Adam Steele 43 by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: american west, zane grey, louis lamour, the old west, western action, western ebooks, james reasoner, terry harknett, edge the loner, best selling western
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Nine

VOICES BELOW TO the right drew his attention back to the hole in the roof. But the speakers were beyond his range of vision.

‘Mornin’, Mr. Krim! It sure is a fine one, ain’t it? Or it would be, if the boss weren’t in so much bad trouble!’ Billy Baxter had started out brightly with the greeting. Then suddenly changed his tone to abject misery as he spoke of the Virginian.

‘We all got our troubles, Billy,’ the saloonkeeper replied wearily, his voice lower but still loud enough to carry a considerable distance in the early morning quiet. ‘But I gotta allow, some have worse kinds than others. You’re right, Billy. Troubles apart, it sure is another fine day.’

‘I’m takin’ real good care of the horses while Mr. Steele ain’t around to look out for them hisself, Mr. Krim.’

‘Sure, Billy. He’ll be mighty appreciative of you doin’ that for him.’

Then Krim started toward the Golden Gate. For like most Providence people he was generally willing to spare a kind word for the mentally retarded man but never had the inclination to get involved in a prolonged conversation.

A third voice intervened: muffled so that the sense of what was said did not reach Steele in the attic. But it was discernible that the man was disgruntled and the Virginian guessed this was probably Harlan Grout. Hungover and complaining at being awakened by the talk.

Then, with the start of a smile on his face, Steele froze as he made to withdraw from the tiny spyhole in the roof. This as he glimpsed on the periphery of his vision a movement of something with more substance than a shadow. In a moment, as the smile became a scowl, the sudden switch from mild amusement to fear acted to churn the coffee and food in his stomach and raise acid bile into his throat.

Len Fallows was striding off Main Street onto the square. Not his usual immaculate self, but unshaved, unwashed and hurriedly dressed in the first clothing that came to hand. Hatless, so the darkly stained patch on his head wound showed. As he moved purposefully along the straight line that was the shortest distance between the end of the street and the front doorway of the boarding house. His left arm swinging while his right hand draped the butt of his holstered revolver.

Billy cried: ‘Mr. Fallows?’

Even in his retarded mind he could work out from the sheriff’s gait and the expression on his bristled, sleep-puffed face, that something was very much amiss.

Harry Krim snarled: ‘Aw, shit, no!’

‘What the hell?’ Harlan Grout demanded to know. Slurred, but now loud enough to be distinctly heard in the attic.

Where Steele backed away and stood up from his secret vantage point. His face impassive as he made to escape from the refuge suddenly become a trap. Sure in his own mind Len Fallows was coming for him.

‘Steele!’ the lawman roared to confirm it. ‘Come on out of there!’

The Virginian stumbled and one foot slipped off a joist to hit the ceiling of the room below: hard enough to punch a hole through it.

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