Read Online Waco's Badge by J. T. Edson - Free Book Online Page A

for the weapon, but did not grant unhindered accessibility should it be required urgently.
    After a creditable and honorable career in the Army of the United States, rising to the rank of major in the Cavalry, 1 Mosehan had resigned his commission to become manager of the already extensive Hashknife ranch in Arizona. As was the case during his military service, he had acquired a reputation for being honest and scrupulously fair in his dealingswith others, but very strict when in contention with those who transgressed upon him or any property for which he was responsible.
    Although the major was ostensibly visiting Marana to participate in a forthcoming sale of livestock, he had another reason. He had been requested by his employers to go to the town and meet with a Mr. Edward Jervis, but they had given no further information. Accepting that the matter must be of importance, he had made the journey as quickly as possible. What was more, on his arrival, he had made his way directly to the Pima County Hotel—where he had been told the man he was coming to see could be found—instead of first going to leave his horse at the livery barn. With the sale commencing the following morning, the small town was busy and clearly had numerous visitors. However, while passing along the main street and crossing the Spanish style plaza upon which the hotel stood—as did most of the main buildings—he had seen nobody he recognized from elsewhere.
    Although failing to identify him, looking at the speaker, Mosehan had no doubt what he was. Tallish, lean, with shoulder long black hair and a vicious, unshaven face, his clothing was that of a cowhand. However, if the Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker he wore tied down and low heeled boots were any indication, any work he had been hired to do on a ranch was unlikely to have included handling the cattle. He was, unless the major guessed wrong, a hired gun fighter if not one of the top class.
    â€œHave you?” Mosehan said quietly, his accent that of a Kansan; albeit one who had spent much of his life outside the State. Noticing that those people closest were backing away from what showed signs of developing into a most dangerous area, he stepped away from his horse to avoid putting it in jeopardy if—as seemed very likely—gunplay should take place. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
    â€œYou killed my brother,” the man claimed, speaking louder than was necessary for just the major to hear.
    â€œI did?” Mosehan queried, keeping his hands by his sides to prevent making anything which could be construed as a hostile gesture.
    â€œNot personal, with your own hands,” the man answered, right fist hovering over the butt of his revolver and eyes flickering to the closed flap of the holster worn by the major. “You didn’t have the guts for that, so you got him hung for something you knowed damned well he didn’t do.”
    â€œWhat was his name?” Mosehan asked.
    During his Army service, circumstances had compelled the major to have three men hanged; but he was certain each had been guilty of the crimes with which they were charged!
    â€œJoe Benedict,” the man replied.
    â€œBenedict?” Mosehan repeated, frowning in puzzlement. “I’ve never even met anybody called ‘Benedict’.”
    â€œLiar!” the man shouted and grabbed for his gun.
    Instead of trying to unfasten and open the flap of the Cavalry pattern holster, the major sent his right hand upward and across to the left. Passing beneath his unbuttoned jacket, it made a grasping and twisting motion. Then it emerged, holding a short barrelled Merwin & Hulbert Army Pocket revolver.
    Confident that he had an unbeatable edge with his open topped fast draw rig, the man was startled by the unanticipated reaction from his intended victim. It caused him to hesitate for a vitally important instant in his otherwise rapidly flowing draw. When he resumed the