Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] by Marvin H. Albert Read Free Book Online

like the odds. Three of them and you unconscious."
        Clayburn looked at the other cell. "Where're you holding them?"
        "I'm not. Hell, if I locked somebody up every time a man took a beating in this town, I'd need ten more cells. If it'd happened in the respectable section of town I'd fine 'em for disturbing the peace, but…"
        "All right," Clayburn cut in wearily. "I get the point. They say anything about why they jumped me?"
        "According to them, Slope was staggering drunk, bumped into you by accident and you played it tough, started to rough Slope up. So Benjy and Dillon jumped in to help him out."
        "Slope the one with the scar?"
        "Uh-huh."
        "He wasn't drunk."
        "Benjy-that's the big fellow-and Dillon, they say he was too drunk to defend himself against you. You can bring charges against 'em if you want, but it's your word against theirs, and to tell you the truth…"
        "Forget it." Clayburn shut his eyes against a wave of dizziness. He got hold of himself angrily, forcing his eyes open. They had a dazed, unfocused look. "Keep watch on Cora Sorel's room tonight," he said thickly, "or you may have worse than a beating on your hands. Those three work for a man named George Adler. He pressured her to sell her freight to him. She wouldn't, and she hired me as her wagon captain."
        "You saying that's why they jumped you?"
        "That's why." Clayburn had to concentrate to form each word. "If you hadn't warned me about making charges without proof, I'd bring up the subject of Farnell's murder, too. So keep an eye on her."
        The marshal scowled over it. Finally he nodded. "Okay. I can spare a deputy for it. It's a quiet night, the way nights go here in Parrish."
        "That's fine." Clayburn mumbled, and closed his eyes and let himself slide down the wall. He was asleep when his head touched the hard mattress.
        
***
        
        When he opened his eyes again daylight was streaming in through the small barred window of his cell. He felt slept out and his nervous system seemed to be functioning normally once more. Raising a hand to rub the last of sleepiness from his face, he winced at the tenderness around his left eye.
        "Good morning," a voice said.
        Turning his head, he saw it was the giant Mexican with the Aztec face. He was now sitting on the edge of the other bunk in Clayburn's cell. Puzzled, Clayburn raised up on his elbow and looked at the other cell. Both bunks there were occupied by sleeping men and three more were curled up on the stone floor.
        The Mexican glanced over his shoulder. "Got too crowded in there. Two of 'em got caught breaking into a general store. One's just a cowhand that got liquored up and made a pass at a respectable woman over in the residential section. The other two're his buddies that tried to stop the marshal from locking him up. Had to be pistol-whipped and carried in."
        The Mexican turned his expressionless dark face back to Clayburn. "So the marshal moved me in here with you. Hope you don't mind. My name's Kosta."
        "Don't mind at all." Clayburn shoved his legs off the bunk and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to ease the stiff soreness in his midsection.
        "Feeling better?" Kosta asked him.
        "I'll do." Clayburn looked toward his cell door. It was still open. "Seems like the marshal trusts you."
        "I promised to stay put," Kosta said, as if that were explanation enough.
        "What're you in for?"
        "Breaking up a saloon," Kosta told him, gently and regretfully. "And some arms and legs and noses." He smiled apologetically. "I was drunk, you see? Or I'd never have done anything like that. The marshal could tell you that. He knows I'm no trouble-maker. But I was drunk, and some man made a remark about Mexicans."
        Kosta thought back on it. "I don't remember who said it, or what it was he said, to tell