Read Online Comanche Gold by Richard Dawes - Free Book Online Page A

deep in conversation
with two other men, and wasn’t paying any attention to Tucson.
Midway down the brass rail, a tall Mexican in a fancy leather
jacket and tight pants was drinking tequila and sucking on a lemon.
His high heeled boots had spurs with huge silver rowels. A
filigreed sombrero hung down his back on a leather thong. The ivory
handled Colt tied to his right leg told Tucson that this was the
gunman Prince had mentioned—Ramon Vasquez.
    Mike, the bartender, met him as he leaned his
elbows on the polished mahogany counter.
    “Top o’ the evenin’ to ye, sir,” he said with
a friendly smile. “What'll it be tonight?”
    “Howdy, Mike,” Tucson replied, slapping a
silver dollar down on the bar. “I need a cool beer as soon as you
can get it to me—I’m parched! Then I want a thick steak, medium
well, with plenty of potatoes and onions. I'm so hungry,” he
chuckled, “I could devour a whole steer!”
    Mike grinned and nodded his head. “You came
to the right place, sir,” he said. “I'll get the beer right away,”
he added as he turned away. “The steak will take about fifteen
minutes.”
    Tucson lifted the mug with his left hand and
poured the cool wet beer down his dry throat. But even as he gulped
it down, he kept his eyes on the men at the bar.
    To all appearances, neither Wolf Cabot nor
Ramon Vasquez was paying any attention to him. Wolf was still
talking to the men around him, and the Mexican was laughing with
one of the women, who leaned heavily on his shoulder. Vasquez was
handsome in a reptilian sort of way. His eyes were dark and
strangely slanted, and a stringy black mustache drooped down along
the corners of a thin, vicious mouth.
    Tucson had finished his beer and was
signaling Mike for another, when Prince came out of the door on the
other side of the room and walked over to where he stood. The other
men at the bar made room for the gambler as he put his boot up on
the brass rail. He was dressed in the same black broadcloth coat,
but had on a different fancy vest, and his legs were encased in
cream colored trousers. A long thin cigar smoldered between his
lips.
    “Evening, Kid,” he said pleasantly, flicking
ash from his cigar onto the floor.
    Tucson nodded. “Evening, Prince.”
    The gambler opened his mouth to speak, then
closed it as Mike put a big platter overflowing with a beefsteak,
fried onions and potatoes in front of Tucson. He laid a knife and
fork beside the platter, and said, “Eat hearty, sir.” Then he
walked back down the bar.
    Prince grinned with amusement as he watched
Tucson dig in. He cut up the steak first then handled the fork with
his left hand while his eyes ceaselessly roamed the room.
    “Catherine Murry must not be feeding you very
well these days,” Prince laughed, after a few minutes.
    “It’s not Mrs. Murry’s fault,” Tucson got out
around a mouthful of food. “I got back into town too late for
supper, so I figured I'd grab a bite here at the Elkhorn
instead.”
    “Good,” Prince responded between puffs on his
cigar. “I run a full-service establishment. If you can't get what
you want here in the Elkhorn, you can't get it anywhere in west
Texas.”
    Tucson nodded as he ate. It was clear the
gambler had something on his mind, but Tucson was satisfied to let
him come to it in his own time.
    Then Prince said, “By the way, have you given
any more thought to what I mentioned last night?”
    “About hiring out my gun?”
    “Yes...”
    “No,” Tucson replied flatly. “I already gave
you my answer.”
    Prince's eyes went hard as he drew deep on
his cigar. “You were seen riding onto the Comanche reservation
today,” he stated suddenly.
    Tucson pushed the platter, empty but for a
T-bone picked clean, across the bar and lifted his beer. After a
long swallow, he gave Prince a stony stare. “I go where I please.”
His voice was low, like the first warning of a rattler. “What is it
to you if I went onto the reservation?”
    “You're a white