Bad Men Die by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online

Cheyenne to turn him over to the authorities there.”
    â€œAnd collect all the rewards on him, I’ll wager,” the marshal said. When Luke didn’t respond to that, the lawman went on. “I’ll bet you want to take him on the train.”
    â€œThat’s the idea,” Luke said. “When’s the next one due?”
    â€œTen o’clock tomorrow morning.”
    That was a relief, Luke thought. He and McCluskey would have to spend only one night here. He had nothing against Rattlesnake Wells, but the sooner he took in McCluskey and had the reward money in his pocket, the better.
    â€œI was hoping—”
    â€œThat you could lock him up here overnight? I reckon that can be arranged. My name’s Bob Hatfield, by the way. Some folks call me Sundown, on account of my hair.” Marshal Hatfield put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This little heathen is my son Bucky.”
    Luke nodded to the youngster. “Pleased to meet you, Bucky. And I’m obliged to you for your help a minute ago.”
    Buck grinned. “Shoot, all I did was open a door and yell for Pa.”
    Luke swung down from the saddle. “If it’s all right with you, Marshal, I’d like to go ahead and get McCluskey safely behind bars.”
    Hatfield frowned. “He looks a little banged up, and your throat’s a mite bruised, Mr. Jensen. The two of you have some trouble on the way here?”
    â€œYeah, yesterday,” Luke admitted. “On the way here from Rimrock. That’s where I caught up with him.”
    Hatfield nodded. “I know Marshal Elliott over there. Good man.” He drew his revolver, and the smooth ease with which the Colt slid out of its holster told Luke he’d been right in his estimation of the young marshal. “I’ll keep him covered while you get him down. Buck, you run on back to the house.”
    â€œAw, Pa, I want to stay here and watch,” the boy objected.
    â€œNo, you go on and do what I tell you. I want you to let Consuela know she’ll need to cook up enough food for a couple guests tonight.” The marshal added to Luke, “That’s my housekeeper. She feeds the prisoners here in the jail, and the town pays her a little.”
    Luke nodded, but he didn’t really care about Hatfield’s domestic or financial arrangements. He just wanted to get McCluskey behind bars again.
    Ten minutes later, he’d accomplished that. The outlaw continued to cooperate. He sank onto the bunk inside the cell, clasped his hands together between his knees, and stared expressionlessly at the floor.
    As Hatfield turned the key in the cell door and stepped back, he commented, “I’m not complaining, mind you, but from everything I’ve heard about him, I expected Frank McCluskey to be more of a ring-tailed wildcat.”
    â€œHe seems to have tamed down some,” Luke said as he looked at the prisoner. “But you and your deputies, if you have any, shouldn’t trust him. He knows he’s got a hang rope waiting for him. A man like that is usually desperate enough to try anything.”
    â€œWe’ll be careful,” Hatfield promised. “You’re welcome to bunk here tonight if you want to, just to keep an eye on him. There’s a cot in the storeroom you can use.”
    â€œI’ll think about it,” Luke promised. “I might just take you up on that. Right now, though, I could use a drink and something to eat.”
    Hatfield grinned. “Bullock’s Saloon, on the other side of the street in the next block, puts out a decent free lunch, if you want to kill both of those birds with the same stone.”
    â€œI’ll do that.”
    â€œStop back by any time,” Hatfield said. “And you’re having supper at my house tonight.”
    The invitation took Luke by surprise. Most lawmen treated bounty hunters like something they’d scrape off the bottom of their