Return to Massacre Mesa - Edge Series 5 by George G. Gilman Read Free Book Online Page A

acknowledged:
    ‘Yeah, I reckon you truly are, mister. I’d guess there’s not that much difference in the number of years we got behind us. So it’s kind of a case of there by the grace of God I won’t be going for a while yet?’
    Edge tipped his hat and tugged on his reins to wheel the gelding. ‘I got to admit I’ve reached the age when I’m starting to realise I should have taken better care of myself through a lot of those years I got behind me, feller.’
    ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ Russell shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I reckon I 36
    can promise that Sam Tree will take good care of you if you pay your way and don’t break any of his house rules while you’re staying at the Wild Dog. Of which there ain’t so many.’
    ‘Obliged for the recommendation and advice.’
    ‘Sam’s the real law around here these days. Ever since the town got bigger than I could handle because of the way I’ve been going downhill health-wise. And I can sure recommend the grub at the hotel. On account of my little girl is the cook there. And she was taught by her mother, God rest that fine woman’s soul. So I speak from long experience. You take care in Lakewood, Mr Edge.’ He swung around, bore down heavily on his cane and was unable to suppress a low groan as he took a first step then made it through the doorway into the building with no other sound of suffering. Edge put his back to the decrepitly ageing lawman and the sparse scattering of people who were out on the sunlit main street of this small Southwest territory town. Back tracked to the front of the Wild Dog Hotel that was in urgent need of serious attention to its unpainted and warped clapboard walls, dirty and cracked windowpanes and sagging roof above the porch that was rotted through in several places. The hitching rail seemed sturdy enough to hold the travel weary gelding for as long as it would take Edge to see if he was going to stay in the hotel. No other animals were hitched there at this time of day. The batwings creaked as he pushed between them and peered into a saloon that was musty with the smells of last and many other nights. A prominent odour in the unmoving air was of stale perfume but he thought the woman of thirty-five or so who looked up from where she sat at a corner table to the right of the entrance was not wearing any kind of scent. He could see for sure there was no paint on her thin but not gaunt face: the clear complexion pallid in contrast to the solid black, mourning-like, high necked, ankle length, long sleeved dress that encased her slender but certainly not boyish body. She had dark eyes, thin lips and straight, short cropped black hair and he wondered idly if this basically attractive woman purposely did not make the best of what nature had given her. The chore that had occupied her and continued to hold her silent attention 37
    after she glanced disinterestedly at Edge entailed carefully writing with white chalk on a three feet square blackboard laid flat on the table. The irritating screech of the chalk on the board did not seem to bother her.
    ‘Is the place open yet?’ Edge tipped his hat toward the taciturn woman and remained on the threshold as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the low level of light inside the saloon with its smeared and dusty windows after the brightness of the day outside.
    ‘You can buy a drink,’ she answered, still without looking up. ‘But there’ll be no food until noon. The girls are all sleeping though I guess Abby will wake up one of them for you if that’s what – ‘
    He cut in: ‘I need a room, lady. Single: I won’t be requiring any company.’
    ‘Whatever.’ Her voice had yet to be other than a bored monotone. She used the hand holding the chalk to gesture toward the angle of the bar that stretched along the rear and the left walls of the foetid, ill-furnished saloon. There was a part open door in the corner behind it. ‘If you go over there and yell loud enough, Mr Tree will