Straw Men Read Online Free PDF Page B

Winstead. All I’d need is a guide there. It would make things a lot easier.”
    â€œFine,” Abigail said with a smirk. “I was headed back that way anyhow. I just hope you can keep up with me.”

EIGHT
    Clint spent the rest of that day wrapping up his business in town. Of course, since he was mainly in town for the game, that business included sitting in on a few more hands to add to his winnings. As it turned out, he lost more than he won. As the sun set and more new faces drifted into the Jackrabbit, the Evans game was taken to new heights. The few locals who still had money left were sitting at the same table with known professional gamblers. Later that night, more tables were added to the mix and the gamblers truly rolled up their sleeves.
    The games that followed quickly turned into the poker equivalent of a bloodbath.
    Eddie the barkeep shook his head and chuckled as Clint walked up to the bar and supported himself with both hands against the chipped wooden surface. “Not your night?”
    Clint looked up and replied, “Let’s just say I’m happy to be leaving tomorrow.”
    That washed away the bartender’s smirk real quick. “Tomorrow? What for?”
    â€œJust moving on. By the looks of it, you won’t miss having me around.”
    â€œIt ain’t so much the business, but it’s dangerous out there. I heard there was another Injun attack.”
    â€œWhat do you know about those?” Clint asked. “How bad was this one?”
    â€œPretty damn bad. Left four men dead and a few women.”
    â€œJesus.”
    Eddie nodded solemnly. “A couple wagons headed north got set upon by them damn Navajo.”
    â€œHasn’t the Army done anything about it?”
    â€œIt won’t be long, I’m sure,” Eddie replied. “And whenever word gets out about them Injuns being shot down like mangy dogs, it won’t be soon enough. Anyways, you weren’t headed that way, were you?”
    â€œI was thinking about it,” Clint replied. “Now I know for sure.”
    â€œJust don’t be stupid and you’ll be fine. It’d be a shame for the Gunsmith to end his days before he could let everyone know where he played some of the best poker in his life.”
    Clint rolled his eyes but knew better than to get too bent out of joint by Eddie’s request. After all, saloons didn’t become famous and poker games didn’t become events by printed advertisements. “I’ll see what I can do, but there’s really not much. You might not like the kind of men that would come running if they knew I might be in a particular saloon.”
    â€œI’d be willing to take my chances!”
    Rather than continue the debate, Clint paid off what he owed and waved good-bye. Eddie wasn’t the first to try and get Clint to draw people to one business or another. There was a fellow who owned a billiard hall in Albuquerque who offered to pay Clint a thousand dollars to talk the place up when he visited California. Then again, that man promptly went broke a few months later. Clint would never stop being surprised at the boneheaded ways some men would try to get rich without breaking a sweat.
    After leaving the Jackrabbit, Clint walked over to the livery down the street. He walked straight back to the last stall on the right and found Eclipse, his black Darley Arabian stallion, waiting there patiently as if he’d been expecting the company. “You ready for a run, boy?” Clint asked as he patted the horse’s nose.
    â€œHe’d better be ready,” came a familiar voice from the stall behind him.
    Clint jumped and reflexively reached for his gun as he turned around. His hand was still on the grip of the Colt when he said, “That’s a good way to get yourself hurt!”
    Abigail held her hands up and kicked open the gate to the stall. “If you’ve got reflexes like that, I feel a lot