Killing Time In Eternity - Edge Series 4 by George G. Gilman Read Free Book Online Page A

know how you feel, feller,’ Edge said as he advanced across the yard, lit a newmade cigarette and added: ‘I’m as eager as you to know more about that sonofabitch who tried to kill me.’
    ‘More?’ the ruddy-faced, heavily moustached man countered irritably. ‘It seems to me we don’t know a damn thing about the bastard yet.’
    ‘He rides a dark coloured horse with a white blaze,’ Edge reminded as he shifted his gaze from the east, swept it over the southward vista and then peered into the west. He knew that the terrain to the north, that view obstructed from here by the buildings of the town, was just as flat and as almost featureless as elsewhere.
    ‘There’s that,’ Flynt allowed dully. ‘But I can’t go around questioning God knows how many men who ride a dark horse marked that way.’
    30
    A train whistle sounded from far off in the east and they both peered in that direction: watched as a smudge of smoke out along the single track railroad became more clearly defined and the solid bulk of the front end of a locomotive took shape beneath it. Flynt automatically checked his watch which, Edge had noticed, was something a lot of people habitually did in this railroad town whenever a train was heard to approach.
    ‘The Wednesday freight,’ the lawman announced and turned to move away. ‘You better be sure to look out for yourself, Edge. The way he tried to kill you, that guy must figure you saw something more important than the markings on his horse. He maybe reckons you’ll be able to recognise him if you ever run into him again.’
    ‘You could be right, marshal.’ Edge’s tone implied no sarcasm in response to the concerned man’s stating of the obvious.
    Flynt raised a hand in farewell and started toward the depot then paused to look back when Edge said:
    ‘If he’s a hired gun who came to Eternity to kill Shelby, it’s likely he’d be a stranger. And there ain’t too many of that kind in town at this time of year, I’d guess?’
    Flynt’s expression revealed that he had not considered this obvious possibility. Then he gave a non-committal grunt, turned and continued on his way with lengthened strides. Edge crossed the yard, stepped into the rear of the Quinn and Son premises and drank a second cup of coffee while he finished smoking the cigarette. Then heard a key rattle in the lock of the front door and went into the store as Roy Sims entered to offer his customary less than fulsome morning greeting. He was by nature a mournful man. Past sixty, with a slight build and a pale, indoor complexion, he had a long and narrow face with small, jet black eyes and a large hooked nose, badly fitted false teeth and a full head of unkempt hair as dark as his eyes. He was possibly the most ugly man in Eternity and maybe the best dressed in the elegant city style of clothing he invariably chose to wear on every occasion.
    He spoke a few terse words of token concern about what he had heard of Edge’s brushes with violence last night and then voiced his usual daily query. ‘Is there any news of a buyer for the property yet, sir?’ It was a title he automatically gave to any man in the store, from ingrained habit rather than out of respect for any individual.
    ‘I’m afraid not, feller.’
    Sims looked even more morose as he removed his expensive astrakhan-trimmed topcoat and immaculately shaped derby and hung them carefully on a stand near the doorway. Then the approach of the train was signalled again with another shrill blast of the whistle and he announced: ‘It’s Wednesday, so that’ll be the westbound freight. Stops at the depot here, but there won’t be any passengers getting off.’ His doleful toned 31
    implication was that no passengers on the train obviously meant there would be no potential purchaser for the store.
    Edge headed for the door and invited: ‘There’s a pot of fresh-made coffee on the stove, feller.’
    ‘I’m most grateful to you, sir.’ Sims shuffled back into