The Gunsmith 385 Read Online Free

back next to him, no sheet on her. Feeling himself stirred by the sight of her, he forced himself out of bed. His stomach was growling, and another thing he had missed while on the trail was a breakfast of steak and eggs.
    He washed with the water from the pitcher and basin on the chest of drawers, doing it as quietly as he could, and then got dressed. Before he left, she stirred and rolled over onto her right side, presenting him with a fine view of her ass.
    He forced himself out the door.
    He walked to a small café that was located halfway between his hotel and Rick’s Place. Sometimes, when he was in Labyrinth, he joined Rick for breakfast at the saloon, prepared in his kitchen. Today, however, he chose to eat alone.
    Â * * * 
    Five men rode into town from the north, moved slowly toward Rick’s Place, reined in outside.
    â€œO’Brien,” Tom Barry said, “stay here, keep watch, and take care of the horses.”
    â€œSure, boss.”
    Tom Barry had been hired to do a job. When he was in town a couple of weeks before, he’d spent a lot of time at Rick’s Place. He was impressed with the amount of business the saloon did, and had come back with his gang to relieve Rick Hartman of some of his hard-earned cash. Keeping his ears open, he had first heard the name “Hartman,” then discovered that the man had a low opinion of banks. To Barry, that meant large sums of money kept on the premises. The saloon and gambling hall was an easier target than a bank.
    Barry had ridden out and met with his gang at a prearranged place in North Texas. He laid out the job, told them what he knew about Labyrinth . . .
    Â * * * 
    â€œThey got one lawman, a sheriff with no deputies, and the saloon ain’t got no security to speak of. One night I saw the bartender break up a fight, and he did it by hisself.”
    â€œSo what yer stayin’ is,” Cameron Davis said, “it’s easy pickin’s.”
    â€œThe easiest.”
    â€œSo whatta we waitin’ fer?” Tracy Hastings asked . . .
    Â * * * 
    Barry dismounted, followed by three of his four men. The fifth, Irish O’Brien, remained mounted and kept an eye out for possible trouble.
    Barry walked to the front door, his three men behind him. The door was locked, but he’d expected that. He knocked, rather than pounded, as he did not want to attract anyone’s attention, except for somebody on the inside.
    He knocked again and the door was finally opened by a tall man in his forties, who stared out at them without expression.
    â€œWe’re closed,” he said.
    Barry produced his gun and pointed it at the man’s face.
    â€œI don’t think so,” he said. “I think you’re open.”
    The man stared at the gun barrel, still no expression on his face.
    â€œBack away, bartender,” Barry said. “We’re comin’ in.”
    â€œThat’d be a mistake,” the bartender said.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Barry said, “but let’s just see. Back up!”
    The man did as he was told. Barry moved in with him, and the other three eased in behind him past the batwings, closing the door again.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Rick Hartman asked.
    He was seated at a table with breakfast in front of him. The other tables were either covered, or had chairs stacked on them.
    â€œJust stay nice and relaxed, Hartman,” Barry said.
    â€œI know you,” Rick said.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œYeah, I don’t forget faces,” Rick said. “You were in here a week or so ago, more than once. And as I recall, you drank, but didn’t gamble.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Barry said. “You do have a pretty good memory.”
    â€œWhat’s this all about?” Rick asked. “We overcharge you for a beer?”
    â€œNo, your prices are just fine,” Barry said. “In