Benedict and Brazos 6 by E. Jefferson Clay

Author:E. Jefferson Clay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: louis lamour, the old west, action heroes, piccadilly publishing, best western novel, southwest usa, the american frontier, mining in the us
Publisher: Piccadilly

Duke Benedict strolled through the slanting sunlight towards the Spargo House Hotel. He was decked out in his black broadcloth suit, hand-tooled dress boots and twenty-dollar hat. He doffed his hat to a passing matron who clucked and flushed and hurried on her way like a startled hen. Benedict looked rested and relaxed and in the pink of condition, despite the fact that he’d had less than four hours’ sleep.

It was mid-morning and Johnny Street was busy with horsemen and wagons and men afoot. Groups of strikers from the Motherlode stood in the verandah shade along the far side of the street. There was a racket of catcalls and whistles as two sporting girls from Coyote Street promenaded past the freight depot and stopped to look in a store window. Somebody had told Benedict that business had fallen off alarmingly in Coyote Street since the Motherlode closed down. He supposed the girls would be as happy as anybody else when things got back to normal.

Mrs. Daphne Hogg, the portly wife of mine host at the Spargo House, looked up from her ledger and beamed when she saw who had entered the hotel.

“Good morning, Mr. Benedict.” She wagged a plump finger and added roguishly, “My, but you’re a bold one and no mistake, aren’t you?”

Resting his hands on the desk, Benedict cocked an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

She pointed to the clock. “Ten o’clock in the morning and you just getting in. My, my.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, dear lady, but I spent the night with friends.”

She giggled girlishly. “That’s what you tell me. Oh, Mr. Benedict, you must think I came down in the last shower. A fine looking man like you, staying with friends? Now, now …”

“Of course you are right, my astute Mrs. Hogg,” he said with a wicked grin. “As they say: The way of the eagle is in the air, the way of the ship is on the sea, and the way of a man is with a maid.”

“Oh, Mr. Benedict, you are bold.”

“Indubitably,” murmured Benedict. And then, feeling he’d just about exhausted giddy Mrs. Hogg’s possibilities, asked, “Is Mr. Brazos abroad yet?”

“Oh, yes, he is, out at the bath-house. He’s another naughty one, too.”

Moving for the rear door, Benedict paused. “Oh, and why is that?”

“He didn’t get in until three himself.”

“Is that a fact? Well, that is curious.”

The bath-house, a circular, red-painted wooden edifice with a tin roof, stood in the center of the hotel’s back yard. As Benedict stepped onto the plank walk that led to the door, he heard sounds of violence coming from the little building, and then someone shouted:

“Come back, you flea-infested, pot-lickin’, camp-robbin’ Judas Iscariot son-of-a-bitch or I’ll goddamn split your crutch to Christmas!”

This was followed by a growl, a great splash and more lurid cursing from Brazos.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Benedict opened the bath-house door and gaped. The walls of the twelve-foot wide bath-house were splattered with soap and the floor was covered with water. In the center

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