Sheriff on the Spot Read Online Free PDF Page A

helped him to his room.”
    Pat asked curtly, “Drunk?”
    â€œA little bit.” She licked her cigarette.
    â€œHe’s drinkin’ a lot these days, isn’t he?”
    â€œToo much.” Kitty Lane’s voice was suddenly tired. She leaned forward with the tightly rolled cigarette between her lips to get a light from his. Her eyes held his as the tips of their cigarettes touched.
    She drew back, drawing in a deep breath and expelling a cloud of blue smoke through her crimsoned lips. “You could talk to him, Pat. He’d listen to you.” She put her hand on his arm. “You don’t mind if I call you Pat?”
    Pat said, “No.” The waiter came with their drinks.
    â€œI want to talk to him,” Pat told her roughly. “He’s not in his room. You know where he is?”
    She shrank back from his tone, shook her head slowly while she looked down at her cigarette. “Isn’t he in his room?”
    â€œIf he is, he’s locked in an’ passed out,” Pat grated. “How many drinks did he have in your room after you went upstairs together?” he added brutally.
    The color fled from Kitty’s cheeks, leaving two round spots of rouge. “Do you think I drink with men in my bedroom?”
    â€œDon’t you?”
    â€œNo.” She stamped her foot down on the floor. “You men are all alike. Just because a girl works in a saloon, you think she’s a—a—”
    Pat said harshly, “What’s Fred Ralston to you?”
    Kitty-Lane pushed back her chair and stood up. She leaned forward and slapped Pat, leaving the print of her fingers on his face, sobbing loudly, “Damn you. That’s for your insult.”
    Half the men in the saloon had been watching interestedly ever since Pat and Kitty had gone over to the table together.
    Now, there was a concerted movement forward, and a low muttering as they drew their own interpretation of Kitty’s action.
    One youth pushed forward from the rest as Kitty whirled away from the table with her head held high. He was Dan Peters, young enough to be Pat’s son, with a cow-lick and with the soft down of an unrazored beard on his cheeks. He wore high-heeled Spanish boots, and had a shiny gun-belt strapped tightly about his young waist. He had enough liquor in him to make him foolish, and he was callowly in love with Kitty Lane.
    â€œWhass he doin’, Miss Kitty?” Dan muttered thickly. He swayed a little on his high heels as he tried to strut forward.
    Kitty sobbed, “Oh, Dan! He said the most awful things to me. Make him stop.”
    â€œYou bet I will, Miss Kitty,” the young puncher promised drunkenly. He faced Pat and his voice cracked in an embarrassing falsetto as he demanded, “Git up on yore hind laigs, Pat Stevens, an’ crave the lady’s pardon.”
    Pat gave a snort of disgust and glared at the boy. “Go blow your nose, Dan, an’ keep it out of menfolk’s business.”
    Someone at the bar snickered loudly. The sound infuriated Dan, drove the last semblance of sober sense from his mind. He slapped his hand down to the butt of his six-gun and tugged at it awkwardly.
    Pat kicked his chair back and started toward him. “Don’t be a fool, Dan. Let go of that gun.”
    Dan got a thin sneer on his lips and began to curse Pat. His gun came loose unexpectedly and he triggered it as it came up waveringly.
    A bullet tore into the floor three feet to Pat’s right and ten feet behind him. He lunged forward and got hold of Dan’s gun, gave him a shove back into the crowd and ordered calmly, “If he’s got any friends here you’d better take him out and sober him up.” He broke the gun and threw the cartridges out, then tossed the empty weapon at Dan Peters’ feet.
    He strode to Kitty Lane’s side and took her arm firmly. “We’re goin’ upstairs to your room.”

4
    Kitty