The Copper City by Chris Scott Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

another burst of sobbing, broken only as she gulped air. He carefully drew her upright and turned her to face him. He tilted her chin upwards, seeing her tear-streaked cheeks and her puffed eyes, the whites visible in the darkness. She seemed to realize who he was then. Her arms snaked around his waist and she clung to him with a strength that brought gasps as she woke the pain of his bruised ribs.
    It seemed a long time before he heard feet coming down the alley towards him. It was Pete.
    â€œYou okay?” his voice asked anxiously.
    â€œSure,” Quantro replied over White-Wing’s bowed head. “But she ain’t.”
    â€œGoddam, there’s two dead men here!” erupted another voice.
    â€œThe sheriff,” Pete said.
    Quantro handed White-Wing to him. “You take care of her, Pete. I figure I’ve got some talking to do.”
    â€œYou’re damn right you do,” the sheriff stated. “You seem almighty good with a gun, boy. I wonder if you’re as slick with your mouth. Whatever, you’ve just become a good candidate for the hangman.”
    Quantro found himself looking into the cavernous maw of a repeating rifle. “I got some explaining…”
    â€œSure.” The sheriff jacked a round into the Winchester’s chamber. “You can come along with me now, whoever the hell you are, mister gunslinger, and you can explain all you want.” Feet shuffled. “Now drop your gunbelt. Unfasten it slowly with your left hand.”
    Quantro did as he was told.
    â€œGood. Now you walk nice and slow. And I wouldn’t try making a run. I might not be as fast with a gun as you, but, lord, I can shoot the eye out of a turkey buzzard at a hundred feet.” He chuckled knowingly in the dark. “Seems to me I could use a little practice, too.”
    Quantro didn’t let him have the chance.
    ***
    The food was lousy.
    Tortillas and beans. For dinner. For supper. And for breakfast. When the deputy brought the plate and a mug of coffee at noon, Quantro didn’t even look up from where he lay on the cot.
    â€œDon’t tell me,” he drawled, “ain’t you got any cows ’round here?”
    The deputy grunted and pushed the plate under the cage door with the toe of his boot. “You don’t have to eat it, mister. Ways I figure it, you won’t be eating much longer, anyhow.” He laughed at his own joke, and then went back to the outer office.
    Quantro swung his feet to the floor and put his head in his hands. Even the smell of the beans was beginning to sicken him. He was trying to decide whether to stay hungry or force it down when the outer door opened again.
    He didn’t look up when he smelt the cigar smoke.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mister Quantro,” a friendly voice said. If anything, it sounded over-friendly, like a man who knew he was going to get what he came for. Quantro didn’t like the smugness in it one little bit.
    â€œDid you have a good night?”
    Quantro snorted. “You ever sleep on one of these things? I’ve slept on softer prairies. I’d of even slept on the floor if it wasn’t for the bugs.” He pointed to a thick cockroach ambling across the dirt floor toward the plate of food.
    â€œYou don’t have to stay here.”
    Quantro looked up, wary. Harley was leaning on the outside of the cage. Amused, self-assured, just like that night in the saloon. What did he want?
    â€œYou can work for me.”
    â€œThey say I killed two men.”
    â€œYou did.”
    â€œBut not the way they tell it.”
    Harley smiled. “You know it, and I know it. And if it suits me, they can know it too.”
    Quantro considered him. “You saying you can get me out?”
    â€œIt can be fixed.”
    â€œAnd the price is I work for you?”
    â€œYou need a job. I’ve got one.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do? Kill a few men for