Deadman Canyon Read Online Free PDF Page A

suddenly, “Kemp has been good to me, Clay.” Her eyes swept down the expensive dress she wore and lingered on the diamond rings glittering on her small hands. “Awfully good,” she murmured.
    “I’m glad for you,” Clay said. He stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say next.
    A shout rose from the street outside. Tom Roddy trotted to the front window and squinted out. “Stage coming!”
    Clay said hurriedly, “Thanks again, Molly. I’ll see you sometime soon.”
    He ran for the door with Roddy at his heels. He heard Molly’s despairing cry, “No, Clay, don’t be foolish! Leave Bick Damson alone, please!” And then he was outside.
    Clay saw the stage coming into town with its usual flourish, raising a cloud of dust as it careened around the square to make its swinging stop in front of the hotel. He was on the wooden sidewalk before the concord had stopped rocking on its braces.
    Roddy pulled Clay’s arm. “Ain’t you seen enough trouble for one day, boy?”
    “I’ve seen the beginning,” Clay said flatly. “I want to see the end — now.”
    The stage door swung open and Bick Damson stepped out. He was a heavy man, thick through the body and legs. He was dressed in a dark suit and fine boots with silver threads chased through their soft leather tops. As he stepped to the street, his coat fell open to show the silvered gunbelt he wore around his waist. Clay wasn’t fooled by the fancy clothes. Underneath them he could see the same man he had beaten into the dirt five years ago. The fleshy features still shouted their arrogance; the big, solid body still moved with a bully’s swagger.
    Clay jerked his arm from Roddy’s grasp and stepped down from the sidewalk. “I hear you wanted to see me, Damson.”
    Damson had been facing the stage with one hand out as if to help someone to the ground. His hand dropped down and he swung around to Clay. “By God!” he whispered. “Belden!”
    Clay could feel the crowd that had gathered stiffen in anticipation. Someone called nervously, “Better get the sheriff, quick!”
    “He’s coming,” another voice called back.
    Clay kept his eyes on Damson. “Are you going to run me out now like you said, or are you going to wait for Boy Ponders’ help?” he demanded tauntingly.
    A savage grin twisted Damson’s heavy mouth. He took one step toward Clay and then another. Suddenly he broke his stride and lunged forward, reaching for Clay with his huge hands.
    Clay tried to side-step Damson’s rush, but the crowd had pressed in too close. He bounced off someone’s shoulder and half fell toward Damson. He felt the strong hands catch him around the waist.
    “I’ve been waiting a long time for this!” Damson grunted. He jerked Clay up against him and began to squeeze with his thick arms.
    Clay could feel Damson’s thumbs digging into his backbone. He thought,
Someone taught his some tricks since the last time we fought
. He tried to surge back, to break that rib-crushing grip, to get away from the pressure of those paralyzing thumbs. His heart began to hammer as his breath gushed out of him and a numbness spread through his muscles.
    With a final effort, he twisted sideways and broke Damson’s hold. Damson brought up a knee, driving it for Clay’s groin as he staggered away. Clay turned, taking the punishing blow on the point of his hip. He fell into the crowd again, but this time when he bounced back, he had his balance.
    He rocked on his toes, watching Damson step slowly toward him. Beyond Damson’s triumphant face, he saw Judge Lyles standing in the stagecoach door. There was no expression on the long, austere face, no hint of partisanship in the blue eyes. The judge was just waiting.
    Clay sucked air into his lungs and stepped temptingly toward Damson, letting both hands hang at his sides. The numbness had left his muscles but he knew that if Damson got him in a grip once more, it would be all over.
    Damson broke his stride and rushed. Clay danced away and drove