Read Online Diamond Buckow by A. J. Arnold - Free Book Online

the morning manager, who hadn’t been there the day before. He’d never seen this one.
    â€œI’ll have a regular full breakfast, and my...uh...friend, here, will have whatever you prescribe for a hangover.”
    The balding proprietor stared over his horn-rimmed glasses, first at Russ and then at Buck. The silence grew so loud that the rhythmic tick of a clock filled the room. After a good, long minute the slightly built gentleman put a pair of fragrant, steaming tin mugs in front of them. He left a metal pitcher containing more coffee near Buck’s elbow.
    Without a word, he reached under the counter and produced a black quart bottle, pouring a generous shot into Russ’s hot brew. Leveling one last sharp glance which seemed to blend pity with outrage at the drunk, he replaced the bottle and went into the kitchen.
    Buck sipped at his strong, dark drink while watching his companion out of the comer of his eye. Russ wrapped both hands around his mug, then bending his head low, he tasted the liquid without lifting the mug from the counter. His embarrassed partner pretended not to notice as the cowboy repeated his actions several times.
    At length Russ raised the mug to his lips and slurped noisily. He cleared his throat and growled three or four times.
    â€œThat helps. I just might decide to live, after all.”
    He wiped his mouth on a dirty sleeve while Buck took hold of the coffee pitcher and poured him a second.
    â€œGoddamn, Buck,” he muttered. “I’d’a swore you didn’t like me. Why for’d’you save my life?”
    Buck shrugged. “Would’ve done the same for ’most anybody.”
    That is, anybody other than Glenn Saltwell, he added to himself—or that murdering bastard, Red Pierce. He shifted closer to Russ.
    â€œYou still got any of the money you were paid day before yesterday?”
    The drunk on his right gazed up at him. Buck was reminded of his Uncle Ed and the times he’d had to dry him out. When Russ spoke, his voice was still a little thick, and somehow sour, as if he could hardly stand the lingering aftertaste.
    â€œNo, kid, I don’t think I got any money left. Fact is, I know I don’t. I lost it all playin’ poker.”
    He heaved his shoulders and sighed with a melodramatic whiskey sadness.
    â€œWhat the hell, I might as well admit it. I’ll never make it. It just ain’t in me to be clean or decent.”
    Buck watched Russ. This man had showed real strength and stamina on the trail, but none of that was apparent now. He looked beaten, pathetic.
    Buck heard himself saying, “I’ve got a line on a job out of town here aways. You want to ride along and see if the rancher can use two?”
    The moist, blurry eyes fastened on him again. “You know, you’re the first hombre ever tried to help me. I don’t rightly know how to answer you.”
    He was spared that as the breakfast came and Buck attacked it without wasting any more words. After three mugs of coffee, food looked good to Russ, and he called for a plate of the same.
    As he was finishing, a man in his middle years came in and thundered, “Breakfast!” at the manager.
    Buck took note of his Stetson hat, hand-tooled boots, and a pearl-handled gun resting in a black leather holster. Judging the newcomer to be a prosperous rancher, he faced up to him.
    â€œBeg pardon, but could you tell me the whereabouts of the Standing Arrow ranch? I’m told a Henry Blough might be looking for a hand.”
    The rancher rumbled, “I’ve known Henry for several years. As to whether he’s looking for help or not, that I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this: the only directions I give a stranger are those that lead him out of this part of the country.”
    Buck’s eyes glittered with cold fire as he looked into a face that had been rough-chiseled with lines and planes of determination.
    But his voice sounded mild