The Great West Detective Agency by Jackson Lowry Page B

corral. I tell you, the other wranglers stared at him as if he was a bronco buster who’d go down in history as the best ever.”
    â€œSounds like it,” the cowboy said with more than a touch of skepticism.
    â€œOf course, Glue Bottom got a mite arrogant about his skills when he rode that mustang out, thinking it was just another horse.” Lucas lowered his voice for effect. “It wasn’t anywhere near broken.”
    â€œDidn’t think so.”
    Lucas saw that he had drawn a crowd as big as any Jenny could, and he didn’t have her impressively displayed chest. The bets came fast and furious. Lucas paid out some winners, but the money mattered less than the tall tale he spun.
    â€œOld Glue Bottom started to build himself a smoke, the reins draped over his left arm and not gripped properly. The horse knew and rocketed forward, straight over a cliff. Glue Bottom let out a yell as he and the horse plunged over the brink going straight down toward the river.”
    â€œIf his body was swept away by the river, they wouldn’t have to bury him,” the cowboy said.
    Lucas motioned for Claudette to start working the crowd and sell as much whiskey as she could. He worked his table, the cards flying so fast the faces blurred as they slapped down on the green felt. The speed of betting increased, and he finally continued the story.
    â€œYes, sir, his partners thought Glue Bottom had ridden his last trail. They fanned out along the base of the cliff, hunting for his body. They didn’t find a danged thing.”
    â€œThe river,” the cowboy said. “A horse what leaps like that’s gonna carry outwards quite a way.”
    â€œIt wasn’t the river where they found him. There was a huge cottonwood tree on the riverbank. One of his buddies looked up and there was Glue Bottom, still astride that horse. He held up his smoke and asked, ‘Anybody got a light?’”
    For a moment only silence greeted Lucas, then laughter rippled around.
    â€œThat there’s a good story, gambler man.”
    This sentiment was echoed by others. They drifted away, but Lucas ran his knowing fingers over the stacks of coins won for the house. More than a hundred dollars had been bet and lost by the crowd as he spun his tale. Claudette winked broadly at him. Sale of whiskey had been good, too. He might not have Jenny’s attributes, but he had other talents.
    â€œI entertained you boys,” Lucas said, “so now you can do me a favor. I’m looking for a puppy dog stolen a couple days ago.”
    â€œIs there a reward?”
    â€œFor the right dog, I’ll pay . . . five dollars.”
    â€œI seen a dog out back ’fore I came in.”
    â€œWarn’t no dog. That was a mangy coyote.”
    The argument between the men grew and took them away from the faro table. Claudette followed to capitalize on spilled liquor and emptied glasses. For a moment, Lucas found himself alone at the table, giving him a chance to catch his breath. He knew any number of ways of sweet-talking a crowd to keep them interested while they gambled, but it always sapped his energy.
    He looked toward the back of the Emerald City, where the stage stretched empty, almost forlorn. The curtains billowed and moved, sometimes hinting at stagehands moving about to prepare the set for Carmela. He shifted in the direction of the stage but caught Lefty’s eye. The barkeep sternly shook his head, then pointed at the faro table. Lucas shot him an insincere smile and went back to plying his trade.
    More than a half hour passed. A cowboy walked away three dollars to the good, bragging on his luck. Lucas waited for the rush to the table when word got around that the cards favored the bettor. Luck meant everything to a dyed-in-the-wool gambler—and even more to a superstitious cowboy.
    A loud yelp followed by fierce barking made him reach for his pistol. He paused when he saw a man as