Gun Play at Cross Creek by Bill Dugan Read Free Book Online

guys like him before. They blow into some little town, throw their weight around, then blow on out a couple months later. It’s no big deal. Besides, I’m thinking of going to Montana.” He drank half the beer in one long swallow.
    â€œMaybe you ought to stop thinking about it, and just do it.”
    â€œYou think I’m scared of him?” He sipped more slowly now.
    â€œI think you should be. Deak, I’m telling you, the man is pure poison. You don’t know the half of it.”
    â€œI know enough. But what the hell, Pete. It just adds a little spice, you know? Like some damn leathery stew a mess cook’ll throw together when he’s running out of everything but flour and beans. What’s he do? He throws some spices in, covers up a lot of sins that way. Life’s like that. A little spice never hurt nothing. Not me, anyhow.”
    â€œThis could do more than hurt you. This guy’s got a mean streak in him a yard wide, Deak. I don’t know you very well, but you’ve always been straight with me. You pay your tab, and you don’t make no more trouble than you have to, I guess. I don’t want to see nothing happen to you. That’s all I’m saying.”
    â€œI appreciate it, Pete. Truly. But I let this guy run me out of town, I can’t never shave again, because I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror. Can you imagine me with whiskers? Well, can you?”
    â€œThat would sure enough be an awful sight, Deak.”
    â€œThere you go. See, I got to stay.” He downed the last of his drink and slid the mug across the bar. “Give me another beer, would you?”
    In silence, Slayton finished his second beer and started on a third while Largo went into the back to check his stock. He tried to keep up a running conversation, but Deak couldn’t hear him very well, and it hurt his head to shout, so he said good-bye and drifted on out of the saloon.
    The sun was full out, and it was getting hot, hotter than it should be, almost, for the time of year. Wyoming wasn’t supposed to feel like Texas, even in late July. But it did. Deak was working up a half decent sweat as he walked up the street.
    When he got to The Hangin’ Tree, he debated going in, decided not, until he spotted Kinkaid through the open door of the marshal’s office. He shrugged and changed course. Climbing onto the boardwalk, he dropped into a chair and leaned back against the wall. He could hear the piano tinkling inside and pulled his pocket watch out. It was almost noon, kind of early for the buzzing in his ears. He wondered if he had managed to sleep off the night’s drinking after all. Three beers shouldn’t have been enough to make his ears ring like that.
    After a couple of minutes, Kinkaid appeared in the door of his office. He leaned against the door frame. He wasn’t wearing a jacket today, and Deak noticed how Kinkaid’s gun sat easy on his hip, just out of reach of his fingertips. There was something about the marshal made him feel just a bit uncomfortable.
    In the back of his mind, the truth kept gnawing at him. What it was, was Pete Largo was right. Kinkaid did have it in for him, and he knew it. He didn’t know why, but that scarcely mattered. No man worth his salt would let himself be cowed, even by a man with a badge. Maybe this was the time to let Kinkaid know it. He thought about it for a long time, the marshal just leaning there in the doorway, staring at him.
    It was unnerving, and Deak didn’t have the stomach for that kind of thing so early. He didn’t mind a good brawl, but bare knuckles was one thing and going toe to toe with a trigger-happy badge was something else again.
    Rather than withstand the pressure of those flat, black, and unblinking eyes, Deak got up and went inside. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, even after the door closed behind him, but he knew the marshal was grinning. And that