Death Rides the Night by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online

floor. Ezra stared down at his fallen partner stupidly while Pat leaned over him and jerked the gun from Sam’s holster.
    â€œYou shouldn’t ort to’ve hit Sam,” Ezra began in a troubled voice. “Dang it, Pat …”
    Pat straightened up with Sam’s gun in his hand. His gray eyes were bleak and he was breathing hard. He said, “Put down that chair leg, Ezra.”
    John Boyd started to interfere. He took a step forward. “What’s got into you, Pat? What in tarnation …?”
    â€œI’m takin’ Ezra out to the sheriff,” said Pat thinly. “Put it down, Ezra, ’fore I shoot it out of your hand. You’re goin’ out quiet.”
    Ezra blinked his one eye and it looked for a moment as though it was misted over with tears. He said sadly, “I shore never thought …”
    â€œTo hell with what you ever thought,” raged Pat. “Open that door, Pete.”
    Pete opened the door.
    â€œMove on out.” Pat gestured Ezra toward the door leading out into the saloon.
    Ezra dropped his improvised weapon. He stood for a moment with his great arms swinging laxly by his side, then he hung his head and went out in front of Pat.
    The saloon was full of men and of loud talk. The words died on men’s lips as they turned and saw Ezra shambling toward them with a grim-faced Pat Stevens following him with Sam’s gun in his hand.
    The new sheriff and Eustis Harlow bustled back from the front of the saloon. Tripo had his hands on both guns and was smiling thinly. Harlow’s florid face was a curious mask of indecision and hardly concealed anger. He demanded, “What’s going on here, Stevens?”
    â€œI heard your new sheriff wanted to arrest Ezra. Here he is, soon as I hear the charge.”
    Men looked at each other and shook their heads in hopeless incomprehension. If the gun-partnership between Pat, Ezra and Sam was busting up, their glances said, things had sure come to a bad pass in Powder Valley.
    Tripo looked at Harlow and shrugged. He drawled, “Thanks for yo’ he’p, Stevens. I’m locking Ezra up fo’ rustlin’.”
    â€œWho made the charge?” Pat asked.
    â€œI did,” Harlow said blandly. “I’m ready to swear a dozen head of my pure-bred heifers are in Ezra’s pasture right now.”
    Pat nodded. His face was as expressionless as though it had been carved from granite. “He’s your prisoner, Sheriff.”
    Ezra stood motionless with his head hanging. He was completely dazed, as though robbed of all will of his own. He submitted wordlessly when Tripo took him by the arm and led him out the door toward the jail.
    â€œNow that’s mighty handsome of you, Stevens,” Harlow said expansively. “I’m willing to admit I misjudged you. Frankly, I didn’t make my charge against Ezra while you were still sheriff because I feared your loyalty toward an old friend might be stronger than your sense of duty. I owe you an apology and I’ll buy a drink.”
    Pat said, “That’ll be fine,” tonelessly. He moved to the bar with Harlow.
    â€œYou others come on, too,” Harlow called jovially to Boyd, Winters and Pete who had come out of the back room. “I’m setting up the drinks.”
    â€œWhy no,” said John Boyd thoughtfully. “I was always sorta choosy who I drink with.” He looked at Pat as he said it, then turned back to Sam Sloan who was beginning to come around. Winters and Pete followed him, stony-faced, not looking at Pat.
    Harlow laughed heartily as they went out. “Men like that are always carrying a grudge, eh?” He nudged Pat. “I’m glad to see you’ve got better sense.”
    Pat said, “Thanks.” He accepted a drink from Harlow and lifted it to his lips.

5
    Sally had gone to bed by the time Pat got back to the ranch. The house lay dark and silent in the soft moonlight. Pat