West of Washoe Read Online Free PDF Page B

have experience as a typesetter. Drop whatever you’re working on and jump in there and take Bill’s place for now. First, check that case and see how much of the leadtype was melted.” To his young assistant editor he barked: “Kill the lead story. I’m writing a new one. Banner head.” He stepped inside his office and snatched a pad off the desk, pulled a pencil from his pocket, and slipped on his glasses.
    Ross watched over his shoulder as he wrote in block letters: ENTERPRISE ATTACKED. Beneath that, in smaller letters: Cowardly Enemy Torches Newspaper Office. Farther down, in normal cursive, he wrote: Attacker Wounded And Will Be Apprehended Soon. He pulled out his desk chair and sat down, finishing the article quickly.
    “You going to accuse Fossett in print?” Ross asked.
    Without looking up, Scrivener replied: “Not using his name, but I’m leaving no doubt I know who did it, and why. For anyone who reads this, it won’t be hard to guess.”
    “Don’t want to tell you your business, but aren’t you adding fuel to the fire? Maybe we should wait and see if we can find that wounded man first.”
    Scrivener looked up. “You’d never make it in the newspaper business. This is the kind of thing that sells papers. And I’m not letting that coward off the hook for a minute.”
    Ross shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He grabbed a push broom standing against the wall and began sweeping shattered glass and blackened water toward the open front door.
    Scrivener finished, scanned the piece, and handed it to Sam Clemens. “You and Baxter start setting that.”
    “Your men didn’t panic,” Ross said when Scrivener came to stand beside him near the front door. “And they did a great job keeping that fire under control until the firemen got here.”
    “I might increase their beer ration,” Scrivener said under his breath.
    “For morale, or to put out fires?”
    “Both. They can drink it for morale, and run it through to put out any fires.”

Chapter Four
    It was nearly noon the next day before Martin Scrivener and Gil Ross rolled south out of town in the editor’s buggy.
    “By God, all of Washoe will know about Fossett’s attack,” Scrivener said, snapping the reins on the back of the sorrel, urging him to a trot.
    “Guess I’ll really have to watch your back now,” Ross said, yawning and stretching. He’d been in town less than thirty-two hours but it felt more like a week.
    “That sneaky, torch-throwing s.o.b. slowed us down. The morning edition hit the streets two hours late.”
    Ross wondered if all editors took this much pride in their jobs. If he worked at a newspaper, it’d have to be an evening publication; he couldn’t stand to work all night and sleep all day. In spite of Scrivener’s resolve to make an early night of it, neither man had departed the damaged Enterprise office until nearly 5:00 a.m. The editor had left two men on guard to be sure the fire-throwing attacker or someone else didn’t come back to finish the job. Ross thought a twenty-four-hour guard would have to be posted to prevent any further destruction. Scrivener was on the defensive now. Ross had heard of these battles between editors before, and had assumed they were all contrived to keep up interest and circulation in both papers. He was convinced that wasn’t the case here.
    The wind was light out of the southwest today,making for a beautiful, warm spring day. He settled back to enjoy the ride.
    “As long as we’re running this far behind in our schedule,” Scrivener said, “I thought we’d shoot on down to Carson City and leave word at the sheriff’s office…for whatever good that’ll do. On the way back, you can take a look at the mines and decide where you want to go later.”
    “Good idea. I didn’t see much the other morning from the stage. It was barely daylight and I was tired.”
    Shortly after, as they drove up the saddle that divided Virginia City from Gold Hill, Scrivener pointed. “There’s the