Read Online Silver in the Blood by George G. Gilman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George G. Gilman
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Martha," he said and suddenly found an urgent need to look at the register.
The woman was about thirty, tall and inclining to fat which the long, high-necked gown of a white frothy material did little to camouflage. Her hair was the color of straw, pulled back severely from a high forehead and held in a bun at the back of her head. Her features regarded Edge with a sour-eyed expression that seemed to carry a tacit warning.
"Perhaps I can help you?" she asked, coming away from the arched entrance of the restaurant. "I'm Martha Wilder."
"You know a big Negro who needs a new tailor?" Edge posed.
A look of concern flitted across her face. "Anatali!" she exclaimed. "He works here. He prevents trouble from entering the Ritz."
The implication was clear, but Edge ignored it. "Someone better go out on the mountain and get him."
She stopped immediately in front of Edge, her anxiety very real as she studied him from all almost equal height. "What do you mean? Why can't Anatali…?"
"He's kind of tied up," Edge interjected.
"Come," she said at once. "I'll take you to. See father."
Her dress swished as she turned and gave off a perfume too sweet for Edge's taste. He followed her around the end of the reception desk and through an unmarked door. It gave on to a short hallway with another door at the far end. This one was marked PRIVATE. Martha Wilder led him through without knocking, then stepped quickly to the side. Edge found himself looking into the muzzle of a solid-frame Whitney revolver resting on the top of a desk in a meaty hand. Out of the comer of his eye he could see a big black man in a too-tight dude suit.
"I've come to give you some money, Mr. Wilder," he said, showing his teeth in a grin as he lifted his eyes to look at the man behind the desk.
"In a pig's eye that's why you came," the man said.
"No, on a horse."
Mason Wilder had the frame of a heavyweight prizefighter gone to seed and a face that showed the scars of the struggles he had survived to get where he was. He was on the wrong side of sixty with leathery features cascading down asif they had slid off his completely bald skull and taken up random positions. One eye seemed larger than the other, his nose had been broken in two places and his mouth Slanted. The teeth were crooked behind his twisted lips. Edge realized that his daughter had not stood a chance in the beauty stakes.
"Two-and-a-half thousand dollars isn't joke material," Wilder said, The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to show thick, hair-matted arms. Edge could also see a black velvet vest with silver buttons. He wore a silver ring on every finger of each hand.
"It's only money," Edge answered and looked at Anatali. "You got loose?"
The Zulu still showed no resentment towards the man who had treated him so badly.
"He's a strong boy," Wilder answered.
Edge looked around the room and saw the Zulu's assegai leaning against a chair piled with back numbers of The Atlantic Monthly. He spotted the club on a window sill.
"Money's in my hip pocket," Edge said. His hands were held loosely at his sides, the right one close to the butt of the Colt. But he knew he didn't stand a chance in such a situation. "I'll have to make a move to get it."
Wilder studied him in. silence for awhile. "Let it stay awhile. What's your name, stranger?"
"Edge?" His tone added the query and he watched Wilder closely for a reaction. There was none.
"Just Edge? Nothing else?"
"I travel light."
Wilder nodded and suddenly put down the gun. It rested lightly on a copy of The Territorial Enterprise.
"You read a lot," Edge said.
"Paper- hasn't been the same since Sam Clemens went east. You heard of him, Mr. Edge?"
"I do things instead of reading about them. The two don't mix; Never the twain shall meet."
"Shall, I order some coffee, father?" Martha asked.
"If it will improve Mr. Edge's humor," Mason Wilder answered. He waited for his daughter to leave the office then nodded to Anatali who pushed forward a
The woman was about thirty, tall and inclining to fat which the long, high-necked gown of a white frothy material did little to camouflage. Her hair was the color of straw, pulled back severely from a high forehead and held in a bun at the back of her head. Her features regarded Edge with a sour-eyed expression that seemed to carry a tacit warning.
"Perhaps I can help you?" she asked, coming away from the arched entrance of the restaurant. "I'm Martha Wilder."
"You know a big Negro who needs a new tailor?" Edge posed.
A look of concern flitted across her face. "Anatali!" she exclaimed. "He works here. He prevents trouble from entering the Ritz."
The implication was clear, but Edge ignored it. "Someone better go out on the mountain and get him."
She stopped immediately in front of Edge, her anxiety very real as she studied him from all almost equal height. "What do you mean? Why can't Anatali…?"
"He's kind of tied up," Edge interjected.
"Come," she said at once. "I'll take you to. See father."
Her dress swished as she turned and gave off a perfume too sweet for Edge's taste. He followed her around the end of the reception desk and through an unmarked door. It gave on to a short hallway with another door at the far end. This one was marked PRIVATE. Martha Wilder led him through without knocking, then stepped quickly to the side. Edge found himself looking into the muzzle of a solid-frame Whitney revolver resting on the top of a desk in a meaty hand. Out of the comer of his eye he could see a big black man in a too-tight dude suit.
"I've come to give you some money, Mr. Wilder," he said, showing his teeth in a grin as he lifted his eyes to look at the man behind the desk.
"In a pig's eye that's why you came," the man said.
"No, on a horse."
Mason Wilder had the frame of a heavyweight prizefighter gone to seed and a face that showed the scars of the struggles he had survived to get where he was. He was on the wrong side of sixty with leathery features cascading down asif they had slid off his completely bald skull and taken up random positions. One eye seemed larger than the other, his nose had been broken in two places and his mouth Slanted. The teeth were crooked behind his twisted lips. Edge realized that his daughter had not stood a chance in the beauty stakes.
"Two-and-a-half thousand dollars isn't joke material," Wilder said, The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to show thick, hair-matted arms. Edge could also see a black velvet vest with silver buttons. He wore a silver ring on every finger of each hand.
"It's only money," Edge answered and looked at Anatali. "You got loose?"
The Zulu still showed no resentment towards the man who had treated him so badly.
"He's a strong boy," Wilder answered.
Edge looked around the room and saw the Zulu's assegai leaning against a chair piled with back numbers of The Atlantic Monthly. He spotted the club on a window sill.
"Money's in my hip pocket," Edge said. His hands were held loosely at his sides, the right one close to the butt of the Colt. But he knew he didn't stand a chance in such a situation. "I'll have to make a move to get it."
Wilder studied him in. silence for awhile. "Let it stay awhile. What's your name, stranger?"
"Edge?" His tone added the query and he watched Wilder closely for a reaction. There was none.
"Just Edge? Nothing else?"
"I travel light."
Wilder nodded and suddenly put down the gun. It rested lightly on a copy of The Territorial Enterprise.
"You read a lot," Edge said.
"Paper- hasn't been the same since Sam Clemens went east. You heard of him, Mr. Edge?"
"I do things instead of reading about them. The two don't mix; Never the twain shall meet."
"Shall, I order some coffee, father?" Martha asked.
"If it will improve Mr. Edge's humor," Mason Wilder answered. He waited for his daughter to leave the office then nodded to Anatali who pushed forward a
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