Starlight Riders Boxed-Set 50 Western Classics in One Edition. Ernest Haycox

Чтение книги онлайн.

      IN POWDER'S BASTILLE

       Table of Contents

       "I'm a peaceful man. Fightin' I don't like. But here I am, now who do I shoot?"—Joe Breedlove.

      Powder sweltered under the baking, midday heat; Powder shivered with the midnight cold. It was a town of violent extremes, living in a state of suspended animation for long periods of time until the cowboy and his money rode furiously in to spill the red paint. Life here was indolent and easy until the slumbering passions flared up; then it became cruel, raw, unjust. Such was Powder as it appeared to Tom as he surveyed it from the second floor of the sheriff's office during the two days of his confinement.

      There was nothing much to divert him, save his own thoughts and these were not of a kind to guarantee peace. He was never the man to play possum; he had no easy-going philosophy to console him when things went wrong. Rather his quick temper fed upon his injuries and the injuries done to others, growing greater, more volcanic. So it flickered and flared under pressure, ready to burst forth at the first opportunity, making of him an extremely dangerous character. The sheriff, visiting now and then, saw this and in an easy-going way tried to humor him.

      "Now it don't ever help a man to hold his breath until his lungs cave in," he warned. "That's what yore doin'. You'll bust yore G string and be plumb out of harmony if you don't just float with the tide a while. Sing yoreself a sweet little ditty an' pretend yore takin' the rest cure."

      "That," muttered Tom Lilly, "is what Joe Breedlove would say. Yeh, 'Take it easy' is his fav'rite motto."

      "Yore friend has got plenty of sense," said the sheriff. "An oiled wheel lasts longer than a dry one."

      "Hell! I'm not built that way. Yore a fine fellow to come round here talkin' like Santy Claus. It ain't no skin off yore nose that they's a bunch of wild men up in the hills pickin' the JIB to pieces."

      He couldn't quite understand the sheriff. The man draped himself against the door, smiling down his pipestem. There was apparent honesty in his eyes and a certain stubborn fearlessness in the cut of the grizzled, middle-aged face. "Seems to me you didn't have any friendly notions to'rds the JIB when you went into Pilgrim Valley," said he. "Why all the concern now?"

      "I hate a double crosser," said Tom. "It natcherlly makes me riled."

      "Well, you're buckin' some powerful gents, my son. Take the advice of an old campaigner. Slick does it in this country. Don't go around announcin' your intentions. Just sing low until you're ready to slam in with the artillery."

      "Fine to say," grunted Tom. "But do you realize they's a girl bein' held somewhere in those hills? By the Lord Harry, it ain't nothin' to smile about! That's what gripes me. I'd kill somebody for that."

      The sheriff stared long and intently at Tom Lilly. His forehead wrinkled thoughtfully and he removed his pipe, tapping it against the grating. "Wherever she is, nobody's treatin' her too bad. Them boys ain't forgot they're gentlemen—of a sort."

      "What boys?" demanded Lilly.

      The sheriff merely grinned. Lilly stood up. "Say, you seem to know a powerful lot. When do I get tried for this awful crime I didn't commit?"

      "Soon enough," said the sheriff. "As for knowin' things, I'll admit it. That's why I hold my job. You have to mingle politics with duty in this country, Red."

      Lilly heard him creaking down the stairs and call to somebody in the street. A short while after a rider cantered southward from the town—Lilly saw him go from the back window of his cubicle. The sheriff, too, got aboard his sorrel and ambled leisurely away from the smothering heap that was Powder. The day droned along; night came and with it the sounds of reviving pleasure. Supper came. The piano in Jake Miner's place sent forth its stuttering off-key harmony. Boots clumped across the sheriff's office below him. Evidently that worthy was back from his ride. Lilly rolled an after supper cigarette and reflected on many things. Considering the seriousness of the charge placed against him, it seemed the sheriff maintained a mighty friendly attitude toward him; nor did he seem greatly exercised at the thought of Jill Breck having disappeared. There was mystery behind this. Was the man in league with Trono? On the surface it appeared so, but Lilly could not imagine double-dealing behind the sheriffs square, frank face.

      Darkness had long since fallen. Below, there was a murmuring of voices, two or three of them. Then the stairway squealed under a heavy body and a vague shadow appeared beyond the grating. A key scraped the lock and a soft voice—a voice that had a sweet and laughing timber to it—floated inward.

      "Yeh. The sheriff said this was where he kept his star boarder. Iron bars do not a prison make! Shore enough. Mister Lilly would you be so kind as to step forth where I c'n shock myself with yore unholy mug oncet more?"

      Lilly sprang up, checking a shout of delight. Joe Breedlove! Pattipaws then, had delivered his message. He shoved the door СКАЧАТЬ