Shoot Him On Sight by William Colt MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

mountains.
     

VI
    Two months passed while I continued my aimless wanderings, and I tell you I was getting damn' sick of always having to be looking back over my shoulder, or getting that sort of tightened up, tense feeling every time some hombre happened to give me a second glance when we passed. It was getting so I was a bundle of nerves, never feeling safe unless I was riding in open country with not a soul in sight. If I'd had my way I'd have steered clear of towns all the time, but somehow I just couldn't get away from a craving for companionship now and then, even feeling as I did. And there was the matter of picking up food in stores that was plumb necessary. I was commencing to think that I might feel safer if I left Texas altogether, and practised my merry-go-round existence on some other range. So I headed west again.
    Deosso Springs was my next stop. It was there that Lady Luck smiled and then turned against me. Something about the place reminded me of my home town—just in appearance, that's all. I grabbed a bite of food in a Chinese restaurant, then headed for a bar to get a beer before pushing on. I got my beer. Two or three cowhands at the bar seemed friendly and introduced themselves. We shook hands and I gave them the name I was using at the time: Joe Willits. We had another round of drinks. Somebody suggested poker, and a couple more men were drawn into a game. A few questions were asked, at least hinted at. I told 'em I was from near Oklahoma City, riding through on the way to do some visiting with El Paso friends. The game started, and Lady Luck sure smiled for a time. We were playing for just small stakes, but the first few hands I couldn't seem to lose. As I was running low on funds that sort of situation was welcome. When I was some forty-odd dollars ahead, I began to worry. I didn't want to be remembered as the stranger who had such a run of luck.
    Not that there was any resentment, only congrats on the way the cards were falling for me. Just the same I was glad when the game broke up, and three of the men had to leave to get back to their outfit. The other fellow, Cal Somebody, suggested we have another beer. I was getting hungry and said so. It was already getting dark outside, and past my supper time. Cal spoke to the barkeep, who produced some beef sandwiches to go with our beer. We retired to a corner table and chewed the fat for a spell.
    The bartender had lighted the lamps above the bar by this time, and more customers filtered into the saloon, among them were some rather tough-looking men. I noticed Cal frown at their entrance, and asked who they were.
    He shrugged, frown deepening. "I ain't certain. One of 'em is called Hondo by his pals. I don't know the other names. They don't punch for nobody around here. Dropped off the T.N. & A.S. a few days ago, but don't seem to do anything but hang around town, inspectin' the bars. I don't like their looks nohow, but I got to admit they ain't made no trouble."
    Neither did I like their looks, but it was none of my business. The man, Hondo, was a big brutish type, with a scarred holster and a weather-beaten sombrero, who looked as though he hadn't shaved in a month. For that matter, I reflected, I hadn't had a razor to my face in a week, and the whiskers were beginning to itch, though sometimes I let 'em go longer as a sort of disguise.
    I didn't know it right then, but Lady Luck was getting ready to turn her smile into a frown. I knew I should be shoving on, but I was comfortable, the beer was good and Cal was satisfactory company. He said: "My turn to buy," grabbed our empty bottles and went to the bar. In a moment he returned, bearing two fresh bottles, and a saucer of
pinon
nuts, which went well with the brew.
    Customers passed in and out. There were probably a dozen men at the bar, while Cal and I sat and drank. Cigar and cigarette smoke floated lazily near the ceiling. Hub, the fat bartender, seemed to run a quiet, orderly saloon.
    The swinging