Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) by Carlton Youngblood Read Free Book Online Page A

fired too quickly, raised dust in front of Buck’s feet. Buck’s shot hit true, centered on the third button of the man’s shirt. Thrown back by the bullet, red kerchief knocked his partner’s arm, making him drop his half drawn six-gun. Reaching to pick it up, he stopped and looked up to see the black end of Buck’s Colt aimed at him.
    ‘Go ahead.’ Buck smiled thinly. ‘There were two men riding away from that herd and one of them is dead. What do you have planned?’
    ‘No. Don’t shoot. I don’t know anything about it. It was all his idea and I don’t know anything about any rustling,’ Lew’s words were fast and almost running together.
    ‘Here, what’s going on? What’s the shooting all about?’ the call from down the street asked. Buck kept watching as Lew stood up and moved away from his pistol, as Sheriff Holt, pulling one suspender up over a blue and white striped nightshirt came running up. ‘What’s this all about? I’m the law here and we won’t have any gunfights. Not in my town.’
    ‘Why, good evening, Sheriff,’ Buck said, his smile now calm and relaxed. Slowly he pushed the spent shell from hisColt and replaced it with one from his gunbelt.
    ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Frowning at Buck he turned to the men on the plank walk. ‘Henry? What’s this shooting all about?’
    ‘Well, Sheriff, it seems this man was right. He claimed he’d seen that fellow there in the dirt ride away from a branding fire. Called him a rustler and when we found a running iron in his saddle-bags, well, he drew his gun. Too slow, I’d say.’
    Holt walked around and bent over so he could see the fallen man’s face. ‘Anybody know him?’ Nobody moved. Buck looked at Lew who was standing with both thumbs hooked in his belt. Lew didn’t speak.
    ‘You,’ Sheriff Holt demanded, pointing at Buck. ‘You come into town talking about a man you shot and now you’ve killed another man. What you do outside my town, I don’t care, but I won’t have gunplay on my streets.’
    ‘Uh, Sheriff, this man didn’t draw first. He was just protecting himself,’ the storekeeper said.
    ‘Clyde, you take care of the hotel and leave the sheriffing to me. Now you,’ he said, pointing his finger once more at Buck’s chest. ‘I don’t want your kind in town. Get your horse and ride.’
    ‘Be careful, Sheriff, that your finger doesn’t go off and get you in trouble.’ Turning to the storekeeper he went on, ‘You run the hotel?’ When the man nodded, he added, ‘Well then, let’s go sign the book. I could use a night’s sleep in a soft bed.’
    Not giving the sheriff another glance the two men started walking off only to have Buck stop and turn to Lew. ‘I’d suggest you do as the sheriff said. Get your horse and ride. And I think it’d be a good idea if you went on south, a long way south.’
    Lew nodded and leaving his six-gun in the dust, untied and climbed into the saddle. Without a backward glance hespurred the horse into a trot.
    ‘Goodnight, Henry, Sheriff,’ Buck said, before following the hotel keeper down the street.
     
    Coming awake early the next morning, Buck poured water from the pitcher and shaved. Pulling his last clean shirt from the saddle-bag he reminded himself to stop by the general store and replace the oldest of the two shirts he owned. The other one was getting a tad threadbare. Using his fingers to comb back his hair and settling his hat at the correct angle he left the room thinking about breakfast.
    As early as it was, the fire in the town’s only restaurant was blazing and the pot of coffee was hot and strong. The menu was chalked on a wide flat board that had been painted black. It simply listed three items; breakfast – $1, lunch – 50 cents, and supper – $1. Buck asked for coffee and breakfast.
    Later, after a breakfast of eggs, thick slices of ham and fried potatoes topped off with large mugs of coffee, he relaxed in a rocking chair on the hotel porch and rolled a