Payback at Big Silver Read Online Free PDF Page A

ground. The three gunmen laughed aloud. One of them lowered a shiny Remington back down into its holster.
    â€œI do not shoot at you, Sheriff!” she shouted in a tearful voice. “I shoot at this pig.” She jerked her head toward the middle gunman, who stood watching with a stylish charcoal gray coachman’s hat cocked jauntily to one side of his head. He clenched a thin cigar in his teeth. A long gold watch chain looped down from his vest pocket.
    â€œEasy does it,” he whispered to the other two gunmen. “She’s not worth a bullet.” His black-gloved hand rested on the butt of a big Colt standing in a cross-draw holster, the lapel of his black riding duster pulled open behind it.
    Stone slid to a halt and took both the old Mexican woman’s hands in his and held her.
    â€œYou can’t be doing this, Mama Belleza,” he said, keeping his voice lowered. “You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”
    The elderly woman paid no attention to his warning.
    â€œWho is this one?” she asked, eying the Ranger.
    â€œHe’s Ranger Sam Burrack, Mama,” Stone said quickly. “He’s here on business.” He turned toward Sam with her. The three gunmen watched, wearing smug grins. “Ranger, this is Mama Belleza. She owns the Hermosa Cantina.”
    â€œPleased, ma’am,” Sam said. He kept watch on the three gunmen as he touched the brim of his sombrero toward the frail elderly woman.
    â€œLet’s get you out of the street, Mama,” Sheriff Stone said. Slipping an arm around her thin waist, he started to usher her toward her run-down cantina a block away. The Ranger walked over and picked up the smoking shotgun lying in the dirt. He broke the gun open and hung it over his forearm.
    â€œWhoa there, Sheriff, what’s your hurry?” the man in the coachman’s hat called out. “Aren’t you going to ask if I want this woman arrested? She
did
come here to kill me.”
    â€œI’m taking her home, Rudabaugh. Come to my office if you want to bring charges,” Stone said. He turned and walked away with the frail woman against his side. Sam stood in the street facing the three men, covering the sheriff’s back.
    â€œWhat’s this?
Ranger Burrack
must think we’re all three back-shooters,” said one of the gunmen. This one wore a black bowler and long matching duster.
    The Ranger looked closer at the man speaking.
    â€œ
Dirty
Donald Ferry . . . ,” he said, recognizing the man.
    The man spread his arms and gave a stiff smile.
    â€œMaybe then, but do I look
dirty
now, Ranger?” he said.
    â€œThe name always lent itself more to your character than your personal hygiene, Donald,” Sam replied. As he spoke he raised the empty shotgun from over his forearm, snapped it shut and started walking forward. “Who are your pals?” He looked the other two men up and down.
    â€œSee what the Ranger’s doing right now?” said Ferry instead of answering Sam. “He’s getting in close with that shotgun so’s he can crack somebody in the jaw with the butt of it.” He grinned. “But it ain’t going to happen this time like it did before.”
    Sam stopped two steps farther back than he’d intended to and looked down at the shotgun in his hand as if he hadn’t realized he was carrying it.
    â€œYou feel better if I stop back here, Donald?” he said. “I don’t want to make you turn pale and nervous.”
    â€œYou’re not making me one
damn bit nervous
, Ranger,” Ferry said. His face reddened; he took two short threatening steps forward and stood glaring at the Ranger. “Without your
element of surprise
, you ain’t so damn—”
    He stopped short as the shotgun butt stabbed him hard in the middle of his chest just below where his ribs met. Breath and spittle flew from his mouth. He jackknifed and stood bowed deep