Slip Gun Read Online Free Page B

giving a hint for an introduction.
    ‘ Smith,’ the Texan supplied and grinned. ‘Damned if I don’t
change it to Featherstone, or some such, way folks look when I tell
them.’
    ‘ I’ll
bet you have trouble taking your wife into a hotel where they don’t
know you,’ Burbury chuckled. ‘Had a friend called “Brown” once and
he had to quit taking his wife on the road with him because of
it.’
    ‘ I’m
not married,’ Smith replied, just a touch bitterly. Then he
stiffened slightly. There was no sense in brooding about Sally. Her
folks had not considered a man without forefingers capable of
supporting her and had taken her away from Texas. ‘But I still have
trouble getting into hotels.’
    ‘ So do
I,’ Burbury admitted. ‘Anyways, I was never much on “mistering”.
Some’d say I should be, seeing that my pappy done a meanness and
had me christened Cedric. My friends call me “Ric”.’
    ‘ Say
“Wax” if it comes easier than “Smith”,’ the Texan offered. ‘How
about having another drink on me, gents?’
    ‘ Let me
set them up,’ Burbury requested. ‘Say, did you fellers hear about
the little coon who was always running away to play in the
woods?’
    ‘ Can’t
rightly say’s I have,’ Smith admitted.
    ‘ Well,
gents, it was this way,’ Burbury elaborated, with the easy delivery
of a skilled bar-room raconteur. ‘His mammy got worried about it
and figured to give him some advice. “Rastus,” she says, “You’s
going to get lost running in dem woods. So if you does, this’s how
you gets home. You spreads your arms like dis—”’ Pausing, he
elevated his hands, palms up, to shoulder level. ‘And you say,
“Lord, I’s lost!” and de Lord will give you guidance.” About a week
later, Rastus went into the woods and, sure enough, he got lost.
After a spell, he remembered his mammy’s advice and did like she
said. And just then a bird flew over and dropped some, right in the
palm of his hand. Rastus looked up into the sky and shouted, “Lord!
You-all stop handing me that shit. I really is lost!”’
    The laughter which greeted the
story coincided with the arrival of the stage coach. That put an
end to Smith ’s hopes of learning about Widow’s Creek and its mayor.
Raising the bar’s entrance flap, Gilpin stepped through and headed
towards the door. Coming from the kitchen, Mrs. Gilpin joined her
husband on the porch to welcome and check the numbers of the
guests. Turning, Smith hooked his elbows on and rested his back
against the counter. Then, in a casual-seeming gesture, his left
hand moved across to grip the fingers of the right glove. Until he
saw who had arrived, he figured it best to be ready for trouble.
Apparently attaching no importance to the Texan’s movements,
Burbury continued to lean by Smith’s side.
    ‘ Wonder
if there’s anybody on board worth knowing?’ the drummer remarked,
finishing his drink and setting down the glass.
    ‘ Schuyler, Hartley or Graham might be along,’ Smith
suggested.
    ‘ Sure,’
Burbury replied. ‘You often see folks you don’t want to come off a
stage.’
    Pondering briefly on the
drummer ’s
cryptic utterance, Smith listened to the commotion outside.
Followed by the passengers carrying their overnight bags, Mrs.
Gilpin returned. Although the rain was falling heavily, the people
from the stage had avoided it until making the brief journey from
the stage to the porch.
    Neatly dressed in a stylish, but
practical, grey serge travelling costume —which emphasized rather than
concealed a magnificent hour-glass figure—with a dainty hat perched
on her somewhat disheveled blonde hair, a tall, eye-catching young
woman was in the lead. There was a maturity and confidence to her
beautiful features and a glint in her eyes that suggested
experience mingled with cynicism. She seemed obvious of Mrs.
Gilpin’s cold, distant manner as the other indicated the door to
the women’s sleeping quarters.
    ‘ Now
there’s a gal who’s used