Black as Death by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman [Gilman, George G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
ISBN: 9780523426181
Goodreads: 2566553
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 1981-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

THE quiet-spoken and unsmiling young man in black ate a supper of two orders of beef stew in the Main Street restaurant and then transacted some more business with Standing merchants. All of whom expressed genuine sorrow for the death of his father: but made no attempt beyond this to bridge the distance which Barnaby Gold’s attitude placed between himself and those he approached.

He traded the team for a saddle-broke black gelding plus enough cash to buy a big Denver saddle and accoutrements. With a surplus to cover the cost of a week’s provisions, fifty cheroots, cooking and eating utensils, a bedroll and some shaving and washing gear. But he had to draw on the money from the sale of the hearse to purchase goods and service from the elderly gunsmith.

A carton of fifty cartridges for the shotgun. And a gun-belt and attachments: a holster on the right side and a slotted plate on the left. In the low-slung holster was a Peacemaker .45 with a wooden butt. Fitted to the plate by a stud was an eagle-butt Peacemaker, the grip of mother-of-pearl and with a cutaway trigger guard.

It was a second-hand, well used rig and he bought it on impulse because at fifty dollars it seemed like a bargain. Which was what he truthfully told the gunsmith who had known him and his ways for as long as every other merchant he did business with that night.

‘It’s a gunslinger’s rig, boy. And I ain’t never thought of you as no fast draw, quick-fire artist. A bargain ain’t a bargain unless a man has a use for it.’

The puzzled old timer said this with a shake of his head as he gave Gold back the Murcott after shortening the barrels and fixing a metal hook to the stock plate of the shotgun.

‘Bye bye, Mr. Murchison,’ was all the response he received as Barnaby Gold left his store, frock coat unfastened to accommodate the bulk of the gunbelt.

When the former undertaker of Fairfax went into the barbering parlor next to the saloon for a shave, it was necessary for him to remove his necktie. And when he emerged with two days and a night’s blond bristles gone from his cheeks, jaw and throat, he left the tie behind.

The Mother Lode was doing good business now, which deterred Gold from entering through the batwings to take a couple of drinks. He had never liked crowded places. The music from the player piano had a spiritual beat to it.

A Mexican whore — young and with a fuller figure than Maria — was lounging provocatively in the arched doorway of the cantina, long hair masking half her face, body turned so that her breasts were silhouetted against the light and the hem of her dress hiked up by a hand scratching her thigh. He felt a mild stir of wanting between his legs as the girl saw him watching her and altered the movement of her hand from a vigorous scratching to a seductive caressing.

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