Novel 1968 - Brionne (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF Page A

for the buffalo were thinning out. Several times the whistle sounded, and each time the buffalo would trot a few steps, then subside to walking.
    Mowry paused in the aisle. If he noted the addition of the gunbelt he offered no comment.
    “Not many pilgrims aboard,” he said. “If there was, they’d be shootin’ the buffalo. I’ve seen twenty-five, maybe thirty men, shootin’ all at once. Just killin’—not even able to get the tongues or liver. I never seen the like.”
    “They can run when they want to,” Brionne said. “I’ve seen Indians hunt them on the run.”
    “Buckshot,” Mowry said. “I favor buckshot. You can pick up a good shotgun…a Wells-Fargo type express gun in Promontory. There’s something mighty impressive about a shotgun.”
    Mowry drifted away, and Brionne sat back in his seat, the brim of his hat low over his eyes.…Now what was that all about? Had they simply been talking about buffalo? Or was there something more?
    Chapter 4
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    A S THE TRAIN rumbled into the yards at Cheyenne, the conductor stopped by Brionne again. “We’ll be in town an hour and a half,” he said. “You and the boy best catch yourselves a bite. You’ll find nothing else along the line that’s worth the stoppin’. Not for a gent like you.
    “The Cheyenne House ain’t much,” he went on. “Canvas partitions, and they sleep two in a bed. The food’s worse than you’d expect. Hook’s Pilgrim House is the best place to stay, but for grub the place to go is Kate Connor’s. She’s got an eating place close to the tracks, and you’ll get the best. She cottons to youngsters.”
    The food at Kate Connor’s was good, and the bustling, motherly Irish woman took Mat in hand as if she’d raised him from a baby. From time to time she studied Brionne. Finally, standing by the table, hands on her hips, she said, “Most folks I can spot right off, but you don’t fit, mister. You don’t look to be runnin’ from nothing. You could be a gambler, but that ain’t likely or you’d be stoppin’ at one of the places down the street.”
    Brionne glanced at his watch. They had eaten well, and now it was nearing train time. He pushed back his chair and got up, and at that moment a bullet spattered glass and rang a deep gong from a Dutch oven hung on the wall near the door to the kitchen.
    One quick hand pushed Mat to the floor, the other held a gun. Brionne, well inside the room, was crouching to look over the edge of a table and out of the window. He could see nothing in the darkness, but he waited for the flash of a gun…it did not come.
    Kate stared hard at him. “That was no drunken puncher, mister. That man figured on makin’ you dead.”
    Brionne holstered his gun and stood up slowly. He smiled at her. “I don’t believe so, Mrs. Connor. It was just a wild shot.”
    “You think what you like,” she retorted, “but if I was in your boots I’d leave by the back door.”
    “Thanks,” he said; “I believe we will.”
    Holding Mat’s hand in his own left, Brionne eased out the back door and stood for a moment absolutely still, listening to the sounds of the Cheyenne night.
    At least two music boxes were offering their jangling tunes to the night. Somewhere a door slammed and a squeaky pump started. A loud voice, with only the shadow of a tune, was singing a drunken song. Spurs jingled along the boardwalk in front of the restaurant.
    Brionne squatted on his heels. “Mat, I don’t believe that bullet was intended for us, but there are some rough men in this town. We will have to be very quiet…like playing Indian. Do you understand?”
    “Yes,” the boy whispered.
    “All right then. We are going down this alley and we are going to get back to the station and on the train. If they are wanting to shoot us, they will try to do it here, where nobody will be able to guess who did it. So we’ll be very careful.”
    It would not be so bad, he reflected, if it were not for the boy. With no one to worry