Death Waits at Sundown Read Online Free Page B

from the general store, stood with
their hands stiffly in the air, still shocked by the fact that a man marked
dead had turned up so astonishingly. McCloud still sat on the planking and
nursed his hand.
    A clear voice from the store struck into the throng. Lynn, both guns showing above a molasses barrel, sang out, “Gents, you’ve made a mistake.
And I ain’t clearin’ out of this town until you fix it up.”
    McCloud found courage. He stood up and waved his arm in
a sweeping motion. “Go get him!”
    â€œThe first man up here gets it,” said Lynn. And behind
another barrel inside the door, Frank’s gun was also showing and his eyes
looked eager to see a target down its sights after his late injustices.
    â€œI got the evidence,” said Lynn, “that Fanner McCloud
has played you gents for suckers.” The crowd stiffened and Lynn surged on. “He
pulled all them robberies himself and then tried to cover them up by hangin’
Frank Taylor and incidentally getting Frank’s spread. Gents, if you care to
look, I’ll lay you ten to one that you’ll find last night’s dispatch box under
McCloud’s floor. Go look and see.”
    Several went and looked. McCloud started to find a way
through the crowd.
    A short time later, the searchers charged forth with a
yell. “There’s eight dispatch boxes under that floor! Don’t let that guy get
away!”
    McCloud had stopped moving. He had a gun jammed into his
stomach and behind the gun stood ex-Sheriff Hawkins.
    â€œThere’s
your murderer! There’s your thief!” shouted Lynn. “And there’s the gallows!”
    A bout midnight the celebration of the hanging of Fanner McCloud
began to wane and Frank and Lynn withdrew to the stable and saddled up.
    Hawkins met them as they led their horses forth.
    â€œLynn,” said Hawkins, “I got to thank you.” And he gave
his star a burnishing brush. “I hope you’ll stick around this country for a
while. I allus did like you Texans. But how the hell did you know where them
dispatch boxes was?”
    â€œYeah,” said Lynn, swinging up, “that is a puzzle, ain’t
it. C’mon, Frank. I never did get a chance to look at this ranch of yours.”

Ride 'Em, Cowboy!

CHAPTER ONE
    TheWinner
    T HE Ellensburg Rodeo was in full tide.
    Twenty-five thousand packed the stands and made a
blurred sea surging up from the other side of the track.
    The arena boss and the judges and wranglers were
hurrying on important errands across the wet green turf of the arena.
    Flags and Indians and violent-shirted punchers made the
day loud and bright.
    The band was playing “Cheyenne, Cheyenne,” but Long Tom
Branner, sitting on the gate of chute five, saw and heard very little of it. He
was watching with hungry eyes Miss Vicky Stuart as she climbed up to the runway
and came toward the chute which held Dynamite.
    Long Tom sighed. Vicky was all in white, all creamy silk
and leather. And just now she was pushing a strand of corn-colored hair back
under her Stetson . Her golden spurs clink-jingled and they made the only sound
in the world which Long Tom Branner could hear.
    He hooked his high heels more solidly into the third bar
and sat up straighter, prepared for the worst.
    â€œGive him hell, Vicky,” said Long Tom.
    She stopped and looked across at him. Dynamite was
screaming murder and death and kicking the chute into splinters.
    â€œThank you, I will.”
    He wished she wouldn’t treat him so. She wasn’t this
rough on the rest of the world. To everybody else she was a charming kid with
more nerve and skill than most buckaroos possess.
    He knew that if he said anything he would make it worse.
But suddenly he heard himself saying, “Watch him. I had him last year at
Pendleton and he sunfishes right after he takes his first jump. I—”
    â€œThank you,” said Vicky with so much sweetness that