William W. Johnstone Read Online Free PDF

a wild place, with six-gun law and a string of expired lawmen. Which is why they fetched me. I was the town’s last resort. But all that was the past. Now we had people settling the basin country and starting up businesses in town. We were up to seven saloons, one church, fourteen businesses, and an opera house. A town was hardly on the map until it got an opera house. And there had to be some cash around, and people willing to spend it, before anyone would put up an opera house. Down in Colorado, there was a mess of them. Denver, Leadville, Telluride, places like that.
    My work had switched around, too. Now I was policing gamblers and crooks and cutpurses. Before, I’d had to settle the troubles of warring ranches and rival cowboy gangs who brought in traveling shootists with big reputations. I don’t know how I whipped some of them. My ma, she just thought I was nuts to try.
    I knew just what I’d do this night. I was going to tour the saloons. If this variety company brought in any trouble, it would be in the saloons. Them roustabouts would cause any kind of ruckus they could start. I’d busted up a few brawls in my day, and I expected I’d add to the list this night.
    I scooped up the last of the stew, paid Mrs. Studebaker her fifteen cents, and headed into the drizzle. My first stop would be the Last Chance, and I’d say hello to Sammy Upward, the barkeep there. He and I went back a way. None of the barkeeps liked me hanging around their watering-holes, but Sammy didn’t mind so much. I was pretty quiet about it, just slipping in, studying the drinking fraternity, looking for someone’s fingers in someone else’s rear pocket, and then tipping my hat to Sammy.
    I wandered in there and was hit by the smoke from the lamps, but it looked like business as usual there. I was noticed at once; I always am, even if I look like someone’s wash hung out to dry. It’s the star. Talk quieted. But Sammy, he just nodded.
    “What’ll you have, Sheriff?” he asked.
    “Sarsaparilla,” I said.
    He poured it and refused the nickel. I studied the painting of the naked lady over the bar, and eyed the crowd now and then. They were all familiar faces. I’ve spent the last couple of years getting a handle on everyone in Doubtful. If there were any of those show people or roustabouts around, they weren’t in here. But the roustabouts would still be busy unloading, and the show people would be pretty tired and not primed to step out in the rain and celebrate.
    There sure wasn’t anything entertaining going on there, so I headed down the street to Mrs. Gladstone’s Sampling Room. The rain just wouldn’t quit, and it dampened me pretty hard by the time I got there. I pushed through the double doors and ran smack into a lot of light. They had all their lanterns lit, and sure enough, there were a mess of those show people in there, most of them female. There’s some who think females shouldn’t be in saloons, but I wasn’t one. I sure enjoyed seeing the bunch, seven or eight of the ladies and a few of the traveling gents too, some of them at a table by themselves, but a few bellied up to Mrs. Gladstone’s polished bar.
    There was a bunch of Doubtful people in there too, most of them taking a gander at the show people. It looked like a convention of whiskey drummers in there, and I swear there were Doubtful businessmen like Hiram Perkins who’d actually washed his face and trimmed his beard and put a little witch hazel behind his ears. The showgirls were bringing every stage-door johnnie in town to the Sampling Room. Well, this was where the entertainment would be this night, so I just smiled, got myself another sarsaparilla, this one from Rudy, the barkeep, and settled back to enjoy the show.
    I slipped into a corner and just watched, and pretty quick no one remembered Sheriff Pickens was anywhere around. Them show people were in there hard at work. They was getting to know the locals, getting themselves free red-eye, and