Buchanan Says No Read Online Free
Author: Jonas Ward
glanced at the pair on the ground, and then raised his startled face to Buchanan.
" W hat goes on here? Ain't that Kersey and Bowen?"
Buchanan shrugged. "Strangers to us, Sheriff ,” he said.
"City marshal ,” the man with the star corrected testily. " a n d strangers in Bella stay south of the Happy Times."
"So the fellow said," Buchanan admitted.
*"And you plugged him?" the marshal asked, incredulous.
"That was me," Mike Sandoe said. "The first one braced us with his gun already drawed. That one doing all the m oaning like to have scared me half to death when he b u sted out of the alley . ”
"It was more justifiable than not ,” Buchanan agreed . ""You got my word for it, Marshal ,”
“Y our word! And who the hell are you?"
'Tom Buchanan," Buchanan said. "Out of Alpine, West Texas. Sheriff Jeff Sage will vouch for my word around Alpine ,”
"This is around Bella, Territory of California," the marshal told him, bristling even more. "And the pair you picked on work for Mr . Frank Power . ”
"He ought to learn them better damn manners ,” Sandoe said.
The marshal turned his head to the people on the porch,
"Will somebody get Doc Brown down here?"
"Sent for," someone answered, and the lawman swung back to Buchanan and Sandoe.
"Saddle up and ride, boys ,” he said. "That's the best break you'll ever get in Bella."
"Thanks just the same," Buchanan told him, "We got some business matters to attend to first."
"With who?"
"Fella in the hote l here."
"Didn't I just tell you about staying south of the—"
"Marshal, we're not going to break the law in Bella. But that 'south of the Happy Times' business leaves me with a bad smell in my nose ,”
"Likewise," Sandoe said. "So step to one side, Mr. Marshal, and let two peace-lovin' gents be about their business."
He brushed the officer aside and started for the entrance stairs, causing hurried movements on the porch as the onlookers scurried out of his way.
Buchanan paused briefly at the marshal's side. "That body don't mean no real harm ,” he said confidentially. "Just nerved up some, is all."
"Nerved up? That's Sam Kersey he plugged, the swiftest gunny that ever worked these parts."
"They're all the best till the next one rides in," Bu chanan said, and went off after Sandoe with the marshal's wide-eyed gaze following him up the stairs.
They crossed the porch together, but when they entered the lobby Sandoe fell a step behind, as if seeking some sort of assurance from Buchanan in the face of such ele gance and respectability.
The head clerk, Callow, had got a hasty report of the shooting outside, and now he watched the approach of the ferocious pair with a face gone chalk-colored. Killers, he told himself, and all he could think about was the dream he had had, the one in which he was killed during a gunfight down at the south end of town. But this was no dream .
"I'm looking for Boyd Weston ,” Buchanan said, and his voice was the only sound in that hushed room.
Callow tried to talk but his throat was locked, all he could do was shake his head from side to side.
Buchanan, misinterpreting the clerk's fear for evasion looked down at the open register. "Boyd Weston ” read one of the signatures, and someone else had written, "46."
Buch anan swung to the curving staircase and mounted it with Sandoe close behind.
“Som e layout ,” Sandoe said when they reached the first
“Got a bigger one in San Antone. Heard about an even bigger one than that in F risco, Nine floors, straight up.”
"Ma n !"
They climbed to the fourth floor and went on down the corri dor to Room 46. Buchanan rapped his knuckles on the doo r , waited, and knocked again.
"Who is it?" asked a woman's voice then 7 and Buchanan ma rked the hesitancy, the worry.
I want to see Boy d Weston," he said.
"He's not here. Go away."
"It's important I see him, ma'am."
"There was no immediate reply, and they could hear a mu r mured conference beyond the thin panel. Instinctively, Lik e
" W hat goes on here? Ain't that Kersey and Bowen?"
Buchanan shrugged. "Strangers to us, Sheriff ,” he said.
"City marshal ,” the man with the star corrected testily. " a n d strangers in Bella stay south of the Happy Times."
"So the fellow said," Buchanan admitted.
*"And you plugged him?" the marshal asked, incredulous.
"That was me," Mike Sandoe said. "The first one braced us with his gun already drawed. That one doing all the m oaning like to have scared me half to death when he b u sted out of the alley . ”
"It was more justifiable than not ,” Buchanan agreed . ""You got my word for it, Marshal ,”
“Y our word! And who the hell are you?"
'Tom Buchanan," Buchanan said. "Out of Alpine, West Texas. Sheriff Jeff Sage will vouch for my word around Alpine ,”
"This is around Bella, Territory of California," the marshal told him, bristling even more. "And the pair you picked on work for Mr . Frank Power . ”
"He ought to learn them better damn manners ,” Sandoe said.
The marshal turned his head to the people on the porch,
"Will somebody get Doc Brown down here?"
"Sent for," someone answered, and the lawman swung back to Buchanan and Sandoe.
"Saddle up and ride, boys ,” he said. "That's the best break you'll ever get in Bella."
"Thanks just the same," Buchanan told him, "We got some business matters to attend to first."
"With who?"
"Fella in the hote l here."
"Didn't I just tell you about staying south of the—"
"Marshal, we're not going to break the law in Bella. But that 'south of the Happy Times' business leaves me with a bad smell in my nose ,”
"Likewise," Sandoe said. "So step to one side, Mr. Marshal, and let two peace-lovin' gents be about their business."
He brushed the officer aside and started for the entrance stairs, causing hurried movements on the porch as the onlookers scurried out of his way.
Buchanan paused briefly at the marshal's side. "That body don't mean no real harm ,” he said confidentially. "Just nerved up some, is all."
"Nerved up? That's Sam Kersey he plugged, the swiftest gunny that ever worked these parts."
"They're all the best till the next one rides in," Bu chanan said, and went off after Sandoe with the marshal's wide-eyed gaze following him up the stairs.
They crossed the porch together, but when they entered the lobby Sandoe fell a step behind, as if seeking some sort of assurance from Buchanan in the face of such ele gance and respectability.
The head clerk, Callow, had got a hasty report of the shooting outside, and now he watched the approach of the ferocious pair with a face gone chalk-colored. Killers, he told himself, and all he could think about was the dream he had had, the one in which he was killed during a gunfight down at the south end of town. But this was no dream .
"I'm looking for Boyd Weston ,” Buchanan said, and his voice was the only sound in that hushed room.
Callow tried to talk but his throat was locked, all he could do was shake his head from side to side.
Buchanan, misinterpreting the clerk's fear for evasion looked down at the open register. "Boyd Weston ” read one of the signatures, and someone else had written, "46."
Buch anan swung to the curving staircase and mounted it with Sandoe close behind.
“Som e layout ,” Sandoe said when they reached the first
“Got a bigger one in San Antone. Heard about an even bigger one than that in F risco, Nine floors, straight up.”
"Ma n !"
They climbed to the fourth floor and went on down the corri dor to Room 46. Buchanan rapped his knuckles on the doo r , waited, and knocked again.
"Who is it?" asked a woman's voice then 7 and Buchanan ma rked the hesitancy, the worry.
I want to see Boy d Weston," he said.
"He's not here. Go away."
"It's important I see him, ma'am."
"There was no immediate reply, and they could hear a mu r mured conference beyond the thin panel. Instinctively, Lik e
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