Return of the Mountain Man Read Online Free Page A

noted Buck’s tied-down guns. Being an observant man, and one raised on the frontier, he knew a fast gun when he saw one. And this man sitting in his chair was a gunhand, and no tinhorn. The butts of his .44s were worn smooth from handling, with no marks in the wood to signify kills. Only a tinhorn did that, and tinhorns didn’t last long in the west.
    But there was something else about this young man. Confidence. That was it. And a cold air about him. Not unfriendly, just cold.
    â€œIf it’s silver you’re huntin’”—he knew it wasn’t—“big strike north and east of here. Close to the Lemhi River.”
    â€œNot for me,” Buck told him. “Too much work involved in that.”
    â€œUh-huh. You be handy with them .44s?”
    â€œSome folks say that.”
    â€œYou head north from here, follow the Salmon until the river cuts through the Lemhi range, then head east. You’ll come up on the town of Bury.”
    â€œHell of a name for a town.”
    â€œIt’s right proper, considerin’ the size of their boot hill. You’ll see.”
    â€œWhy would I want to go to someplace called Bury?”
    â€œMaybe you don’t. Then again, you might find work up there.”
    â€œMight do that. How’s the law in this town?” Buck set the stage with that question.
    â€œTough when they have to be. Long as it’s a fair fight, they won’t bother you.”
    â€œI never shot no one in the back,” Buck replied, putting it just a bit testily.
    â€œYou don’t have that look about you, that’s for sure.” The barber’s voice was very bland.
    â€œWhere’s the best place to eat?”
    â€œMarie’s. Just up the street. Beef and beans and apple pie. Good portions, too. Reasonable.”
    They weren’t just good portions; they were huge. The food simple but well-prepared. The apple pie was delicious. Buck pushed the empty plate away and settled back, leaning back in his chair, his back to a wall. He lingered over a third cup of coffee and watched the activity in the street through the window.
    He was waiting for the marshal or sheriff to make his appearance. It didn’t take long.
    The town marshal entered the cafe, a deputy behind him. The deputy held a sawed-off double-barrel twelve-gauge express gun in his hands. And it appeared he had used it before.
    The marshal was not a man to back up or mince words. He sat down at Buck’s table, facing him, and ordered a cup of coffee. He stared at Buck.
    Buck returned the stare.
    â€œPassin’ through?” the marshal asked.
    â€œMight stay two or three days. I’m in no big hurry to get anywhere.”
    â€œYou got a name?”
    Buck smiled. “I’m not wanted.”
    â€œThat don’t answer my question.”
    â€œBuck West.” Buck then placed the man. Dooley. He’d been a lawman over in Colorado for years. A straight, no-nonsense lawman. But a fair one.
    Dooley pointed up the street. “Them houses with paint on them beginning at the end of the street is off-boundaries for drifters. Decent folks live there. The dosshouses is on the other end of the street.” He pointed. “Thataway.” He jerked his thumb. “The road out of town is thataway. Feel free to take it as soon as possible.”
    â€œI don’t intend to cause you or your men any trouble, Marshal,” Buck said softly.
    â€œBut you will,” the marshal replied just as softly. “You just got that air about you.”
    â€œYou’re a very suspicious man, Marshal.”
    â€œGoes with the job, son.” The marshal drained his coffee cup, stood up, and started to leave. He looked once more at Buck. “You sure look familiar, mister.”
    â€œI just have a friendly face,” Buck said solemnly.
    â€œYeah,” the marshal said drily. “I’m sure that’s it.”

4
    A s he stood facing the two men in the