Read Online Bullets Don't Die by J. A. Johnstone - Free Book Online

of some sort here . . . but they’d go on a rampage . . . do a lot of damage and hurt some people. Probably kill some people, if you want the truth of it. So you tell me, Mr. Morgan . . . is justice for a man’s life worth that price, especially when in the end there won’t be any justice?”
    The Kid returned the bleak stare Cumberland gave him. He didn’t have an answer except some abstract nonsense about the kind of law and justice that didn’t mean a damned thing in the face of an attack by a crew of kill-crazed gun-wolves.
    After a moment Cumberland sighed. “Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now. Ahern won’t be in the mood to forgive being locked up like this. He’ll have to have his vengeance on the town . . . and on you. You beat him, and for that he’ll have to kill you. I suppose if you were to light a shuck out of here right now and be long gone by the time he got loose, he might not wreak too much havoc on the rest of us. Might even be that nobody else would die. But you can’t ever tell with Ahern and the rest of that bunch.” He paused, then added, “I don’t suppose you’d leave town?”
    “Run, you mean?”
    “It might save some lives.”
    “This time. Maybe.” The Kid shook his head. “Somebody needs to take the Broken Spoke down a notch.”
    “Yeah,” Cumberland said bitterly. “That’d be a neat trick, now wouldn’t it?”
    The Kid went to the door and looked back at the marshal. “Are you going to let Ahern go as soon as I walk out of here?”
    Cumberland shook his head. “No. Like I said, it’s too late for that. What I’m going to do is ride out to the Broken Spoke and have a talk with Harlan Levesy. Plead with him to be reasonable. That probably won’t do any good, either, but I’ll try.”
    “Good luck, Marshal,” The Kid said.
    “I will need it,” Cumberland said softly.
    The Kid left the office and walked back around the corner to Main Street. Evening was coming on, and not many people were moving around. It was a quiet time of day anyway, but a nervous hush hung over the town, like the calm before a sudden thunderstorm, something these people who lived on the Kansas plains knew well.
    This storm would take human form, though, in the shape of the hardcases who rode for Harlan Levesy.
    The Kid’s long legs carried him toward the Trailblazer Saloon. Somebody had already cleaned up the glass and nailed boards over the broken window, but warm yellow light spilled through the window on the other side of the entrance. The Kid pushed the bat wings aside and went in.
    He would have bet the saloon was a lot more raucous on a normal evening. Only a low hum of conversation was punctuated by the clink of glass on glass as drinks were poured. That hum came to an abrupt end at the sight of him.
    Constance was sitting at a large round table in the back of the room. Jared Tate was with her, and so was the white-mustached man who had spoken up to condemn Ahern earlier. Tate smiled and lifted a hand when he spotted The Kid, who started across the room toward them. The buzz of talk started up again.
    Constance and the man with the mustache had glasses and were sharing a bottle of whiskey. A mug half full of beer sat in front of Tate. As The Kid pulled back an empty chair, Constance asked, “What’ll you have, Mr. Morgan? Whatever it is, it’s on the house. Seeing that big ape Ahern handed his needin’s for a change is worth it.”
    “Don’t you mean dooming the town to death and destruction?” The Kid asked. “That seems to be the marshal’s assessment of what I’ve done.”
    Constance let out an unladylike snort. “No offense to my friend Bert, but his boy Riley sees the sky falling every time there’s a cloud. He’s always been that way. Jumpy, ready to think the worst.”
    Tate said, “Are you sure he’s the marshal? I would have sworn I was. Riley Cumberland’s not old enough to be a lawman.”
    Constance patted his hand. “We’re all a heap older