Slip Gun Read Online Free Page A

to talk about the weather.
    ‘ I’m
pleased I got here before the storm breaks,’ the man went
on.
    Crossing to the bar without as
much as another glance at Smith ’s wallet, the man spoke to the big, bulky
stationmaster. He would be arranging for his accommodation, Smith
guessed. Sure enough, Gilpin took him into the men’s bedroom.
Replacing the telegraph message in his wallet, Smith returned them
to his jacket’s pocket. More rain beat at the windows. Like the
nagging throb of toothache, the pain grew in his hands. Coming to his feet, he draped
the coat over his shoulders and went to the counter.
    ‘ Stage
should be along soon,’ Gilpin commented, slouching back to his
position behind the bar. ‘If it’s not, I’ll have the missus set out
your meal.’
    ‘ Gracias,’ Smith replied.
    Going by the
stationmaster ’s lack of interest in his gloved hands, Smith guessed that
the old hostler had not mentioned his identity. That was lucky.
Some folks fought shy of giving information to a known gun fighter.
Being something of an unknown quantity, Smith might learn about the
prevailing conditions around Widow’s Creek. Maybe he would even
discover the reason he had been sent for. Way station personnel
heard much gossip and Gilpin had the look of a man who liked to
talk.
    ‘ Have
something while you’re waiting,’ the stationmaster suggested,
reaching under the bar to bring out a bottle and two glasses.
Winking as he drew the cork, he went on, ‘Missus don’t cotton to me
drinking alone, so you’ll be doing me service taking
one.’
    ‘ I’ve
always been told we was sent here to help others,’ Smith drawled.
‘Only nobody ever says what the others were sent for. Anyways, all
us fellers should stand together.’
    ‘ You
headed for Widow’s Creek?’ Galpin inquired, after they had
exchanged salutations over the drinks.
    ‘ If I
get there,’ Smith answered, in a non-committal manner calculated to
extract further information about the town and its
affairs.
    ‘ All
I’ve heard,’ Gilpin said, ‘it’ll be something to see, that county
fair. ‘Less there’s trouble.’
    ‘ Should
there be?’ Smith asked, sensing that he was close to achieving his
desire.
    ‘ You
mix cowhands and nesters, that’s trouble,’ Gilpin replied.
‘Which’ll be a damned shame. Wil Jeffreys’s aiming for a
celebration that’ll make the big county fair they held at Tombstone
a few years back look like a church social in a one-hoss
village.’ iv
    That so? ’
    ‘ Yes,
sir. Town’s staking a whole bundle of cash-money on doing it. I’ll
bet Wil’s raising a muck-sweat ‘n case something goes wrong. Wil’s
mayor up there and a mighty smart—’
    ‘ That’s
what I like to see!’ boomed a voice, cutting Gilpin off just as
Smith stood to hear about his prospective employer. ‘An open bar,
with drinks on it. Mind if I join you, gents?’
    Striding across to the bar, the
dude beamed jovially from Smith to Gilpin and back. With his
overcoat off and bowler thrust to the back of his head, the man
looked even bigger than while riding the buggy. Although he wore a
well-cut Eastern suit, with a gold ‘Dickens’ watch chain glinting across the
front of his vest, a Western gunbelt was cinched about his middle
and a Colt Peacemaker rode in a cross-draw holster at its left
side.
    ‘ Feel
free,’ Gilpin confirmed, producing another glass and filling
it.
    ‘ Burbury’s the name, gents,’ the dude continued, exuding the
professional bonhomie of a drummer. ‘I sell general merchandise for
Schuyler, Hartley and Graham of New York City. And now one of you
gents’s going to say, “Why doesn’t one of them come selling while
the other two mind the store?” ‘
    ‘ I’ve
often wondered about that,’ Gilpin grinned. ‘Why don’t
they?’
    ‘ Because they’re rich enough to hire poor bastards like me
to come and do it,’ Burbury replied. ‘I met you when I came in, Mr.
Gilpin.’
    ‘ This’s
Mr.—’ Gilpin began,