Wolf Creek Read Online Free PDF Page B

to
Ben.
    “See you in the mornin’, Danny.” Ben heeled
Cholla, his paint gelding, into a walk, with Lemon Drop trailing. A
few minutes later, he reached his livery stable. A man was seated
on an empty nail keg by the front door. He stood up when Ben
approached.
    “Can I help you, mister?” Ben asked.
    “Perhaps you can. Are you Ben Tolliver, the
owner of this stable?”
    “You’ve got me pegged,” Ben admitted, as he
swung off Cholla’s back. “However, you also have me at a loss. I
have no idea who you are.”
    “My name is Shelton Huntington. I am one of
the players in the poker tournament at the Lucky Break.”
    “Oh, I see. Well, what can I do for you, Mr.
Huntington?”
    “Unfortunately, Lady Luck didn’t smile on
me. The cards were bad, the deck cold. I’m out of the game, and
need to get back home to Wichita. To that end, I was hoping I could
rent or purchase a horse from you.”
    “I see. I’m assuming you’re really talking
buying a mount, since I assume you have no need to return to Wolf
Creek, at least in the foreseeable future.”
    “That would be preferable, yes.”
    “Well, I don’t usually like to part with any
of my horses, if I don’t know who the purchaser is, but perhaps we
could arrange something. How much would you be willing to
spend?”
    “I’m not certain, but as little as possible.
I would also need you to extend credit. You see, I miscalculated my
last wager, and am left with no ready cash. I will send you a bank
draft immediately upon my arrival in Wichita.”
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Huntington, but I don’t
extend credit to anyone, except folks I’ve known for a long time,
and can trust. I don’t know you from Adam. You said yourself you’re
dead broke. If I let you have a horse, I’m certain I would never
see the money, or my horse, again.”
    “But I assure you I am good for payment,”
Huntington insisted.
    “If you are, then wire your bank in Wichita
and have it forward funds to you here. Then perhaps we could make a
deal,” Ben answered.
    “I don’t have that much time,” Huntington
said.
    “Again, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,”
Ben said.
    “How am I supposed to get to Wichita, then?”
Huntington answered.
    “I suggest you hop an eastbound freight, and
hope the brakeman doesn’t discover you,” Ben answered. “Or stop by
Umberto’s Freight Company, over on North Street by the railroad
station. Marco still occasionally makes a run between here and
Wichita. Perhaps you could ride with one of his teamsters. Other
than that, I suggest you start walking.”
    “So you won’t help me?”
    “I can’t help you. Not without payment. Now,
Mr. Huntington, it’s been a long day, and I still have to care for
my horses before I can turn in. Good night, and good luck to
you.”
    “You’re just like Sam Jones, a
four-flusher,” Huntington snarled.
    “You’d better be careful how you talk about
Sam,” Ben said. “He’s a friend. Now, get goin’, before I help you
along with a boot right in the seat of your pants.”
    Huntington started to frame a retort, but
thought better of it. He turned away and began trudging along North
Street, toward the railroad station.
    “That hombre sure had a lot of nerve,
Cholla, thinkin’ I’d just let him have one of your buddies without
payin’ for him,” Ben told his horse, as he pulled the saddle off
him. “Oh, well, it takes all kinds.”
    Ben placed Cholla’s saddle on its peg, then
stopped and peeled off his shirt. He chuckled to himself. Despite
what Carole Collier thought, and the late Edith Pettigrew before
her, he didn’t spend all his time shirtless. Most of the time he
was fully clothed. It was only when he was hard at work, building
up a sweat, when he preferred to pull off his shirt. That, and when
he was relaxing in the sun. The old bullet and saber wounds his
body carried still bothered him on occasion, and nothing else
provided as much relief as the hot rays of the sun warming his
flesh. Oh