The Outrage - Edge Series 3 Read Online Free PDF Page B

forty who was on the verge of tears. Reeled off more names as his head swung from side to side. ‘Muriel . . ? Sawyer . . ? Virgil . . ? Joe . . ?
    Won’t somebody please tell me?’
    The old timer he asked last was actually spilling tears down his heavily wrinkled face beneath the peak of what seemed to be a seafarer’s cap. Edge noticed, inconsequentially that he was the only armed townsman present, with a twin barrel shotgun canted to a thin shoulder.
    It was the bearded, dark eyed, slightly gimpy liveryman who answered while the man with the shotgun struggled to find his voice. ‘There’s been trouble at your place, Mr Quinn. The sheriff and Max Lacy are out there now.’
    ‘Along with Jed Winter.’ This from Virgil, who was as old as Joe, wore wire frame spectacles and needed a cane to walk.
    ‘Oh my God, Winter is the undertaker!’ Quinn said hoarsely and fixed his gaze on Edge. Who had come to realise that each new piece of information revealed and every change in the expressions and voices of the men and women around the stage augured tragic news of the worst kind for the suddenly apprehensive man.
    Shelby limped forward and extended the reins of the roan as he urged: ‘Be best for you to get on out to your place, I reckon.’
    ‘What’s happened?’ Quinn let his valise drop to the ground and took the reins as Shelby turned to move quickly away, like he had decided that delivering the horse ended his contribution to easing the anguish of the disconcerted man.
    Quinn wrenched his head from side to side to demand more shrilly: ‘I asked you people what’s happened. Please, I beg of you! Won’t somebody tell me?’
    ‘Old Mrs Travis found – ‘ the acne scarred young man who Quinn had called Sawyer started as he brushed strands of long hair of his face.
    ‘Best thing is for you to get home and talk with Sheriff Meeker. Find out about things for yourself, Mr Quinn. It’s really bad by all accounts.’ The speaker was the faded beauty of forty or so named Muriel: probably Muriel Mandrell, who helped out Quinn’s daughter at her coffee shop, Edge thought.
    ‘Mabel Travis’s account made it sound real bad anyways,’ the shotgun toting Joe augmented flatly.
    Quinn let go of the reins, raised both hands to his face and said something too muffled to be understood. Then he wrenched his hands down to reveal ashen features set with a wooden expression of utter desolation.
    ‘Oh, my God,’ he muttered tautly, gathered up the reins and swung awkwardly up into the saddle. Swept his anguished gaze over the faces of the people looking up at him while his lips moved soundlessly as he tried to speak. But he could not gain control of his vocal chords and his expression offered no clue to what he wanted to say.
    Then it seemed to Edge that the distraught man’s gaze remained fixed upon him for a stretched second longer than anyone else and during that time signalled a heartfelt plea for help. Next he tugged on the reins to wheel the horse and thudded in his heels to command an instant gallop. To set the animal racing west along Texas Avenue, its clattering hooves raising a billowing cloud of dust in the hot, still, early afternoon air.
    ‘I guess you rent horses, feller?’ Edge asked Shelby and stooped to pick up the valise Quinn had abandoned.
    The bearded liveryman shifted his gaze away from the galloping horse and peered at Edge who now looked up at the stage driver and extended his free hand.

    ‘Be obliged if you’d pass me down my gear.’
    As this was done Harry Shelby said: ‘I sure do have mounts to rent mister. A buck a day is what I charge for an animal. I see you got your own tack, so won’t be needing none of mine.’
    Edge nodded and hefted his gear under an arm as he said: ‘Seems we can do business, feller.’ He stepped down off the sidewalk.
    ‘Hey,’ the stage driver said. ‘I thought you had a ticket through to Austin, mister.’
    Edge was covertly surprised by his own inexplicable