Read Online The Smoking Iron by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online

Border. There’ll never be a chance of provin’ that I didn’t do it.”
    â€œHow much chance you think you’ll have if you go downstairs now an’ get killed?”
    â€œBut that’s the cleanest way,” Dusty argued. “Better’n spendin’ the rest of my life a renegade.”
    â€œ Any way of spending yore life is better than not spendin’ it at all,” Pat snapped. He was busily tying strips of the blanket together. “A smart man knows when to run away,” he went on angrily. “Long as you’re alive, there’s a chance of comin’ clear. Only time a man has to give up is when he’s dead.” He tossed the improvised strips out the window and began tying the end to the bedstead. “I reckon the Hermosa stage starts out from the livery stable. Best way, I figger, is to slip down the alley an’ get down the street to a place where the stage’ll pass right after it starts out. Stop the driver an’ make him take you. Ezra an’ me’ll stay here an’ keep ’em downstairs till the stage is gone.”
    â€œWhat about my hawses? When I get to Hermosa …”
    â€œKeep right on goin’ across the river at Hermosa. Hole up at Boracho on the other side. We’ll be ridin’ that way tomorrow, and we’ll bring all four hawses with us. Get goin’.” Pat stepped back and nodded toward the window.
    Dusty Morgan hesitated another instant. “I don’t know why yo’re helpin’ me …”
    â€œBecause you need help.”
    â€œBut you’ll get into trouble.”
    Pat laughed and shook his head. “Not us. Trouble is somethin’ me an’ Ezra sleep with. Get goin’ out the window before that Hermosa stage takes out.”
    Dusty hesitated with his lips clamped in a thin straight line. Then he nodded and held out his hand. “I’ve been a danged fool,” he admitted gruffly.
    Pat gripped his hand. “See you in Boracho in two-three days.”
    Dusty nodded and slid over the window sill. Pat leaned out and watched him go down the blanket strips to the shadowed alley. His gaze followed Dusty Morgan’s body until it was swallowed up by darkness at the other end of the alley.
    He turned and went out of the room, grinned down the hall at Ezra who was crouched, barefooted, at the head of the stairs with his gun trained on the landing below.
    Ezra’s one eye glared back at him questioningly as he went into number nineteen and sat down to pull his boots on. Then he picked up Ezra’s boots and carried them to him.
    â€œDusty’s gone out the window,” he announced quietly. “I’ll hole ’em here while you pull yore boots on.”
    â€œWhat’s it all about?” Ezra grunted. “What do they want him for?”
    â€œSheriff’s dead. Shot through the back.”
    Ezra stared at him for a moment, then said, “You do get us into the dangedest messes,” and began pulling on his boots.

6
    Dusty Morgan was in a confused and bitter frame of mind when he hit the ground at the end of the blanket rope from his hotel room. He crouched there in the shadowed dimness for a moment, listening to the loud muttering of the men gathered in front of the hotel.
    They were cursing him, thirsting for his blood, and here he was, slipping away from them like any common criminal, cowering here in the darkness while two strangers held the angry men at bay upstairs.
    The thought of escape under these circumstances was revolting to him. It would be accepted as a sure admission of guilt. If he did get away into Mexico, he’d be forever marked as a murderer, one who had shot an unarmed man in the back in a quarrel over the favors of a half-breed Mexican girl.
    For a moment as he crouched there, he was tempted to go boldly to the street and announce himself to the mob who clamored for him. If they’d give him a chance to explain