The Smoking Iron Read Online Free PDF Page A

plaintively.
    â€œYep. A mighty good reason.”
    â€œThass jest fine.” Ezra couldn’t keep a sarcastic note out of his voice, but he was determined not to ask the reason. “Now that we’ve done made her, what’s next on the schedule?”
    â€œWe’ll spend the night in Marfa an’ trade for fresh hawses to take off on the road to Hermosa tomorrow.”
    â€œHermosa? That’s on the Border, huh?”
    â€œYeh. Just this side of the river.”
    Some of the windows were beginning to show lights as they neared the village. Their tired horses pricked their ears forward and increased their slow pace, and Ezra shifted his huge bulk to a more erect position in the saddle.
    â€œYou reckon there’ll be a steak an’ a bottle of whisky in this here town, Pat?”
    â€œThere better be two steaks and two bottles.” They were entering the east end of Main Street, a block of dusty, false-fronted buildings with hitchracks in front. Pat nodded toward the signs along both sides of the street. Fully half of the business establishments were saloons. “From the looks of that, I reckon these Tejanos do more drinkin’ than anything else.”
    â€œLe’s stop an’ try out their likker,” Ezra suggested eagerly. “My mouth tastes like I been eatin’ dry sponges all day.”
    â€œLikker can wait till we fix up our hawses. Yonder’s a livery stable at the end of the block.” Pat nodded to a two-story barn set back a little from the other buildings on the corner. A faded sign proclaimed it to be the Elite Livery Stable—Horses For Sale or Hire.
    Wide doors were invitingly open, and a tall stringy man sat on a wooden box just inside the doors and watched them ride up. He had yellow mustaches and small eyes that were set very close together under sandy brows. He wore a gray shirt and dirty jeans that were held up with red and yellow galluses. He moved his bony jaws methodically and stared at them with interest as they rode up to the open doors and dismounted, his unblinking gaze taking in the jaded condition of their mounts, their dusty attire, the two six-guns that rode low on Pat’s hips, and the saddle guns in leather boots hanging from their saddles.
    His gaze shifted questioningly to Ezra’s bulk and then upward to the scarred face and the closed left eye. Ezra stopped with his big feet planted widely apart and glared at the man with his one good eye. “You reckon you’ll know us next time you see us?”
    â€œI aim to,” the man said in a placid drawl.
    Pat Stevens stepped in front of Ezra. “Can we get feed an’ water for our hawses?”
    â€œBeen ridin’ purty hard, ain’tcha?” The man did not move off his box. He tilted his head and looked slyly up at Pat past the tip of his sharp nose.
    Pat said, “Sort of. How about the hawses?”
    â€œShore. They’s plenty feed an’ water. Five dollars fer each hawse.”
    â€œFive dollars?” Pat echoed sharply. “For one night?”
    â€œThat’s right, Mister.” The stableman opened his lips and shot a stream of tobacco juice past Pat. “Prices is high in Marfa.”
    â€œBut we don’t wanta buy yore livery stable. We just wanta rent a couple of stalls.”
    â€œAn’ that’ll be ten dollars, Mister. Cash in advance.”
    â€œTo hell with him, Pat,” Ezra broke out angrily. “We’ll go somewheres else.”
    â€œOnly stable in town,” he was told unemotionally.
    Pat said, “Wait, Ezra,” as the big man started forward with a growl. He addressed the mustached man again, “You got a couple of hawses you wanta trade?”
    â€œFer them crowbaits?”
    â€œThey’ve been rode hard,” Pat admitted. “More’n a hundred miles today. They’ll be rarin’ to go after two days’ rest.”
    â€œBut you cain’t afford tuh give