Pale Rider Read Online Free PDF Page B

that moment would rather have been someplace else. Ordinarily he was delighted to greet his customers, that they might enrich his coffers, but he was not pleased to see Hull Barret enter. He leaned slightly to his right to peer out the open door. The street was empty. For the moment.
    Ah well. Blankenship was both kindly and Christian. He was also hard as nails. He could always abandon his seat and make a dash for the back room if trouble broke out. Actually he was more upset by Barret’s timing than by his presence.
    “Damn fool,” he muttered to himself. “Couldn’t you have waited ’til the smoke cleared away?”
    “Afternoon, Mr. B.” Hull’s voice was full of forced cheerfulness. “We seem to be in need of a few supplies.”
    Blankenship responded with a grunt. “Whole new camp, the way I hear it.” He shook his head and looked at his visitor reprovingly. “You got sand, boy, but you ain’t got the sense God gave a sack o’ beans. You need something, that’s for sure, and it ain’t supplies. Couldn’t you have at least waited a day or two before coming in?”
    “Didn’t have much choice. They ruined the MacPherson shack, damaged a couple others. Got to fix ’em now, before the weather starts to set in. If it rained, some kids up there could catch their deaths. We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we? Then there’s a bunch of sluices down. They’re in want of nails and some brads.”
    Affecting an air of nonchalance which he didn’t feel, Hull started gathering up the supplies he’d come in for: a big roll of tarry construction paper, a bucket of big nails, a small keg of pitch. His eyes passed beyond the hardware department and over into the clothing. He could sure use another pair of Mr. Strauss’s work pants, and there was a hat there that would look just right sitting atop a certain lady’s head. But he could afford those only with a look, and that was not legal tender in Blankenship’s emporium.
    The proprietor’s gaze narrowed as he watched the pile grow larger. “I expect you’re going to pay for all this in gold, right? All that gold you’ve been working so hard to dig out of that damn canyon? All the gold you keep telling everyone is up there, just under the upper layer of gravel?”
    “Yup,” Hull replied easily. “Soon as we put together a couple ounces, I’ll bring ’em in.”
    Blankenship pursed his lips and pulled a hardbacked ledger from the shelf behind him, drawing it forth with the speed and skill of a gunfighter drawing effortlessly on his opponent. He laid the ledger flat on the counter in front of him, opened it, and began flipping through the tall pages until he came to the one he wanted.
    “It’ll take a damnsite more’n a couple of ounces, Hull. Last payment of any kind that you folks made was—let’s see.” He flipped a page and ran a finger down an unseen column. “Eight months ago, when old Lindquist brought in a small bag of dust.” He looked sharply up at his visitor, regarding him narrowly. The bridge of the visor he wore shaded his eyes but did nothing to soften his stare.
    “Ever occur to any of you people there ain’t no gold left in Carbon Creek? Not every river in the Sierra’s full of gold, you know. Might be you folks lit on a poor one.”
    “If that’s so, then why’s Lahood so set on drivin’ us out? That man never did anything didn’t have money behind it. ’Course, I suppose he could just be plain cussed mean. Probably is, but if that’s all that was settin’ him to harassin’ us, I’d think he’d of got his satisfaction by now.”
    “Might be,” Blankenship allowed. “But one thing’s sure: he means to have that canyon to himself, whether there’s any gold in it or not. Maybe he ain’t doing it for any gold. Maybe it’s the principle of the thing to him. Might be he wants it just ’cause you folks are saying no to him.”
    “Might be, Mr. B., except for one thing.”
    “What might that be?”
    “We all