Range Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sheriff Carter entered. He stared at the group at the bar and shook his head resignedly.
    “So you did it again,” he said accusingly to Slade as he drew up a chair and sat down. “Hello, Jerry. As usual, the young hellion made peace between a couple of outfits on the prod against each other. I don’t know how the devil he does it, but he does.”
    “Yes, he always makes everybody do just what he wants them to do,” answered Jerry.
    “Perhaps,” Slade put in, “it’s just that I sort of provide them with an opportunity to do what they really wanted to do all along, if they could just dig up an excuse for doing it. Right, Jerry?”
    Miss Norman wrinkled her pert nose at him and did not deign to reply.
    “I just came up from the Washout,” Carter commented reflectively. “Yates told me what you did to Pete Crowly; sure took him down a peg. He holds his comb pretty high when it comes to handling a gun, and he’s a trouble hunter. Brent usually manages to keep him fairly well in line, but now and then he kicks over the traces, or tries to. Guess he’s still trying to figure out just what happened.”
    “How was that?” Jerry asked.
    Carter told her, in detail. She shook her curly head and sighed.
    “Yes, I guess Pete learned a lesson, too,” she said.
    “Uh-huh, and one I figure he won’t forget soon,” said the sheriff. “May do him good to know there’s better men in the world than him.”
    “I’ve a notion he’s not a bad fellow, down at the bottom,” Slade observed.
    “Maybe so, but if so, it’s way down,” said Carter. “And here comes another one I’ve been keepin’ an eye on.”
    The newcomer was a big man, almost as big as Crowly, and had something of the same irascible countenance. His eyes were quick and bright and moving, sweeping the room with their glance. Shouldering his way rather roughly to the bar, he ordered a drink and, Slade thought, continued to survey the room in the backbar mirror.
    “Why, it’s Neale Ditmar, our new neighbor on the east,” Jerry said.
    “Uh-huh, and I wish he’d stayed a lot farther east,” grumbled Carter. “He’s another trouble hunter or I’m a heap mistook. Ugly customer in a rough-and-tumble, I gather. Had a ruckus with a couple fellers in one of those rumholes down by the lake and cleaned ’em both. One he had on the floor pulled a gun, but Ditmark kicked it outa his hand, busted a couple of fingers, I heard.”
    “What was the row about?” Slade asked, mildly curious.
    “Oh, over a dance-floor gal, I believe,” replied the sherfiff. “Or some similar sorta trifle.”
    “Well! I like that,” said Jerry. “So a woman is just a trifle and not worth fighting for, eh?”
    “I didn’t say that,” the sheriff protested. “I meant the ruckus was just a trifle.”
    Miss Norman sniffed delicately and crinkled her eyes at Slade.
    “Been quite a few changes since you were here last, Walt,” she said. “We’ve got a new neighbor to the west, too. A Mr. Tobar Shaw, a very pleasant person and gentlemanly. He bought the Hartsook place. Calvin Hartsook was murdered by wideloopers about five months back. His daughter was his only heir and she’s married to a bank clerk in Dallas who knows nothing about ranching and, I understand, cares less. So they put the spread up for sale at a low price and Mr. Shaw bought it. It isn’t very big but good grass, and he’s been running in some improved stock, almost as good as ours. I’ve a notion he’ll make a go of it. Appears to favor progressive methods.”
    “Yes, Shaw seems to be all right,” put in Carter. “I’ve talked with him a couple of times. A notion you’d like him, Walt. I figure he’s a sorta educated feller.”
    Slade nodded without speaking; he was studying Neale Ditmar’s profile and broad back. He experienced a feeling that Mr. Ditmar was a mite out of the ordinary.
    Jerry jumped to her feet. “Come on, Walt, take me to the Washout,” she said. “It’s nice here, but too