The Road to Ratchet Creek Read Online Free PDF

theatrical connections and expected to hear either a real or assumed French accent when she spoke.
    From the girl, Calamity turned to Marshal Cole as he sat under his Winchester Model 1866 rifle. After wondering if he was really as sober and religious as he sounded, and also where he recognized her from, she dropped her eyes to his gunbelt and studied the holster in particular. Instead of being cut down to leave clear access to the revolver’s triggerguard, its side rose high enough to obscure it. Another point struck her as she looked—the holster appeared to have split open down its front. Closer examination told her this had been done deliberately, the gun being held horizontally by a finely-tempered steel spring-clip gripping its cylinder inside the leather and its vertical position retained by the muzzle of the barrel resting in a shaped slot in the holster’s bottom plug. Used to the conventional type of gun rig, she wondered what advantages, if any, Cole’s holster offered, but did not raise the point.
    At Calamity’s side John studied Cole’s gunbelt, although his interest centered on the weapon it held. His eyes took in the bell-shaped, square-bottomed, oil-finished black walnut grips, different in shape to the hand-fitting curve of a Colt’s butt. Nor did any holster-size Colt at that time have a solid frame and the gun in Cole’s holsterhad a metal bar over the cylinder. At first John thought it to be a Remington, then decided it was not. While wanting to satisfy his curiosity, he wondered how he might obtain the required information without offending its owner. Sucking in a breath, he took the plunge.
    â€œI’ve never seen a revolver like that before, sir,” he said.
    â€œIt’s a Rogers & Spencer Army Model, son,” Cole replied indulgently. “I needed a gun in a hurry one time and this was the only one on hand. Got to like its hang and balance, so I never bothered to make a change.”
    â€œDon’t often see a deacon wearing a gun,” the brown haired drummer put in. “I thought you fellers were men of peace.”
    â€œThe Good Book says when struck, turn the other cheek, brother,” Cole answered. “Only if somebody hits that one as well, I reckon a man’s got to do something about it.”
    â€œHallelujah!” grinned the other salesman. “The world’d sure be a heap safer place if nobody had guns.”
    â€œNow that’s the living truth,” agreed Cole and directed a wink in John’s direction. “Only as long as thieves can lay hands on ’em I reckon there’d be nothing more foolish than stopping honest folks owning one.”
    On hearing Cole addressed as “deacon,” John felt indignant at the thinly-veiled mockery of thespeaker and opened his mouth to correct the drummer. He caught Calamity’s elbow in the ribs hard enough to halt the words unsaid. A glance at the girl told him that her move had been no accident. Looking at Cole, he realized that the marshal not only saw but approved of Calamity’s action.
    Once started, the conversation continued and the passengers introduced themselves. As Calamity expected, the other girl spoke with a slight, but attractive, French accent. She told them her name was Monique de Monsarrat, that she worked as a singer, lived in Ratchet City and had been appearing in the Bon Ton Theater at Promontory. The brown-haired drummer claimed to be Wally Conway and represented a St. Louis cutlery manufacturer. His companion was Lou Thorbold, selling gentlemen’s toilet goods. While Calamity and Johnny gave their correct names, Cole let the others believe him to be a travelling deacon called Rand.
    Toward three in the afternoon Pizen Joe brought his team to a halt by a small stream. Telling the passengers to light and rest their butt-ends, with a muttered apology to Monique for mentioning such a subject in a lady’s presence, the old timer and