The Old Gray Wolf Read Online Free

fact that he was chilly. I bet I’m in Maine—or maybe Minnesota. He was not so disoriented as to totally misunderstand his predicament: I’ll freeze to death if I don’t get something to eat and find me a warm place to sleep. This was a reasonably accurate estimate of his predicament, and one that is bound to arouse at least a tad of sympathy. But not to worry; the plucky ne’er-do-well knew just the remedy: I need some hard cash . As he staggered past a greasy-spoon diner and glanced at a DISHWASHER WANTED sign in the window, his course of action was a no-brainer: I’ll bump into some rich sucker and pick his pocket.
    The unfortunate malefactor did not know where he had landed. Though there were perhaps a dozen citizens in Granite Creek, Colorado, who could be categorized as rich, not one of them was a sucker, and poking your fingers into any of these bad hombres’ pockets was a good way to lose them. But, as it happened, not one of Mr. Hooten’s dexterous digits was in the least danger of being lopped off by a bone-handled Bowie knife. Within minutes, he would select a victim from that supposedly less-dangerous gender and commit a felony that was related (first cousin) to that venerable craft of picking prosperous gentlemen’s pockets.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    A SUITABLE SENTIMENT FOR AN EPITAPH
    As they motored down Copper Street in Moon’s Expedition, neither the lean, keen-eyed Indian behind the steering wheel nor Scott Parris (in the passenger seat), nor sweet little Sarah Frank (in the backseat), nor Charlie’s aunt Daisy Perika (seated beside Sarah) took any notice of Mr. LeRoy Hooten, who—in search of a promising pocket to pick—was headed in the same direction as they were, though not at the posted speed limit of twenty-five miles per.
    Accustomed to his role as chief of police, Parris barked an instruction to his part-time deputy and pointed. “Pull in at the Smith’s parking lot.” Suddenly remembering that he was a guest in Moon’s car, he added quickly, “If it’s no trouble.”
    â€œNot a bit.” Wanting some elbow room, the amiable rancher selected a space about fifty yards from the few dozen vehicles that were clustered near the supermarket’s entrance.
    As if she had intended to pick up a few things herself, Daisy snorted. “Why didn’t you park in the next county?”
    Ignoring his relative’s caustic remark, Moon addressed his buddy: “You intend to do some last-minute shopping?”
    â€œYes I do.” Parris was unbuckling his seat belt. “I was just adding up all the times you’ve fed me at the Columbine, and all I’ve ever brought with me was a big appetite.” Free of physical restraint, he opened the car door. “Tonight, I’m providing the dessert.”
    â€œThat’s very thoughtful,” Moon said.
    â€œAnd it’s about time,” Daisy snapped. “I’ve baked you enough pies to keep a big family of hogs fed and fat for a year.”
    Parris leaned to gaze at the feisty old woman. “I was thinking about some ice cream.”
    â€œIn this weather?” She feigned a shiver. “Just thinking about ice cream is enough to freeze my gizzard.”
    â€œThen I’ll get a couple of pies that we can warm up in the oven—”
    â€œStore-bought pies taste like warmed-over cardboard,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t feed one to a starving coyote that came scratching at my door.”
    Parris was determined to please. “So what would you like?”
    â€œI’d like for you to close that door before I get a bad case of frostbite!”
    Scott Parris had known the tribal elder for too many years to take offense. Tipping his felt hat with a boyish smile, the beefy cop shut the car door and began his downhill stroll to the supermarket.
    Realizing that there was nothing to be gained by upbraiding his irascible auntie, Charlie