Range Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page A

good as folks say you are.” He dropped a hand to his gun butt. Thankful Yates chuckled softly. Slade made no move.
    “Go ahead and pull it,” he said.
    The big fellow tried to—and looked into two rock-steady black muzzles that yawned hungrily toward him. And back of those muzz’es were the terrible eyes of El Halcon!
    “Still think it was an accident?” Slade asked softly.
    The other gaped and blanched. “I—I—” he began dazedly. A voice interrupted—
    “Crowly! What the devil are you trying to do, get yourself killed?”
    The speaker was a freckle-faced young fellow sitting at a nearby table, his bandaged right hand resting on the tab’e top.
    “I—I figured he was overrated,” Crowly gulped.
    “Well, I reckon now you know better,” said the other. “Behave yourself while you’re still in one piece.”
    Stifling a grin, Slade holstered his guns with the same blinding speed with which he had drawn them, turned his back on the dazed Crowly and approached the table.
    “Sorry I had to do it, Mr. Brent,” he said, glancing at the bandaged hand, “but you didn’t give me much choice.”
    “Oh, forget it,” said Brent. “I was wrong, but I thought you were another of those Diamond F hellions. Sit down, won’t you?”
    Thankful Yates, making no mention of what for a moment had looked like grim drama in the making but which had quickly deteriorated to a farce, filled glasses with great deliberation, and one for himself.
    “Mr. Slade only drinks my private stock,” he observed. He grinned at Crowly. “Guess you’d better have one, too, Pete. You ’pear to need it.”
    Crowly, who looked like a man who had just glanced across into eternity and saw it wasn’t far, nodded his bristly head. “I need a dozen,” he mumbled. “Much obliged, Yates.” Brent grinned also and regarded Slade.
    “Mighty glad you dropped in when you did,” he said. “We came down here so there’d be less chance of running into the Diamond F bunch; I’m not looking for trouble.”
    “They’re up at the Trail End,” Slade replied, sipping his glass. “And I think it would be a good idea for you to come along with me and shake hands with Fletcher.”
    “Huh!” gurgled Brent, very nearly choking over his drink. “Do you mean it?”
    “I do,” Slade answered. “Fletcher promised me he wouldn’t start trouble with you fellows. He meant it. Yes, I think it would be a good idea for you follows to get together and let bygones be bygones. What do you say? Bring your bunch along with you if you wish to.”
    “Well, if you say it’s so, I guess it is,” sighed Brent. “All right, we’ll take a chance, just as soon as we finish our drinks.”
    He joined his hands at the bar and began speaking to them. They looked a bit startled, but nodded agreement. Slade turned to Yates.
    “I’ll be back,” he said. A few moments later, with Brent on one side and big Crowly on the other, the hands trailing behind, he led the way from the Washout and uptown to the Trail End.
    When Slade arrived at Trail End with his slightly apprehensive entourage, there were stares a-plenty. Old John Fletcher gulped and goggled, but when Slade said, “Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Brent would like to shake hands with you and forget the past,” he didn’t hesitate, but thrust out his big paw.
    “Okay, Brent,” he said. “Let’s see if we can’t make a go of it from now on. Might as well. There’s no arg’fyin’ with him! Just gets you nowhere. Have a drink, all of you.”
    When Slade entered the Trail End, sweeping the room with his glance, as usual, he saw a face he instantly recognized. Seated alone at a table was a modishly dressed young lady. She was a rather small girl with great dark eyes, very red lips, and dark hair inclined to curl. Her figure left nothing to be desired.
    With a word to Fletcher, Slade strode across to her table. “Jerry!” he exclaimed.
    The girl, whose attention appeared fixed on the bar, or its occupants, turned her