Turnback Creek (Widowmaker) by Robert J. Randisi Read Free Book Online

he said.
    “Sheriff.”
    The sheriff reached past Locke and accepted a cold beer from the bartender. “I’ve been hearing interesting things about you and the marshal,” Hammet said.
    “Have you?” Locke asked. “Like what?”
    “Like you’re working for Molly Shillstone,” Hammet said. “Gonna deliver her payroll day after tomorrow.”
    “We’re going to try.”
    “You and Marshal Cooper, right?” the lawman asked. “Just the, uh, two of you?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You’re a brave man.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Takin’ all that money up the mountain with only a drunk to watch your back?”
    “I’d rather have Dale Cooper watching my back than any man alive,” Locke said coldly.
    Hammet backed off. “Hey, no offense meant,” he said.
    “Offense taken.”
    “Let me buy you another beer to make up for it.”
    “I’m still working on this one.”
    “I was just goin’ by what I saw,” the lawman said. “Your Marshal Cooper has been here for some time. I didn’t know who he was, but he really didn’t lift his head up off the table very often.”
    “I know a way you can make it up.”
    “How?”
    “Tell me about the first payroll being hit.”
    “Not much to tell,” the sheriff said with a shrug. “Molly sent two of her own up there, and they were ambushed.”
    “Back shot?”
    “One of ’em, yeah,” Hammet said.
    “Any sign up there?”
    “I ain’t much for reading sign on rocks,” the lawman said, “but near as I can figure, there was two of ’em.”
    “Nobody came forward with any information?” Locke asked. “Nobody was flashing money, maybe gambling beyond their means?”
    “I’m just a humble mining-town lawman, Mr. Locke,” Hammet said. “I ain’t no detective. All I can say is, somebody hit that payroll and got away with it. Nothin’ I can do about it.”
    “And I guess you’ll say the same thing if this second one is hit, too,” Locke commented.
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “So, Cooper and I are on our own.”
    “And getting paid for the privilege, as I understand it—probably more than I make in a year,” Hammet said. “I ain’t about to go up that mountain with a bunch of money and risk my life for my salary.”
    “I can’t blame you for that,” Locke said.
    “Nice of you to say.”
    Sheriff Hammet finished his beer and set the empty mug back on the bar top.
    “I wish you both luck,” he said, “and I hope I won’t be cartin’ both your bodies down the mountain.”
    Locke didn’t comment, but he had the same hope.

THIRTEEN
     
    A fter Locke and Cooper left Molly Shillstone’s house, she and George Crowell sat together on the porch. Molly knew George was waiting for her to invite him to stay overnight. He always waited for that invitation, and it never came—and never would. She often wondered why he didn’t know that. He was older than she and not the least bit attractive. In addition, he was weak. He had attached himself to her father for years, and now he was doing the same thing to her. If and when she found herself a real man, someone who would marry her and be at least as strong as she was, George Crowell would be out of a job. For now, he had his uses—but warming her bed was not one of them.
    “Are you sure you want to do this, Molly?”
    “Hmm? Do what, George?”
    “Entrust all this gold to these two men,” he said. “What do we know about them?”
    “Well, quite a bit, actually,” she said, “They do both have rather big reputations.”
    “Yes, as gunmen.”
    “Marshal Cooper’s is more as a lawman than a gun-man,” Molly pointed out. “Mr. Locke, as I understand it, has more of a reputation as a gunman. The Widowmaker, they call him. Or is that what they call his gun?”
    “Nevertheless,” he said, “Cooper is more of a drunk right now than anything else.”
    “He had one glass of brandy tonight, that I saw,” Molly said. “Not exactly what you’d expect from a drunk, George.”
    “Molly, his hands were