Read Online The Pinkerton Job by J. R. Roberts - Free Book Online

said. “Come on, we’ll be okay. Besides, I can prove who I am.”
    Horn looked at Clint, who shrugged, and the three men rode for the ranch house.
    *   *   *
    â€œThey don’t lynch men for stealin’ cattle,” Tom Horn repeated to Siringo twenty minutes later. “Is that what you said?”
    â€œShut up.”
    Clint, Siringo, and Horn were sitting their horses with their hands tied behind them. They had no sooner ridden up to the group of men than they were set upon, disarmed, and tied. The men did not even give them a chance to say their piece.
    â€œYou men are making a big mistake,” Clint said.
    â€œShut up!” someone yelled. “You killed three good men and you’re gonna hang for it!”
    â€œIt wasn’t us!” Siringo chimed in. “We’re huntin’ the men who did it.”
    â€œYeah, sure.”
    â€œIf we did it,” Siringo asked, “why would we come ridin’ back?”
    â€œWho knows what killers do?” somebody asked.
    â€œAw, hell,” somebody else said, “here comes the sheriff.”
    â€œQuick,” someone said, “hang ’em.”
    But there was no way they could get the nooses around the necks of Clint, Siringo, and Horn before the man with the badge rode up to them and reined in.
    â€œWhat the hell is goin’ on?” he demanded.
    â€œWe’re hangin’ some no good murderin’ rustlers, Sheriff!”
    â€œNo, you’re not,” the lawman said. “Get ’em down off them horses!”
    Grumbling, three men stepped forward and eased Clint, Siringo, and Horn off their horses.
    â€œThank God, Sheriff,” Siringo said. “These men were makin’ a big mistake.”
    â€œThat remains to be seen,” the sheriff said. “Who are you men?”
    â€œMy name’s Charlie Siringo,” Siringo said. “I’m trackin’ those rustles for the Pinkertons.”
    â€œYou got some proof you’re a Pinkerton?” the sheriff asked.
    â€œIn my saddlebags.”
    The lawman walked to Siringo’s horse, went into his saddlebags, and came out with his credentials.
    â€œAw, for Chrissake!” he groaned. “Untie them. You men are idiots!”
    â€œHow was we supposed to know he was a Pinkerton?” someone shouted.
    â€œMaybe by askin’ him who he was?” the lawman said. “Maybe by checking his bona fides before you hung him? How about that?”
    Clint, Siringo, and Horn had their hands cut free.
    â€œGive ’em back their guns.”
    They accepted their guns and holstered them.
    â€œWell, Mr. Pinkerton,” the sheriff said, “who are your friends?”
    â€œTom Horn,” Horn said.
    â€œClint Adams,” Clint added.
    The lawman hesitated a moment, then said, “Aw, jeez . . .”

TWENTY
    The sheriff introduced himself as Art Delman, and took Clint, Siringo, and Horn into the house.
    â€œThe rustlers grabbed about a hundred head,” he said, “and killed three men—two wranglers and Andrew Lancer, who owned this spread.”
    â€œThe owner was out wrangling strays himself?” Siringo asked.
    â€œHe liked to work his spread,” Delman said. “The rustlers probably thought they were just three cowhands. They didn’t realize they were killing an important man hereabouts.”
    â€œYou got a posse together?” Horn asked.
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œWhy not?” Siringo asked.
    â€œWell, we didn’t find the bodies for a while,” Delman said. “It took a while for the other hands to miss their boss and go lookin’ for him. And then they had to send for me.”
    â€œAnd while they were waitin’,” Horn said, “they figured they’d string up three strangers.”
    â€œThey got carried away,” Delman said. “Without somebody to tell ’em what to do, they just made the wrong