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

man, new to these parts,”
Prince replied with a shrug. “It's curious, that's all. There's
been some trouble out there. Did you talk to any of the
Comanche?”
    Tucson placed his beer carefully down onto
the bar then faced the gambler. “You and I need to get something
straight,” he said, still speaking softly. “Where I go, what I do,
and who I talk to is my business.” A slight edge of steel crept
into his voice. “If you’re foolish enough to stick your nose into
my business, Prince, you'll get it broken.”
    The gambler’s face was expressionless as he
stared at Tucson for several seconds; then he snubbed his cigar in
an ashtray on the bar and turned away. “Suit yourself, big fella,”
he threw back over his shoulder as he moved toward the Faro
tables.
    Everybody at the bar was studiously minding
his own business.
    Tucson finished his beer and slid the mug
across the counter. Thinking he'd get in a few hands of poker, he
began walking toward the card tables.
    He was skirting the dance floor when Ramon
Vasquez pushed away from the bar and turned in Tucson's direction.
Tucson saw it coming, but made no attempt to step aside. Vasquez,
seemingly by accident, knocked against Tucson's shoulder as he went
by, spinning him around.
    Everyone in the saloon fell silent as all
eyes fixed on the two men.
    “Hey, hombre,” Vasquez said with a heavy
accent. “You must have had too many beers. You should watch where
you are going.”
    There was a gilt mirror on the wall over
Vasquez's shoulder. Keeping one eye on the Mexican, Tucson watched
in the mirror as Wolf Cabot slipped away from the bar and moved
into the doorway behind him. He stopped just inside the room where
it was dark and pulled his gun, sighting on Tucson's back as
Vasquez spoke again.
    “Are you the Tucson Keed?” he asked, in a
surly voice. “Are you the beeg man? Maybe if you apologize for your
rudeness,” he sneered, “I will let you walk out of here alive.”
    While the Mexican was playing out his little
drama, Tucson was raging inside himself. Like some greenhorn, he
had stupidly allowed himself to be whipsawed! As soon as he and
Vasquez went for their guns, Wolf would put a slug into him from
behind. Not even Tucson was fast enough to get both of them at the
same time. They must have waited for the sign from Prince before
they made their move. Wolf would figure that no one would notice
him during the action, and he would be able to get away clean.
    Tucson saw his death sentence reflected in
the cold black eyes of the Mexican.
    “Well, Keed?” Vasquez gloated. “I hear you
are an Injun lover. Well, Injun lovers got no guts. Watch out,
hombre, you look like you are going to piss your pants!”
    Tucson stared unblinkingly into the sneering
face of Ramon Vasquez. Even when he faced almost certain death, his
instinct was to meet it head on. “I can be friends with Indians,”
he hissed. “I can even be friends with Mexicans. But I could never
be friends with a low-down dirty snake like you.”
    As fury flared up in the Mexican's eyes,
Tucson suddenly jumped to the side, at the same time pulling his
Colt. While Vasquez went for his gun, a shot rang out from the
doorway where Wolf was standing, but the bullet went wide and
shattered the mirror on the wall. Still in the air, Tucson's Colt
cleared leather and spat flame as he snapped a slug into the middle
of Vasquez's chest, throwing the Mexican back off his feet and onto
the floor.
    The roar of gunfire shook the chandeliers and
rattled the windows, and gun-smoke hung in the air like the pall of
death. Panic-stricken patrons and screaming women dove in all
directions to get out of the line of fire.
    As Tucson's shoulders hit the floorboards he
rolled, and Wolf's second shot plowed up splinters from the spot
where he had been. Without pause, Tucson came up onto one knee,
fired from the hip and caught Wolf in the chest, punching him back
several paces. Tucson fired again and the slug took Wolf in