Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles (Cash Laramie & Gideon Miles Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

lips studying his distorted profile through the glass.
    He nodded without looking, listening instead to Knox suggest that the fur trader go home to his wife and sleep it off.
    "They send you to places like that because they won't go themselves."
    His attention returned to Violet, her cheeks flushed with anger.
    "Why do you risk your life for half the pay of white men who don't?"
    "Because it matters."
    "It matters to who? You? I—"
    The fur trader knocked the table over and went eye to eye with Knox, who gripped his bottle of whiskey firm.
    Miles moved away from the bar, distancing himself from Violet and making sure no one was behind him. "Knox?"
    The bartender's weary eyes said it all as he backed away.
    A soiled dove whispered into the trader's ear and was rewarded with a backhanded slap.
    "I don't care who he is. He should be worried about me." He dropped his hands to his sides and faced Miles as the woman scrambled away holding her cheek.
    "Now, this ain't none of yer business, son."
    Miles spread his stance wide, his eyes narrowed. "I ain't your son." A knife slid down the lawman's right sleeve and he gripped the handle. "I think Mr. Knox wants you to leave."
    "Federal marshal? No shit. Well—" the fur trader spit out his wad of tobacco onto the packed-dirt floor, "—not for long."
    Those nearest the front door hurried out, and the poker players ducked under their table leaving their money on top.
    Miles knew the backwoods brute's courage came from the spirits he'd imbibed, buoyed by the fact the lawman's hand hadn't inched to his Peacemaker.
    The trader's own hand crept closer to the iron tucked into his dungarees. A line of sweat quivered on his upper lip.
    The men locked eyes. The trader blinked, bolting for his gun as Miles' hand sprang to life. The knife whistled through the air, wedging into the man's wrist. The shaggy brute screamed, his wayward slug planted a hole in the bar's floor. The gun fell near Knox, who kicked it to Miles. Keeping eyes trained on the polecat doubled over in pain, Miles snatched up the pistol and slipped it in his belt.
    He grabbed the trader by the arm, knife still lodged in his wrist. With his left, Miles yanked the blade free as the man let out a gasp.
    "When Mr. Knox tells you something, you listen." Miles cleaned the blade on the back of the man's shirt. "If you ever cause a stir in this bar again, it'll be your last. Understand?"
    The trader nodded his sweat-glazed face.
    "Now, git."
    Still clutching his arm, he scampered from The Shack.
    "Thanks, Gideon," Knox said.
    "Anytime."
    Miles strolled back to the counter where Violet stood watching him. He reached for his Stetson, but her hand got to it first. "Why do you do it?"
    His eyes met hers.
    "Who does it matter to?" She added.
    He pulled the hat from her grasp and snugged the brim low, then stared at her perplexed countenance. "Me."
    * * *
    The trail broke at the river's edge. Miles studied the set of footprints that made a deeper impression, as though Van Jones reflected for a moment before venturing into the water. He looked at the Wind River that divided the range from the Bridger Mountains on the opposite side. Crossing today with the strong wind and high waters would prove challenging but possible.
    Maybe even unnecessary. Examining the prints closer, he realized Van Jones had backtracked.
    His eyes detected some barely broken twigs and disturbed rocks leading to a pass between two mountains in the distance. Miles walked in a widening circle, scrutinizing the evidence in the landscape. The outlaw had tried to cover his tracks. Or, maybe it was supposed to look that way.
    He pulled his pipe from his vest pocket and since he'd filled it some time before, he set the tobacco alight and worked up a cloud of pleasing smoke. He strode back to the river. His eyes picked up an invisible trail that led to a tangle of submerged branches. He waded out and studied the clot of wood and grass, recently disturbed. Van Jones had come this