I let you know? Send up smoke signals?"
"Don't worry. I'll be somewhere within gun range, keeping watch every minute. You haven't been out of my sight for a moment since the shoot-out at Los Ydros."
"Which reminds me," the hunter said, "I owe you ten dollars this time for putting a slug in Panhandle Egger while I was occupied with his pals."
Shadrach stared at him. "I didn't shoot Panhandle. In fact, I didn't fire a shot that day. You didn't appear to need help so I cleared out to lay plans."
"This once I'll believe you," The Man From Nowhere said. He scowled, rasping his finger through the stubble of beard on his jaw. "I don't like this. You didn't kill him and I certainly didn't. I only fired four shots, but all five of those gun-slicks got taken dead from lead poisoning. Yet nobody came forward to claim the bounty on Panhandle."
"I don't like it either," Shadrach said. "I can't see somebody in the crowd taking a hand just out of the goodness of his heart. I don't have that much faith in my fellow man. Do you suppose it could have been Dandy, or that big moose with the trumpet?"
The hunter shook his head firmly. "Dandy doesn't wear a gun. He doesn't like them and says he doesn't even own one. Except that dueling pistol he uses in the coffin act, of course, and a ball of that caliber would make a hole you could drive a buckboard through. I'm pretty sure Hunk doesn't own one, either."
"I don't like it," Shadrach repeated, shaking his head. "When I make plans, I want every element to fit in neatly. This doesn't fit anywhere, and it disturbs me. It could mean that a third person, someone we don't even know, is after Apachito and also using you as bait. If that's the case, we've got ourselves plenty of trouble."
"You've got yourself plenty of trouble," the hunter corrected. He climbed to his feet. "If that is the case, maybe I could make a better deal with him."
"Don't ever try it, fellow," Shadrach said softly. He got to his feet, his right hand inside the frock coat. "Don't ever play cute with me where there's money involved."
CHAPTER 11
The town of Hangville stood on a sandy, sun-baked flat, midway between two towering mountain ranges. Some five miles north stood the Horse Range. About equidistant to the south, the massive Malhoras—the Misfortunes—reared their jagged peaks in broken splendor.
Hangville owed its name in large part to a great spreading cottonwood tree that stood at the edge of town. Its lowest limb was long enough and sturdy, enough to support five dangling bodies at one time. In the days of Sheriff "Honest John" Leiter, that limb was frequently filled to capacity. Eventually, however, even the dullest witted of rustlers, road agents and general practitioners of the pistol profession got the message and began to give
"He has to, particularly after today. And it has to be sooner rather than later. Every day you go on living adds another layer of tarnish to his cherished reputation as the most terrible and bloodthirsty outlaw of them all. He could end up the laughingstock of the banditry business."
"Pardon me if I sound commercial, but what do I get out of playing the pigeon in your shooting gallery?"
"A generous share, friend. Let's say a full twenty-five percent of everything."
The hunter got to his feet.
"I must be getting along. I'd say it's been nice knowing you, Shadrach, but I hate a liar."
"Oh, come back and sit down, you hothead," Shadrach said. He heaved a deep sigh. "You're a bigger thief than Apachito, but I haven't any choice. An even split, then—fifty-fifty. And since we're equal partners, we ' ll have to forget our differences for the time being and trust one another."
"Absolutely, partner . I'll trust you as far as I can throw a bull by the tail, and I'm sure you'll have just as much faith in me. By the way, if or when this character shows up again, how do I let you know? Send up smoke signals?"
"Don't worry. I'll be somewhere within gun range, keeping watch every minute. You haven't been out of my sight for a moment since the shoot-out at Los Ydros."
"Which reminds me," the hunter said, "I owe you ten dollars this time for putting a slug in Panhandle Egger while I was occupied with his pals."
Shadrach stared at him. "I didn't shoot Panhandle. In fact, I didn't fire a shot that day. You didn't appear to need help so I cleared out to lay plans."
"This once I'll believe you," The Man From Nowhere said. He scowled, rasping his finger through the stubble of beard on his jaw. "I don't like this. You didn't kill him and I certainly didn't. I only fired four shots, but all five of those gun-slicks got taken dead from lead poisoning. Yet nobody came forward to claim the bounty on Panhandle."
"I don't like it either," Shadrach said. "I can't see somebody in the crowd taking a hand just out of the goodness of his heart. I don't have that much faith in my fellow man. Do you suppose it could have been Dandy, or that big moose with the trumpet?"
The hunter shook his head firmly. "Dandy doesn't wear a gun. He doesn't like them and says he doesn't even own one. Except that dueling pistol he uses in the coffin act, of course, and a ball of that caliber would make a hole you could drive a buckboard through. I'm pretty sure Hunk doesn't own one, either."
"I don't like it," Shadrach repeated, shaking his head. "When I make plans, I want every element to fit in neatly. This doesn't fit anywhere, and it disturbs me. It could mean that a third person, someone we don't even know, is after Apachito and also using you as bait. If that's the case, we've got ourselves plenty of trouble."
"You've got yourself plenty of trouble," the hunter corrected. He climbed to his feet. "If that is the case, maybe I could make a better deal with him."
"Don't ever try it, fellow," Shadrach said softly. He got to his feet, his right hand inside the frock coat. "Don't ever play cute with me where there's money involved."
CHAPTER 11
The town of Hangville stood on a sandy, sun-baked flat, midway between two towering mountain ranges. Some five miles north stood the Horse Range. About equidistant to the south, the massive Malhoras—the Misfortunes—reared their jagged peaks in broken splendor.
Hangville owed its name in large part to a great spreading cottonwood tree that stood at the edge of town. Its lowest limb was long enough and sturdy, enough to support five dangling bodies at one time. In the days of Sheriff "Honest John" Leiter, that limb was frequently filled to capacity. Eventually, however, even the dullest witted of rustlers, road agents and general practitioners of the pistol profession got the message and began to give
Similar Books
