A Grave for Lassiter by Loren Zane Grey Read Free Book Online Page B

and frightened chickens and set dogs to barking. On this bleak morning Bluegate seemed the most forlorn town, set out in the loneliest corner of God’s green earth. At one time she had found peace here with the shaded streets, the yards filled with bright spring flowers. Everyone seemed friendly, but now there was tension so strong one could see it on the faces that no longer smiled but were tight with suspicion. Could one man—Kane Farrell—cause such a change in a town?
    She came to the big warehouse they used to own, and shuddered at the memory of things gone wrong. Behind the warehouse was Black Arrow Road that led to the mine of the same name. Straight up the mountain it went without even so much as a slight bend or curve. The mine owner, a man named Dingell, had asked her to the school dance. He was a pleasant looking man of thirty or so who worked industriously on his property. But she had been forced to decline his invitation. It would be unseemly for her, as a married woman, to accept.
    She was just tying her horse to a rack when Kane Farrell stepped from the saloon and came strutting along the walk in a fine gray suit. The sight of him turned her stomach for more reasons than one.
    She would never forget the day she and Vance had come to town for supplies and seen the crowd along Pine Street. A gangly buck-toothed man in his early twenties was berating Farrell about something. They stepped to the middle of the street.
    â€œThat’s the Texas Kid,” she overheard a man say. “It’ll be the end of Farrell.” God, she hoped so.
    But it wasn’t. Farrell’s first shot knocked the kid down. Farrell wasn’t satisfied and walked up and pumped three more bullets into the man writhing in the street.
    Such a display sickened her, not that she wasn’t already heartily sick of Kane Farrell.
    She realized with a sinking heart that on this blustery morning, Farrell was coming toward her. She already felt the impact of his green eyes. She had half a mind to ride back home and forget her business here, but she was determined to stay and brazen it out.
    She was standing in front of the sheriff’s office when Farrell hurried up. His hat came off so she could see the wavy dark red hair that was said to fascinate some women. Well, certainly not her, nor was she impressed by his ingratiating smile.
    â€œI suggest we have a cup of coffee together,” Farrell was saying smoothly, “and talk a little business like good friends. . . .”
    â€œGood friends,” she snapped, remembering the ugly wound in Dad Hornbeck’s shoulder.
    He put a hand on her elbow, but she pulled away. His eyes turned her cold, as if ice had touched her bare flesh.
    She quickly marched toward the tall oak doors with “Sheriff’s Office” etched in the thick glass, which was done at a time the town was seeking to make an impression when there had been talk of a railroad. But that dream had become as dead as yesterday when the rail line was built nearly a hundred miles north of Bluegate. All the townsmen had to show for the brief flirtation with power was a rather ornate headquarters for the law on the first floor, and a six-cell jail on the second.
    Sheriff Bo Dancur was in shirtsleeves, chewing a cold cigar. His round face, which always seemed oily, looked faintly annoyed when Melody walked in. He got ponderously to his feet and put on a coat.
    â€œFrom the look on your face,” the sheriff said, “it ’pears you got important business.” His chuckle disturbed rolls of fat that he tried to cover by buttoning a brown coat. He waved her to a chair, then turned to the door. “Be with you in a minute, Kane.”
    Melody whipped around, her earlobes burning. Farrell, completely unruffled, a smile on his rather handsome face, was taking a chair by the door.
    â€œAs long as Mr. Farrell apparently wants to listen to my complaint, let him.” Melody’s eyes