Read Online High Wild Desert by Ralph Cotton - Free Book Online

Hawkes, said to his comrade. He retightened his jaw and tensed for a lunge.
    â€œNo, he’s blind!” Tinker called out. He gestured toward the long stick leaning against the bar. “Look, he uses that to move around with, keep from knocking his teeth out.”
    â€œKeep your mouth shut, fellow,” Simon warned, half turning to the sound of the other man’s voice, “or it’ll be your teeth all over the wall.”
    The few onlookers drew back in a wider circle.
    From the poker platform, playing at a fevered pitch, Oldham Coyle neither heard nor noticed the disturbance at the bar, nor did much of the crowded saloon, except for those nearby.
    â€œIs that true, mister?” said Hawkes, easing up a little. “Are you blind?”
    â€œMake your move and find out,” Simon said, defiant to the last word. He heard a letup of tension in the man’s voice. Guessing that the man had lowered the knife an inch, Simon let his hand slide slightly off the handle of his gun.
    Hawkes gave Tinker an uncertain look, unable to determine if indeed this man was blind or just playing some strange killing game with him.
    â€œHow many fingers am I holding up?” Tinker asked quickly, raising his middle finger toward Simon with a half-teasing grin. He bobbed the finger a little; laughter rippled.
    Hearing the muffled laughter, Simon caught on and played a hunch. “Keep doing it, I’ll clip it off for you.”
    Tinker’s hand came down fast.
    â€œDamn. Maybe he sees us after all,” he said.
    â€œThis is crazy,” said Hawkes, cooling, losing interest in spilling blood. “Lift your spectacles, mister,” he said. “I want to see your eyes.”
    â€œGo to hell,” said Simon. But Hawkes noted that whatever fury had been in this stranger’s voice had dissipated. Seeing that Simon had let go of his gun handle, he sheathed his knife and ran a hand across his moist forehead. “If you’re not blind, why do you carry that long stick around?”
    â€œIf you’re not stupid, why do you keep running your mouth?” Simon shot back at him. These men were young and drunk, he decided—not that it made them any less dangerous. Just a little less cause for concern.
    â€œThat’s it,” Hawkes said in exasperation, “he’s blind. I’m not fighting no blind man.” He looked at his friend Tinker and another miner named Paul Rosen. “He
is
blind, right?” he said.
    â€œ
Jesus!
Yes, he’s blind,” Rosen said adamantly. “What’s it going to take?”
    Simon couldn’t help giving a slight chuckle, seeing the trouble was at an end. On either side of the would-be combatants, what few onlookers the incident had gathered began to wander off.
    â€œHe thinks this is funny,” said Tinker.
    The three watched as Simon raised his spectacles enough for them to see his dull, dead eyes.
    â€œDamn it, damn it, damn it!” said Hawkes. “I would never have lived this down.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Simon said. “Getting your ass whupped proper by a blind man?” As he spoke, his hand felt over beside him, picked up the bottle of rye and held it out at arm’s length.
    Hawkes shook his head and chuffed in submission.
    â€œHell, I guess so,” Hawkes said. He stepped in to reach for the bottle. “Are we drinking with you now?”
    â€œYep,” said Simon, turning the bottle loose to him. “See the poker game going on over there?” he asked.
    â€œWhat about it?” asked Tinker, his hand reaching out for the bottle when Hawkes finished with it.
    â€œEvery now and then, I’d appreciate one of yas telling me what’s going on over there. I’m waiting on a friend who’s in that game.”
    Hawkes looked over at the poker table. He grinned.
    â€œI just saw one of the saloon whores toss a bag of cocaine on the table,” he said. “You