Bad Men Die Read Online Free

stripped to the waist, sullenly scowling Frank McCluskey to the local juzgado .
    Luke didn’t particularly want the attention. He figured he’d drink a beer, then head back to the hotel and try to get a good night’s sleep. He gave the people in the saloon a curt nod, then headed for the bar.
    The man on the other side of the hardwood was lean and gray, wearing an apron tied around his waist, a white shirt with sleeve garters, and a brocaded vest. He greeted Luke with a sardonic, unreadable expression and asked, “What’ll it be?”
    â€œBeer if it’s cold.”
    â€œIt’s what passes for cold around here,” the bartender said. “Is that good enough for you?”
    Luke chuckled. “I reckon it’ll have to be.”
    Although the beer the drink juggler pulled from a tap was only cool, it tasted good. Luke took a long swallow and nodded in satisfaction.
    The bartender finally smiled. “You’re him. The bounty hunter.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œYou’re the reason I’ve got a girl upstairs crying her eyes out instead of, well, doing what she’s supposed to be doing.”
    Luke shook his head. “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but that’s not really my responsibility. Anyway, McCluskey just rode in here yesterday. How could she fall head over heels in love with him that fast?”
    The bartender grunted. “You don’t know Delia. That girl . . . well, she never does anything halfway. She’s all the time pitching a conniption fit over one thing or another. I’d fire her and run her little round behind out of here if she wasn’t so good at what she does.”
    â€œSomebody who’s that quick to go whole hog about something is usually pretty quick to get over it, too,” Luke commented.
    â€œWe can only hope,” the bartender said, raising his bushy gray eyebrows. “In the meantime, I’d watch my back if I was you, Mr. Jensen.”
    â€œI’m sort of in the habit of that.” Luke finished the beer and thought about seeing if he could sit in on one of the poker games, then decided he was too tired for cards. He nodded good night to the bartender and walked out of the Powder River, aware that some of the customers were still watching him curiously.
    Most of the time, life in a frontier town was so monotonous that any distraction was welcome. Luke knew that and didn’t take offense at the staring.
    Nobody was in the hotel lobby except the desk clerk, who still didn’t look too happy about the prospect of repairing those bullet holes. Luke ignored the man and went upstairs to his room. He smiled a little, though, as he passed the section of wall McCluskey had done such a good job of ventilating.
    His room was on the other side of the hall and a couple doors farther along. As he approached it, he looked at the spot where he had wedged a bit of black thread between the door and jamb, down low, close to the floor. It was still there, telling him that no one had gotten into the room.
    Unless they had come in through the window, that is. Since there was no balcony outside—Luke had already thought to check on that—such an invasion would have been difficult. It would have required leaning a ladder against the front wall of the hotel, something that was liable to be noticed in a tranquil place like Rimrock.
    He was satisfied that he wasn’t walking into an ambush, but had a gun in his right hand anyway as he used his left to unlock the door and swing it open. He’d left the curtain pushed back over the window so some light from the street came in, and he could see well enough to tell that the room was empty except for its simple furniture. He stepped inside, holstered the Remington, closed and locked the door, and pulled the curtain before he lit the lamp on the table beside the bed.
    His gun belt and holstered revolvers went on the lone ladderback chair, which he’d