Death Rides the Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

and his hands and them that are beholden to him for loans and such. They’ll vote in anybody they want for sheriff now.”
    â€œThey would have anyway,” Pat argued. “Harlow had the most votes there if it came to a showdown.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t have,” said Boyd angrily, “if ever’body had knowed about the meetin’. He jest passed the word around amongst the ones he wanted to come, an’ not many of the rest of us heard about it in time.”
    Pat shrugged and said mildly, “That’s what you might call smart politics. Important thing is, he had us outvoted. If I hadn’t turned in my badge there’d been a showdown an’ those that owe Harlow money would’ve voted against me. Lots of ’em are my friends an’ wouldn’t like to do it. Easier for ’em for us to get out and let them run it their own way.”
    â€œWhy make it easy on them low-down coyotes?” snorted Sam. “I say you shoulda stood up fer yore rights an’ made ’em be counted when the votin’ came. That way we’d all know who was ag’in yuh an’ who wasn’t.”
    Pat shook his head slowly. “That wouldn’t be so good.” He was talking more to himself than to the others. “Can’t blame them too much. Less hard feelin’s the better.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I got a feelin’ we’re facin’ bad trouble here in Powder Valley. Worst trouble we’ve ever seen, maybe. The more we get split up into takin’ sides, the harder it’ll be gettin’ back together after it’s all over. That’s why I didn’t cause a rumpus tonight. We got to avoid a showdown if we can … till we get things squared around again.”
    â€œYou mean until we get Eustis Harlow kicked out and back on an even keel,” Mr. Winters said harshly.
    â€œWhy yes. I reckon that’s sorta what I meant.”
    Mr. Winters reached for the bottle of whisky. “Meeting’s adjourned to the back room,” he announced. “We better get our heads together right now and see what’s what.” He led the way back through a rear door and the others followed him with their glasses in their hands.
    The other men in the saloon watched them go into the back room hopefully. John Boyd and Winters and Pat Stevens had always been leaders in the community, with Sam and Ezra backing up any play that Pat decided upon. This conclave in the Gold Eagle was an indication to the others that Powder Valley wasn’t going to take this thing lying down, and they were heartened by this knowledge.
    The back room of the Gold Eagle had a round poker table reserved for the private use of an exclusive clientele when they wished to gamble undisturbed for high stakes. It was deserted tonight.
    Mr. Winters set Pat’s bottle of whisky on the table, then picked it up after a moment of indecision and poured himself a second drink. This action in itself was a tacit admission that the storekeeper was quite upset. He was an abstemious man and none of the others had ever known him to take two drinks in succession before.
    They all pulled chairs up to the card table and sat down. Boyd emptied his second glass and poured himself a third. He stared at Pat and demanded, “What’s this stuff Harlow pulled about his stock bein’ rustled? Fust I’ve heard of any sech doin’s in the Valley.”
    Pat looked surprised. “What about it?”
    Winters and Boyd both spoke together, explaining the accusation the wealthy Texan had made against the sheriff. “And he ended up,” Winters said bitterly, “by saying as how you didn’t draw no salary as sheriff and that’s why he reckoned you hadn’t done anything to stop his cattle being stole. That’s when he offered to pay half a new sheriff’s salary out of his own pocket.”
    Pat’s face tightened. He tipped up his