Badlanders by David Robbins Page A

that same unconscious level he’d unhesitatingly accepted. “Come work cows for me, then.”
    From then on, they were inseparable.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    And now, striding down Whiskey Flats’s dusty main street, Neal remarked, “They’ve seen us.”
    â€œThe gambler has sharp eyes’,” Jericho said.
    â€œI don’t know what it’s about, but we have to avoid chuckin’ lead with the womenfolk so close.”
    â€œThat won’t be up to me.”
    Neal was upset with himself. Franklyn Wells had written him that the new manager and his daughters were expected to arrive this very day, but Wells had intimated it wouldn’t be until later. Neal set out from the ranch early that morning with Jericho and another hand on a buckboard, plus an extra horse, but the stage was already there when they arrived.
    â€œThose three folks I brought in?” the driver had said when asked. “They moseyed off not two minutes ago.” He’d scanned Main Street and pointed. “There they are.And say, it looks as if some hard cases have latched onto ’em.”
    Walking faster, Neal asked Jericho, “Do you know those three?”
    â€œI don’t recollect seein’ them before, no.”
    â€œMust be new in town.”
    â€œNew or not, they’re trouble.”
    Neal girded himself. The three toughs had faced them and spread out. The one in the middle, with a scar on his face, was a rarity, a two-gun man. Usually only green kids wore two six-shooters—or the very few who were the genuine articles and could use both hands as adeptly as most used one. The man with the scar wasn’t a green kid.
    â€œWatch the one in the middle.”
    â€œThe other two ain’t parsons,” Jericho said.
    Neal hadn’t paid much attention to the Jessups, but as he neared them he did. Alexander Jessup was much as Wells had described him. “Aristocratic, like one of those Roman emperors.” Neal didn’t know an emperor from a billy goat, but Alexander Jessup did have the air of someone who carried himself as if he were important.
    The two daughters weren’t at all what Neal had expected. Wells had written their names and mentioned they were “older girls,” leading Neal to assume they might be fifteen or sixteen or thereabouts. But they were full-grown women, and both of them were easy on the eyes, to boot. At first glimpse, he thought the one with hair like corn silk was a shade prettier. With a shake of his head, Neal put that from his mind.
    Beaumont Adams was leaning against a post, and smirking. The gambler smirked a lot, Neal had noticed, the few times he’d been in
the Three Aces.
    â€œGentlemen,” Beaumont said. “How nice to see you again. Welcome to our street social. Permit me to make the introductions. Mr. Neal Bonner, and Jericho, I’d like you to meet three upstandin’ new members of our community. Mr. Scar Wratner and his friends Bird Beak and Toad.”
    Isolda Jessup laughed.
    The pair on either side of Scar Wratner glanced angrily at the gambler.
    â€œWhat did you just call me?” said the one who did indeed resemble a frog or a toad. “My name is Tuck. And this here is Grat, not Bird Beak.”
    â€œI’m terribly sorry,” Beaumont said. “They seemed to be the logical handles.”
    Isolda laughed once more.
    â€œYou think you’re so damn funny,” Tuck said. “Keep it up and I’ll make you laugh out your ass.”
    â€œHush,” Scar Wratner growled. He was staring at Jericho.
    Tuck hushed.
    Scar went on staring. “The tinhorn over there says you’re the cock of the walk in these parts.”
    Beaumont Adams straightened. “Hold on. I resent that, Wratner. I admit I’m not the most law-abidin’ gent, but I play square at cards. Ask anyone. I never deal from the bottom.”
    â€œGood for you.” Scar