A Reason to Die by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

“I’m not allowed to sell whiskey, even if I had some, which I don’t,” Tom Brant insisted. “You ain’t supposed to sell it anywhere in the Nations. You fellows oughta know that.” He glanced nervously at the somber man’s companions, who were wandering about his store, aimlessly looking at things on the shelves, seeming to want to touch everything. One of them, a tall, stringy man, wearing a brown fedora, was behind the counter, fondling some brass belt buckles. Brant wanted to tell them to keep their hands off the merchandise, but he was afraid to. They were an evil-looking lot.

“Hey Brice,” the tall man behind the counter blurted. ”Look at this.” He held up a fancy belt with a bull’s-eye engraved on the buckle. “This is what you need. Give the marshals somethin’ to aim at.”

The man at the counter, talking to Brant, looked at him and grunted. “It’d look better on you, Shorty. Why don’t you put it on, so we can see how good it works?” He returned his attention to Brant. “I know you ain’t supposed to sell no whiskey, but I know damn well you’ve got some in this place somewhere that you sell to white folks. So suppose you fetch me a couple of bottles and quit wastin’ my time.”

“I swear, mister, I don’t have any whiskey anywhere on the place,” Brant said. “If I did, I’d surely sell it to you.”

“Why, you lyin’ son of a bitch,” Brice growled and drew a long skinning knife from his belt. “I’m gonna cut you some new airholes in your throat.” He grabbed Brant by the collar and pulled him halfway across the counter. About to slice Brant’s throat, he hesitated when they suddenly heard a train whistle.

“Leave him be, Brice,” Clementine Cobb said. “The train’s comin’ in, and we need to get up there to the depot.” Stoic and gruff as a bear, the sullen woman had stood, silently watching the men. Apparently, she had no interest in the storekeeper’s wares. “I believe he’s tellin’ the truth. You can come back and hassle him all you want after we meet the train.” She turned and started for the door. When one of the others lingered over a barrel filled with dried apples, she snapped, “Get your sorry ass movin’, Junior!” The lumbering brute grabbed a handful of dried apples and hurried out the door.

Tom Brant breathed a sigh of relief, happy to see them go. He rubbed his neck, not sure if Brice really would have cut his throat. His wife joined him now that the ruffians had gone. She was still holding the shotgun she had prayed she wouldn’t have to use. They watched from the window as the outlaws crossed the street to the railroad depot.

“They’re nothing but a bunch of animals,” Eva said. She was especially shocked by the woman with them. “She looks older than the men, and just as rough as they are.”

“You’ve got that right,” Brant said, still

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