Range Ghost Read Online Free Page A

efforts at swearing.
    “If we’d opened the door to go out, we’d have gotten those blue whistlers dead center!” he bawled.
    “Yes, there would have been enough to take care of both of us,” Slade agreed cheerfully as he cut the cords that held the shotgun to the post. From the triggers dangled a broken wire, the far end of which hung from the door knob.
    “How in blazes did you catch on?” demanded Carter.
    “When the sidewinder looped the wire over the knob he touched the knob and it rattled,” Sladeexplained. “Then when he slid off the porch he stepped on a loose board and it creaked. I thought it sounded a little funny and decided a mite of investigation was in order.”
    “Thank Pete you did!” growled the sheriff, wiping his moist brow. “The nerve of that hellion, shootin’ up the sheriff’s office!”
    “Yes, plenty of savvy, and plenty of cold nerve,” Slade agreed. “Just luck he didn’t get away with it.”
    “Luck!” snorted Carter. “I call it something else. Blazes! I got the shakes. Of all the things for anybody to do!”
    “Yes, it was a mite original,” Slade agreed. “I very nearly ran into a somewhat similar scheme once, a scattergun set up inside a room, but this is different and most unexpected. You plumb sure Veck Sosna was dead when you buried him? Looks exactly like one of his capers.”
    “Well, he sure didn’t climb up the handle of the spade,” replied Carter. “Hope there hasn’t another of his caliber coiled his twine hereabouts, but I’m hanged if it don’t look like there has.”
    “Let’s get inside,” Slade suggested. “I see some folks coming up the street; they may have heard the reports and are trying to locate where they came from. Best to keep what happened under our hats—may tend to puzzle the hellions responsible.”
    Reentering the office, they closed the door. A moment later they heard the voices of the passers-by, receding into the distance.
    “Chances are they’ll figure it was just some cowhands skylarking, which is to be expected on payday night,” Slade said. He passed the shotgun to the sheriff.
    “Lock it up,” he directed. “A nice souvenir for you.”
    “I can do without such souvenirs,” Carter growled as he slammed the sawed-off in a desk drawer and turned the key. “Might turn out to be evidence of some sort, though.”
    “Doubtful, but it might,” Slade conceded. “Well, suppose we drop over to the Trail End; I can stand a cup of coffee about now.”
    “And I can stand a coupla dozen snorts,” growled the sheriff. “I still got the shakes. Let’s go!”
    When they entered the Trail End, big, burly, and bony Swivel-eye Sanders, the owner, came hurrying foward with hand outstretched.
    “Mr. Slade!” he exclaimed. “Heard you were coming in and have been waiting for you. Come along, Mr. Fletcher has saved a couple of chairs at his table for you fellers. Said you should be along soon. I’ll rustle some drinks.”
    There was no doubt, Slade thought, but that Swiveleye came rightly by his peculiar nickname. His eyes did seem to swivel in every direction. One eyelid hung continually lower than the other and viewed from a certain angle lent his otherwise rather saturnine face an air of droll and unexpected waggery; he seemed to glower with one eye and leer jocosely with the other. One profile appeared jovial, the other sinister. A sudden full-face and the viewer was bewildered and didn’t know just what conclusion to arrive at. However, he had a well-shaped mouth and a good nose, and Slade knew him to be a square shooter and dependable.
    Fletcher, already well fortified, whooped a greeting. “Not much past dark and things are beginning to hop,” he said. “Shoulder? Don’t hurt a bit, thanks to Slade and old Doc. Guess it was shock more than anything else that sorta knocked me out for a spell.Anyhow, I feel fine now. Here comes Swivel-eye with drinks; that’ll help.”
    Sipping his drink, and ordering coffee with