came into his winkless stare and he said in a kind of half drawl, “Wonder what made young Church jump Brackley?”
“He’s tryin’,” Kelly said, “to steal a march on Kimberland. He’s had it in for W. T. ever since the old man told him to keep away from that girl.”
“Kimberland told Will to stay away from Honey?”
“I thought you’d heard that.” Kelly grinned. “He said things to Will, the way I got it, no man could take off anyone.” His grin broadened. “Will thinks the old man needs that grass.”
Gurden didn’t care what Will thought, or Kelly either. As a matter of fact, he had himself put Will up to bracing Brackley and Brackley, suspecting as much, had come here tonight to tax Gurden with it and to warn him off. Gurden wasn’t about to reveal the real truth of it; what had happened to Brackley was pretty near as good as stumbling onto a gold mine. Gurden knew that Kimberland wasn’t worrying about his cows. All these feints he was making was to cover up that railroad. Kimberland wanted that Bench for the right-of-way it would give him.
“Well,” Gurden growled, changing the subject, “you keep away from Frank. Get hold of Tularosa and send him over here right away. Soon’s you’ve done that, get a note to Frank. Don’t talk to him. Get a note to him and tell him you’ve got to see him in front of the bake shop tomorrow at noon.”
This last was spoken so low that Mousetrap, ten feet away, did not catch it. But Kelly heard. The bristles of hair along the edge of his collar stood straight up at the back of his neck. What Gurden, in effect, was asking him to do was to set Frank up where Tularosa could put a slug in him. The saloonman got up and took Kelly’s arm and steered him over to the back door. “Remember — ” Gurden’s breath on Kelly’s cheek was like the kiss of death — “no mistakes this time, eh?”
With the door closed behind him and silently rebolted, Chip Gurden turned, gold teeth glinting, and winked at the curious look Mousetrap gave him. He took off his boots and, carrying them, cut over to the door they’d come through from the bar. With no warning at all Gurden yanked it open.
A man spilled in stumbling out of a crouch as the light broke across him. Turning loose of the boots, Gurden caught the thin shape of his piano player by the front of his shirt and slammed the man bodily into the wall. The fellow cringed from Gurden’s look, cheeks ludicrous with fright. “I — I was just comin’ in to — ”
“You’re in now!” Gurden grinned. He flung the whimpering wretch at Mousetrap. “Take care of this joker.” He stamped into his boots and stalked through the dark bar. The big clock above it said ten after two.
CHAPTER SIX
Kimberland, unknown to Frank or Arnold, was in town that night, having driven in late with Honey and gone directly to his suite at the Hays Hotel. The girl had gone to bed, worn out. In the dark of his second-floor-front room W. T., still dressed, was very much awake. He was doing what he’d come to do, keeping track of his latest investments.
He knew something of Frank — a lot more than Frank reckoned — but all he knew about Tularosa was that the man rode for Draicup and was a dyed-in-the-wool killer whose guns could be bought. It went against Kimberland’s grain to have to deal with such trash but in this case, not caring to be involved, he had no choice. It was imperative that Brackley be got rid of at once. W. T. had learned from one of the man’s riders that Brackley would be in South Fork tonight. At considerable inconvenience Kimberland had made his arrangements, knowing something had to be done before this thing got out of hand. He had had two weeks to plan and had the deal pinned down letter perfect, but he couldn’t sit back and let events take their course. His entire fortune was at stake, and the way things had recently been going he had to be where he could step in and take a hand if that damned hired
“He’s tryin’,” Kelly said, “to steal a march on Kimberland. He’s had it in for W. T. ever since the old man told him to keep away from that girl.”
“Kimberland told Will to stay away from Honey?”
“I thought you’d heard that.” Kelly grinned. “He said things to Will, the way I got it, no man could take off anyone.” His grin broadened. “Will thinks the old man needs that grass.”
Gurden didn’t care what Will thought, or Kelly either. As a matter of fact, he had himself put Will up to bracing Brackley and Brackley, suspecting as much, had come here tonight to tax Gurden with it and to warn him off. Gurden wasn’t about to reveal the real truth of it; what had happened to Brackley was pretty near as good as stumbling onto a gold mine. Gurden knew that Kimberland wasn’t worrying about his cows. All these feints he was making was to cover up that railroad. Kimberland wanted that Bench for the right-of-way it would give him.
“Well,” Gurden growled, changing the subject, “you keep away from Frank. Get hold of Tularosa and send him over here right away. Soon’s you’ve done that, get a note to Frank. Don’t talk to him. Get a note to him and tell him you’ve got to see him in front of the bake shop tomorrow at noon.”
This last was spoken so low that Mousetrap, ten feet away, did not catch it. But Kelly heard. The bristles of hair along the edge of his collar stood straight up at the back of his neck. What Gurden, in effect, was asking him to do was to set Frank up where Tularosa could put a slug in him. The saloonman got up and took Kelly’s arm and steered him over to the back door. “Remember — ” Gurden’s breath on Kelly’s cheek was like the kiss of death — “no mistakes this time, eh?”
With the door closed behind him and silently rebolted, Chip Gurden turned, gold teeth glinting, and winked at the curious look Mousetrap gave him. He took off his boots and, carrying them, cut over to the door they’d come through from the bar. With no warning at all Gurden yanked it open.
A man spilled in stumbling out of a crouch as the light broke across him. Turning loose of the boots, Gurden caught the thin shape of his piano player by the front of his shirt and slammed the man bodily into the wall. The fellow cringed from Gurden’s look, cheeks ludicrous with fright. “I — I was just comin’ in to — ”
“You’re in now!” Gurden grinned. He flung the whimpering wretch at Mousetrap. “Take care of this joker.” He stamped into his boots and stalked through the dark bar. The big clock above it said ten after two.
CHAPTER SIX
Kimberland, unknown to Frank or Arnold, was in town that night, having driven in late with Honey and gone directly to his suite at the Hays Hotel. The girl had gone to bed, worn out. In the dark of his second-floor-front room W. T., still dressed, was very much awake. He was doing what he’d come to do, keeping track of his latest investments.
He knew something of Frank — a lot more than Frank reckoned — but all he knew about Tularosa was that the man rode for Draicup and was a dyed-in-the-wool killer whose guns could be bought. It went against Kimberland’s grain to have to deal with such trash but in this case, not caring to be involved, he had no choice. It was imperative that Brackley be got rid of at once. W. T. had learned from one of the man’s riders that Brackley would be in South Fork tonight. At considerable inconvenience Kimberland had made his arrangements, knowing something had to be done before this thing got out of hand. He had had two weeks to plan and had the deal pinned down letter perfect, but he couldn’t sit back and let events take their course. His entire fortune was at stake, and the way things had recently been going he had to be where he could step in and take a hand if that damned hired
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