Read Online Riding For The Brand: Sage Country Book Three by Dan Arnold - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dan Arnold
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said, all in a rush.
“He’ll be needing a shirt to wear, till this one is clean and dry.” Mrs. Burke observed, helping me out of my soiled shirt. “If he’s going to be here a spell, he’ll need two or three sets of work clothes..”
“Right, I was just about to get him some things.”
“Well then, get to it, by golly!” She snapped.
Mr Burke started pulling things from the shelves.
“Wait. Are you saying someone hung Mr. Murphy? Why, and who would do that?”
“Ya, you betcha, they hung him for a rustler. That Jud Coltrane, he runs this country. He wanted the Murphy place, don’tcha know? Well, he said they found Sean Murphy with stolen cattle, so they strung him up and left him to the buzzards and the crows. Me and papa cut him down and took him home to his missus, you betcha. Buried him, too. The poor widow, being too weak and sick to do it, don’tcha know? It was murder, it was.”
“Now momma, we don’t know that. Maybe Mr. Murphy did steal some cattle.”
“Phaw,” she spat. “That Jud Coltrane is a thief and a liar, papa. You know it yourself, by golly! Sean Murphy never did a bad deed in all the time we knew him. Don’tcha know?”
Mr. Burke hurried back with some denim jeans, a couple of checkered shirts, a four pocket vest and the waxed canvas jacket.
“There’s nothing good can come of speaking ill of our neighbors, mamma. The Sheriff here will figure things out on his own. Won’t you, Sheriff?” He asked.
“Yes sir. I will. You can count on it.”
13.
After she got me all cleaned up, Mrs. Burke didn’t think I needed to be bound up with a bandage. She draped some clean gauze over the wound and told me my shirt, braces and vest would hold it in place, and in a day or two I wouldn’t need any bandage at all.
“If you don’t go falling off porches, don’tcha know?” She said.
Mr. Burke took me in the back of the store so I could change clothes. When I came out, he nodded and said I should have a bandana or two, just in case.
I’d put my badge in a pocket of my new vest and put my gun belt and holsters back on. Once I put the canvas jacket on, neither of my guns were immediately visible.
I arranged to have Mr. Burke take the extra clothes, supplies and some tools out to the Murphy house, while I went across the street to the saloon.
The saloon was pretty basic. As you walked through the swinging doors, the bar was at the far end of the room. Toward the front, there were four tables with four or five chairs at each table. About midway down the right side, between the windows, there was a potbellied stove. On the left side, there was a dusty piano occupying that position. There was an open area down the center of the room between the tables. That was all there was to it. The bar itself was built of plank boards laying on beer barrels, but it had a brass rail and spittoon at each end.
The back wall had a decent mirror reflecting the available light from the windows or the lanterns that were on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Shelves on both sides of the mirror, displayed the bottled goods. At one end of the bar, a closed door suggested a back room or access to the privy.
Two men were standing at the bar, talking loudly to the bearded bartender. A lone old man with a moustache and long white hair sat at a table with his back to the wall. He was drinking coffee and watching me as I came in. There was no one else inside.
Ordinarily I would have stepped away from the door as I came in, but under the circumstances I just headed straight for the bar.
“Howdy mister,” the bartender said. “What’ll it be?”
“Coffee and information,” I replied.
“Well, the coffee’ll cost you a nickel and I ain’t got no information.”
The two cowboys snickered at his answer.
“Must be mighty good coffee.” I observed.
“Sure is. Arbuckle’s, I buy it across the street. It’s all you can drink though.”
“…Fair enough.” I rapped on the bar top, as I
“He’ll be needing a shirt to wear, till this one is clean and dry.” Mrs. Burke observed, helping me out of my soiled shirt. “If he’s going to be here a spell, he’ll need two or three sets of work clothes..”
“Right, I was just about to get him some things.”
“Well then, get to it, by golly!” She snapped.
Mr Burke started pulling things from the shelves.
“Wait. Are you saying someone hung Mr. Murphy? Why, and who would do that?”
“Ya, you betcha, they hung him for a rustler. That Jud Coltrane, he runs this country. He wanted the Murphy place, don’tcha know? Well, he said they found Sean Murphy with stolen cattle, so they strung him up and left him to the buzzards and the crows. Me and papa cut him down and took him home to his missus, you betcha. Buried him, too. The poor widow, being too weak and sick to do it, don’tcha know? It was murder, it was.”
“Now momma, we don’t know that. Maybe Mr. Murphy did steal some cattle.”
“Phaw,” she spat. “That Jud Coltrane is a thief and a liar, papa. You know it yourself, by golly! Sean Murphy never did a bad deed in all the time we knew him. Don’tcha know?”
Mr. Burke hurried back with some denim jeans, a couple of checkered shirts, a four pocket vest and the waxed canvas jacket.
“There’s nothing good can come of speaking ill of our neighbors, mamma. The Sheriff here will figure things out on his own. Won’t you, Sheriff?” He asked.
“Yes sir. I will. You can count on it.”
13.
After she got me all cleaned up, Mrs. Burke didn’t think I needed to be bound up with a bandage. She draped some clean gauze over the wound and told me my shirt, braces and vest would hold it in place, and in a day or two I wouldn’t need any bandage at all.
“If you don’t go falling off porches, don’tcha know?” She said.
Mr. Burke took me in the back of the store so I could change clothes. When I came out, he nodded and said I should have a bandana or two, just in case.
I’d put my badge in a pocket of my new vest and put my gun belt and holsters back on. Once I put the canvas jacket on, neither of my guns were immediately visible.
I arranged to have Mr. Burke take the extra clothes, supplies and some tools out to the Murphy house, while I went across the street to the saloon.
The saloon was pretty basic. As you walked through the swinging doors, the bar was at the far end of the room. Toward the front, there were four tables with four or five chairs at each table. About midway down the right side, between the windows, there was a potbellied stove. On the left side, there was a dusty piano occupying that position. There was an open area down the center of the room between the tables. That was all there was to it. The bar itself was built of plank boards laying on beer barrels, but it had a brass rail and spittoon at each end.
The back wall had a decent mirror reflecting the available light from the windows or the lanterns that were on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Shelves on both sides of the mirror, displayed the bottled goods. At one end of the bar, a closed door suggested a back room or access to the privy.
Two men were standing at the bar, talking loudly to the bearded bartender. A lone old man with a moustache and long white hair sat at a table with his back to the wall. He was drinking coffee and watching me as I came in. There was no one else inside.
Ordinarily I would have stepped away from the door as I came in, but under the circumstances I just headed straight for the bar.
“Howdy mister,” the bartender said. “What’ll it be?”
“Coffee and information,” I replied.
“Well, the coffee’ll cost you a nickel and I ain’t got no information.”
The two cowboys snickered at his answer.
“Must be mighty good coffee.” I observed.
“Sure is. Arbuckle’s, I buy it across the street. It’s all you can drink though.”
“…Fair enough.” I rapped on the bar top, as I
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