Read Online West Texas Kill by Johnny D. Boggs - Free Book Online Page A

Missouri.
    â€œReckon I’ll take that b’hoy off your hands, pilgrim,” he said.
    â€œReckon you won’t, Don Melitón,” Chance said.
    â€œYou know me?”
    â€œI was at your rancho on Cibolo Creek this year, Independence Day, sir. Remember? You invited all of Captain Savage’s Rangers from Fort Leaton.” After shoving his mackinaw behind the butt of the Schofield, Chance tapped the badge pinned to his vest.
    â€œYou won’t be invited back next Fourth of July. You son-of-a-bitchin’ Rangers drank four kegs of peach brandy, another of pure Kentucky bourbon, and took two bottles of Manhattan rye.”
    â€œYes, sir. It was quite the fandango. Captain Savage still has one bottle of the rye. Had, at least, last time I was down Presidio way.”
    â€œI want him.” The old man pointed the barrel of the pistol at Albavera, but the .22 hadn’t been cocked.
    Yet.
    â€œSo does the county sheriff in Galveston.”
    â€œGalveston!” The old man practically spit.
    â€œYes, sir. He murdered a couple of brothers—”
    Albavera interrupted, “It was a fair fight.”
    Chance kept on—“in a saloon there in the summer of ’77. I’m bringing him in.”
    â€œFor a reward, I take it,” Don Melitón said.
    â€œI don’t know that there is a reward, sir.”
    â€œThere is,” Albavera said. “A hundred dollars.”
    â€œNot much money for a couple of brothers,” Chance said.
    â€œThey weren’t exactly pillars of the community,” Albavera said.
    â€œShut your traps,” Don Melitón snapped. “I don’t care how many brothers this man killed in Galveston, or how many men he killed anywhere else. He killed my son. For that, I shall kill him.”
    Chance switched legs over the horn, stretched, and shook his head. “Don, sir, I don’t think you’d have any trouble getting the attorney general to give Presidio County first crack at trying Moses Albavera. And knowing the folks out here, they’d have him swinging in a hurry.”
    â€œThat’s a sure bet,” Albavera muttered.
    Chance wished that big bastard would shut up.
    â€œI’d prefer killing him myself,” the don said.
    â€œI don’t blame you. But he gets a fair trial.”
    Albavera snorted with contempt.
    â€œMy wife has been dead ten years,” the old man said. “I’m not long for this world. I’d planned on leaving my empire to Prince. That man has taken away not only my son’s life, but my legacy.”
    Albavera cried, “You were going to leave your fortune to that tinhorn? What he wouldn’t have squandered away, he would have gambled away. You’re better off alone, old man. Give your empire back to the poor bastards you stole it from. The Mexicans. The Apaches. Hell, give it to those brave riders you got backing your play. Give it to the great state of Texas.”
    Chance wouldn’t bet on who was getting angrier with each word his prisoner spoke, the don or himself.
    â€œLet me tell you about your son, old man,” Albavera continued. “We were playing poker at Diego’s Cantina in Shafter. He was losing. I was winning. This Mexican lady comes in off the street selling tamales. I bought one. He took one. I paid her. She asked your boy for some money. He took a bite, spit it out, told her it was terrible, and shoved the rest of the tamale in her face. Shoved real hard, too. She hit the floor, and I hit him. I admit, I hit your son harder than he hit the woman. He got up cussing me, calling me a ‘swamp-running SOB,’ and I hit him again. Told him my family was Moors. I’m right proud of my heritage. He drew his revolver. I kicked it out of his hand and hit him again. Then I helped the lady up, gave her a dollar, and sent her on her way. I gathered my winnings, and started for the door. That’s when I heard the revolver cock.