Collection 1989 - Long Ride Home (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Hazel, that there blond gal you talked to, she’s my gal. Verne Stecher, the young feller with the red shirt, he’s my neffy, my own brother’s boy. Matty Brown, he just loafs here when he ain’t workin’.”
    Kim felt a queer little start of apprehension. He had heard of Matty Brown. The sullen youngster had killed six or seven men, one of them at Pioche only a few months back. He was known as a bad one to tangle with. Suddenly, Kim had a feeling of being hemmed in, of being surrounded by the Morse clan and their kind.
    â€œToo bad about that express rider,” Bud commented.
    â€œMaybe,” Kim suggested to Bud, “we might get us jobs ridin’ the mail. With this gent dead, they might need a good man or two.”
    â€œCould be,” Bud agreed. “It’s worth askin’ about. Who,” he looked up at Het, “would we talk to? Your son?”
    â€œNo. Ollie, he’s only the station man. You’d have to ride on over the Rubies to the Fort, or maybe down to Carson.” He looked at them, his interest finally aroused. “You from around here?”
    â€œFrom over the mountains,” Kim said. “We been ridin’ for the Tumblin’ K.” They had agreed not to fake a story. Their own was good enough, for neither of them had ever been connected with the law; both had always been cowhands.
    â€œTumblin’ K?” Het nodded. “Heard of it. Gunfightin’ outfit. Hear tell that McQueen feller is hell on wheels with his guns. An’ that other’n, too, that youngster they call Sarten.”
    â€œSartain,” Kim said. “Emphasis on the ‘tain’ part.”
    â€œYou know him?” Het studied Kim. “Or maybe you are him?”
    â€œThat’s right.” Kim did not pause to let Morse think that over, but added, “This is the slack season. No need for so many hands, an’ Bud here, him an’ me wanted to see some country.”
    â€œThat’s likely.” Het indicated the darkening building across the road. “Closin’ up now, until after grub. They’ll fix you a bite over there. I’ll let you a room upstairs, the two of you for a dollar.”
    Supper was a slow, silent meal. The food was good and there was lots of it, but it was heavy and the biscuits were soggy. It was far different from the cooking back on the K, as both punchers remembered regretfully. Nobody talked, for eating here seemed to be a serious business.
    The dark-haired girl came and went in silence, and once Kim caught her looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. He smiled a little, and a brief, trembling smile flickered on the girl’s face, then was gone. Once a big woman with a face that might have been carved from red granite appeared in the door holding a large spoon. She stared at him and then went back into the kitchen. If this was Het’s wife there was little of motherly love around Sand Springs.
    Het chuckled suddenly, then he looked up. “You fellers got yourself a high-toned guest tonight,” he said, grinning triumphantly and with some malice, too. “That dark-haired one is Kim Sartain, that gunfightin’ segundo from the Tumblin’ K!”
    All eyes lifted, but those of Matty Brown seemed suddenly to glow with deep fire. He stared at Kim, nodding. “Heerd about yuh,” he said.
    â€œFolks talk a mighty lot,” Sartain said casually. “They stretch stories pretty far.”
    â€œThat’s what I reckoned,” Matty slapped butter on a slab of bread, his tone contemptuous.
    Kim Sartain felt a little burst of anger within him and he hardened suddenly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bud Fox give Matty a cold, careful look. Bud was no gunslinger, but he was a fighting man and he knew trouble when he saw it. As far as that went, they sat right in the middle of plenty of trouble. Kim had guessed that right away, but he knew it with a queer excitement