King Blood Read Online Free PDF

when I was called upon by the proprietor of the establishment we had visited. He had the ten-dollar banknote, a worthless wildcat, with him. Since it had been spent by a companion of mine, though a stranger to him, he wished me to make good on it (which, of course, I did)._
    Now, sir, I remember this particular banknote well. I had carried it in my wallet for a long time, more or less as a souvenir, and I had marked it in a distinctive fashion as a reminder that I was not to spend it. There could not possibly be two such bills with two such markings. Under the circumstances, there cannot be the slightest doubt that your son, Critchfield, stole my wallet.
    I don't know how or when he did it. Nor do I know why such a prepossessing young man, who is obviously not in the slightest need of money, would stoop to thievery. Yet the damning truth is clear, and there can be no denying it.
    With sincere regrets,
    Washington Dying Horse
    Attorney-at-law *c*
    It was almost noon, of the fourth day after the theft, and Critch was still in Tulsa. A deadly inertia had gripped him, one born of funk and the fear of failure, and he could not move himself to do what he must do.
    He paced the floor of his cheap hotel room, the cheapest which the smallest claim to fastidiousness had allowed him to take. Desperately, he slammed the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. Taking out his billfold, he again recounted its contents.
    Not enough, he thought ruefully, returning the wallet to his pocket. Rather, there was barely enough for the basics of his plan. By the time he paid his modest hotel bill and bought his ticket to King's Junction, he would be just about broke. Maybe a few dollars left over for food and a few drinks along the way, but no more than that. He'd be broke when he reached the junction. Which simply meant that the trip would be wasted. For he'd won only half the battle in his acceptance by Attorney Dying Horse.
    Old Ike King was the one who had to be convinced. Old Ike, with his thousands upon thousands of valuable acres and the untold wealth that went with them.
    Ike King would accept no one as his heir who was not completely worthy – worthy by his standards. And those standards would be extremely rigid where Critch was concerned. He was under a very big cloud, was Critch. The old man would have him identified with his wife's faithlessness and treachery. Only success, money – concrete proof that he had risen far above this evil disadvantage – would satisfy Ike.
    _Or maybe not, Critch thought hopefully. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. After all, I haven't seen him in thirteen years. So maybe_…
    Maybe nothing. The fact that he'd been away for thirteen years was the trouble. Old Ike hadn't been able to keep tabs on him, as he had with his sons Arlington and Bosworth. Arlie, who was a year older than Critch, and Boz, who was a year older than Arlie, had remained with their father all these years. Working on his vast holdings, unquestioningly doing his bidding. And they'd damned well managed to please him – to prove their right to be his heirs – or Old Ike would have kicked them out. He, Critch, on the other hand…
    Critch grinned wryly, his mind sliding off on a tangent as he thought of the high-sounding names.
    _Critchfield, Arlington and Bosworth._ His mother had copied them from the hotel register. As stupid as she was, it was a damned good thing that there'd been no travelers named Screwingwell or Fartsinajug!
    His moth – he jerked his thoughts away from her. Brought them back to his two brothers.
    Arlie and Boz. They'd have to be killed, of course. All of something was infinitely better than a third. And he could never be sure of even a third as long as his brothers lived. The old man might draw unflattering comparisons between them and him. He just might decide to disinherit the youngest son. On the other hand, if only that youngest son were alive, with no one else to inherit…
    Yes, Arlie and Boz would have