served me, I glanced around, liking the feel of th e place.
"Rye?" The smooth-pated bartender squinted at me.
"Uh-huh. How's things in the mines?"
"So-so. But you ain't no miner." He glanced at m y cowhand's garb and then at the guns in their tied-dow n holsters. 'This here's a quiet town. We don't see many gu n handlers around here. The place for them is over east o f here."
"Hattan's?"
"Yeah. I hear the Bar M an' CP both are hirin' hands.
Couple of hombres from there rode into town a few days ago.
One of 'em was the biggest man I ever did see."
Morgan Park in Silver Reef! That sounded interesting , but I kept a tight rein on my thoughts and voice. "Did he sa y anything about what was going' on over there?"
Not to me. The feller with him, though, he was inquirin' a round for the Slade boys. Gunslicks both of them. The bi g feller, he never come in here atall. I seen him on the street a couple of times, but he went to the Wells Fargo Bank an d down the street to see that shyster, Jake Booker.
"You don't seem to like Booker?"
"Him? He's plumb no good! The man's a crook!"
Once started on Booker, the bartender told me a lot.
Morgan Park had been in town before, but never came to th e Elk Horn. He confined his visits to the back room of a div e called the Sump or occasional visits to the office of Jak e Booker. The only man who ever came with him was Lyell.
Leaving the saloon, I sent off my telegram to Leo D'Arcy.
Then I located the office of Booker, spotted the Sump, an d considered the situation. Night came swiftly and miner s crowded the street, a good-natured shoving, pushing, laughing throng, jamming the saloons and drinking. The crow d relaxed me with its rough good humor, and for the night I fel l into it, drifting, joking, listening.
Turning off the street near Louder's store I passed th e street lamp on the corner and for an instant was outlined i n its radiance. From the shadows, flame stabbed. There was a tug at my sleeve, and then my own gun roared, and as th e shot sped, I went after it.
A man lunged from the side of the store and ran staggeringly toward the alley behind it. Pistol ready, I ran after hi m He wheeled, slipped, and was running again. He brought u p with a crash against the corral bars and fell. He was crawlin g to his feet, and I caught a glimpse of his face in the glow fro m the window. It was Lyell.
One hand at his throat, I jerked him erect. His face wa s gaunt, and there was blood on his shirtfront. He had been hi t hard by my sudden, hardly aimed shot. "Got you, didn't I?"
"Yes, damn you, an' I missed. Put--put me down.
Lowering him to the ground, I dropped to one knee.
"I'll get a doctor. I saw a sign up the street."
He grabbed my sleeve. "Ain't no use. I feel it. You go t me good. Anyway--" he stared at me--"why should you get a doc for me?"
"I shouldn't. You were in the gang killed Ball."
His eyes bulged. "No! No, I wasn't there! He was a goo d old man! I wasn't in that crowd."
"Was Morgan Park there?"
His eyes changed, veiled. "Why would he be there?
That wasn't his play."
"What's he seeing Booker for? What about Sam Slade?"
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and a man carrying a lantern came up the alley. "Get a doctor, will you? Thi s man's been shot."
The man started off at a run, and Lyell lay quiet, a tough, unshaven man with brown eyes. He breathed hoarsel y for several minutes while I uncovered the wound. Then h e spoke. "The Slades are to get Canaval. Park wants you fo r himself."
"What does he want? Range?"
"No. He--he wants money."
The doctor hurried up with the lantern carrier. Watching him start work, I backed away and disappeared in th e darkness. If anybody knew anything about Park's plans i t would be Booker, and I had an idea I could get into Booker' s office.
Booker's office was on the second floor of a frame building reached by an outside stairway. Once up there, a ma n would be fairly trapped if anyone came up those stairs. Dow n the street a
"Rye?" The smooth-pated bartender squinted at me.
"Uh-huh. How's things in the mines?"
"So-so. But you ain't no miner." He glanced at m y cowhand's garb and then at the guns in their tied-dow n holsters. 'This here's a quiet town. We don't see many gu n handlers around here. The place for them is over east o f here."
"Hattan's?"
"Yeah. I hear the Bar M an' CP both are hirin' hands.
Couple of hombres from there rode into town a few days ago.
One of 'em was the biggest man I ever did see."
Morgan Park in Silver Reef! That sounded interesting , but I kept a tight rein on my thoughts and voice. "Did he sa y anything about what was going' on over there?"
Not to me. The feller with him, though, he was inquirin' a round for the Slade boys. Gunslicks both of them. The bi g feller, he never come in here atall. I seen him on the street a couple of times, but he went to the Wells Fargo Bank an d down the street to see that shyster, Jake Booker.
"You don't seem to like Booker?"
"Him? He's plumb no good! The man's a crook!"
Once started on Booker, the bartender told me a lot.
Morgan Park had been in town before, but never came to th e Elk Horn. He confined his visits to the back room of a div e called the Sump or occasional visits to the office of Jak e Booker. The only man who ever came with him was Lyell.
Leaving the saloon, I sent off my telegram to Leo D'Arcy.
Then I located the office of Booker, spotted the Sump, an d considered the situation. Night came swiftly and miner s crowded the street, a good-natured shoving, pushing, laughing throng, jamming the saloons and drinking. The crow d relaxed me with its rough good humor, and for the night I fel l into it, drifting, joking, listening.
Turning off the street near Louder's store I passed th e street lamp on the corner and for an instant was outlined i n its radiance. From the shadows, flame stabbed. There was a tug at my sleeve, and then my own gun roared, and as th e shot sped, I went after it.
A man lunged from the side of the store and ran staggeringly toward the alley behind it. Pistol ready, I ran after hi m He wheeled, slipped, and was running again. He brought u p with a crash against the corral bars and fell. He was crawlin g to his feet, and I caught a glimpse of his face in the glow fro m the window. It was Lyell.
One hand at his throat, I jerked him erect. His face wa s gaunt, and there was blood on his shirtfront. He had been hi t hard by my sudden, hardly aimed shot. "Got you, didn't I?"
"Yes, damn you, an' I missed. Put--put me down.
Lowering him to the ground, I dropped to one knee.
"I'll get a doctor. I saw a sign up the street."
He grabbed my sleeve. "Ain't no use. I feel it. You go t me good. Anyway--" he stared at me--"why should you get a doc for me?"
"I shouldn't. You were in the gang killed Ball."
His eyes bulged. "No! No, I wasn't there! He was a goo d old man! I wasn't in that crowd."
"Was Morgan Park there?"
His eyes changed, veiled. "Why would he be there?
That wasn't his play."
"What's he seeing Booker for? What about Sam Slade?"
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and a man carrying a lantern came up the alley. "Get a doctor, will you? Thi s man's been shot."
The man started off at a run, and Lyell lay quiet, a tough, unshaven man with brown eyes. He breathed hoarsel y for several minutes while I uncovered the wound. Then h e spoke. "The Slades are to get Canaval. Park wants you fo r himself."
"What does he want? Range?"
"No. He--he wants money."
The doctor hurried up with the lantern carrier. Watching him start work, I backed away and disappeared in th e darkness. If anybody knew anything about Park's plans i t would be Booker, and I had an idea I could get into Booker' s office.
Booker's office was on the second floor of a frame building reached by an outside stairway. Once up there, a ma n would be fairly trapped if anyone came up those stairs. Dow n the street a
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