Stringer and the Deadly Flood by Lou Cameron Read Free Book Online Page B

Stringer swung around it to make out the source of all the noise coming from near the cart.
    The heavy-set, dusty-suited gent who’d abused his horse seemed to be working himself up to abusing a woman now, though so far he was just at the cussing stage. She was a bitty Mex gal, standing her ground on bare feet in a frilly white blouse and a blue circle skirt that exposed a scandalous amount of shapely calf almost to her knees. Stringer had time to note that her face wasn’t bad, either.
    Neither she nor the burly Anglo fussing with her was aware of Stringer’s approach until he was almost upon them. She was facing his way and saw him first but since he looked Anglo as well, she didn’t look at all happy to see him.
    The rider who’d loped his pony and a whole town dusty to get at her correctly read the way she was staring and turned to give Stringer a once-over. He growled, “Do you have any business here, cowboy?”
    Stringer nodded and dropped his gladstone. “Friend of the family. This lady just now buried her esposo, if I got the address right. So I’ll thank you to simmer down a mite or at least cuss at me instead of her.”
    The older and bigger man let his dusty frock coat fall open to expose the ivory grips of his cross-draw Colt. “That can be arranged, sonny. I ride for International Irrigation and I’ve reason to suspect an employee they had to fire rode off with some company papers. All I want from this greaser gal is a look-see inside her wagon. If the papers I’m after are there, I’ll just take ’em off her hands. If they ain’t, I’ll just ride on. I’d say that was fair enough, wouldn’t you?”
    Stringer smiled thinly and said, “It ain’t for me to say. It’s up to this lady here. And don’t call her a greaser again. I don’t like it.”
    The girl looked a lot prettier now that she saw she didn’t have to shoot daggers from her big sloe eyes at Stringer after all.
    â€œI do not know what this hombre wants,” she appealed to Stringer. “I have no papers such as he describes and I will not have my belongings pawed through by rude people I do not know.”
    Stringer nodded at both of them and told the water company man, “You could both have a point. I’d say your best bet, Amigo, would be a court order. The Constitution gives this little lady the right to total privacy unless and until you can produce a search warrant stating exactly what you’re looking for and what business it is of yours to look for the same.”
    The company rider laughed incredulously. “Are you suffering sun stroke, cowboy? No Mexicans are mentioned in any American constitution.”
    Stringer shrugged in reply. “In that case you’re really out of luck. She wouldn’t have to let you search her wagon even if you had a proper search warrant from a California court. Have you considered offering her something for her trouble, or even talking to her respectfully?”
    The company rider snorted in disgust. “As a matter of fact I’ve wasted all the time in talking I ever meant to. I was sent to search for them papers and so now I aim to do so. You’ll both stand aside if you know what’s good for you.”
    He put his gun hand casually to his gun grips as a not too subtle hint of his sincerity. Then he found himself staring down the unwinking muzzle of Stringer’s .38 as the younger gent he’d taken for a local cowhand with a gallant streak quietly asked, “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me just what’s good for me?”
    The company rider gulped, let go his own gun as if it had just turned into a redhot poker, and asked, “Have you been mixing the one and original Coca Cola with tequilla, old son? Who said anything here about slapping leather?”
    Stringer put his .38 back in its holster. “I’m sure sorry if I misjudged your intent. Where I