Diamond Buckow by A. J. Arnold Page B

need. Mr. Henderson, this gentleman wants to buy some clothes.”
    Beaming, the older man moved to serve his customer. Buck kept his eyes on the pretty clerk as she backed toward the ladies’ section.
    â€œName’s Buck,” he informed her loudly as she reached the wooden partition. “And I’ll be back to continue our discussion, Sarah.”
    Her face flamed red clear up to the roots of her hair. She turned and fled into the dark room at the back of the store.

Chapter Seven
    Buck rose with the sun, full of hope and resolve. He’d slept well enough to rest him some, but little enough to set him on edge and get his juices flowing over the prospects of a job at the Blough ranch. After a thorough session of yawning and stretching, he got the mouse-brown mare that he’d traded for the part Arab on his first day at Glenn Saltwell’s camp outside San Antonio.
    Throwing the saddle on, he started around the enclosure. As he moved along, leading the small grulla, Buck nearly stumbled over a still form that huddled on the ground.
    Must be a drunk, he thought with disgust. Well, at least that was one weakness he dido’t have. Or maybe the man was dead—he’d better have a look. As he stepped around the motionless figure, he saw a leg thrust forward.
    Damn it! Buck swore in silent dismay. It was Russ, his former riding partner from Glenn’s outfit. Buck had ridden with him enough times to recognize the cracked, run-over boots. He bent to turn the inert heap face-up, and Russ groaned. The reeking smell of cheap whiskey floated up.
    He leaned down and shook his old saddlemate roughly.
    â€œRuss, Russ. Come on, man. What are you doing here? Get up.”
    â€œHuh?”
    The bigger man moved painfully, trying to straighten his cramped muscles and sit up.
    â€œOhhhh. Ahhhh. Oh, God, I wished I was dead.”
    He went limp like a wet saloon rag, slumping back to the hard earth. “Let me be, goddamn it. Can’t you see I’m sick?”
    Buck was tempted to just walk away. After all, he didn’t owe Russ anything. Damned fool to get himself in such a state. But then he glanced at the cowpoke’s greenish, awful-looking face, and decided to give it one more try.
    â€œCome on, Russ. Get up. I’ll buy.”
    The drunk’s face turned a little. One bloodshot eye opened as he tried to get the voice into focus with its speaker.
    â€œWho are you, boy? Do I know you?”
    As if he’d found some new source of energy, Russ lurched to his feet. He wove a crazy pattern as he reached out to cling to the corral fence behind him.
    â€œWhy, I’ll be. That you, Buck?”
    â€œYeah, it’s me. What in tarnation happened to you? I thought you’d be over in Colorado by now, still headed west.”
    â€œIt’s a long story. Did I hear you say, you’d buy?”
    â€œYes, you did. But I never said what I’d buy,” Buck answered in a wry tone.
    â€œCome on, let me help you. It’s not too far up the street. We’re going to get some solid breakfast into you at the restaurant.”
    As Buck got Russ’s left arm over his shoulder and his own right arm around the fellow, Russ began to protest.
    â€œI don’ wanna eat. Wan’ another drink. Don’ know what-samatter with the liquor in this town, though. Stuff tastes funny. Grows fuzz on my tongue.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know,” Buck muttered as they zigzagged in the right direction.
    Hell of a thing! He’d wanted no part of anything related to Saltwell, yet here he was with old Russ. Wobbling around and looking just as drunk as him.
    At last they reeled through the front door of the same eatery where Buck had met Sarah. The sudden thought of her made him feel better and worse all at the same time. He deliberately dumped the trail hand onto a backless counter stool. If Russ was forced to sit up, maybe he’d sober up, too.
    â€œTwo coffees,” he told