Blood of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2012-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

PARADISE LAND COMPANY—TOWN LOTS—BUILDING SITES—COMMERSHAL INVESTMENTS—COL. AMOS DEWITT PROP.

DeWitt studied it carefully as they began nailing it up. “Is that how you spell commercial?” he asked the nearest gunman. “It doesn’t look right.”

“I guess so, colonel.” The man shrugged. “I’m no hand at spellin’.”

“And what’s this ‘Paradise’ business? I thought we were callin’ this place Prosperity.”

“O’Brien changed it,” the thug said. “I don’t know why.”

DeWitt scowled at the sign once more, then turned as Kurt Obermire and Casper Wilkerson walked toward him. Obermire was as big as the colonel but of a far rougher cut, and even the paid constablesand Vigilance Committee members who did DeWitt’s bidding tended to stay shy of him and his ever present sawed-off shotgun. Obermire was, plain and simple, one big mean son of a bitch, and he looked it.

Wilkerson, by contrast, was a hawk-nosed beanpoleof a man, more draped than covered by the long coat he always wore—a coat that concealed considerable armament.

“Riders comm’ in,” Wilkerson said as they approached.“Maybe some more boys from over in Kansas.”

DeWitt shaded his eyes. Riders were just pulling into the far end of the settlement—three young men on tired horses. With the distance, and the collars and mufflers they wore against the cold, he could see no faces. They seemed like ordinary drifters, young bucks on the run or on the prowl, and not particularly noticeable.

“They’re nobody,” he decided. “If they’re lookin’ for work, they’ll find Kurt.” He glanced at Obermire.“What about the bunch Billy and Tuck brought in? Can we use them?”

“They’ll do for gang work,” Obermire said. “Most of them can use a gun. I’ve got Calumet drillin’ ’em. I’ll try some of them out tonight.”

“All right. They’re up to you. Anybody else new today?”

“The usual,” Casper said. “Couple of immigrants with O‘Brien’s deed plasters. A few drifters, sight-seein’.Only one looks like he might have money. Young fellow named Archer. He was around here a day or so ago, and now he’s back. He’s over at the post, last I saw.”

“Archer,” DeWitt noted. “Well, see if you can herd him toward the land office. Maybe O’Brien can sell him something.” He turned slowly, full circle, surveying his domain. “What was that ruckus I heard awhile ago?”

Casper sneered. “Oh, that squatter Coleman, that had the cedar camp out on north rim. He thinks he’s a hard man or somethin’, raisin’ hell about the boys runnin’ him off that land last week. Shoulda shot him out there, ’stead of just runnin’ him off.”

“Damn squatter should have just moved on,” DeWitt rumbled. “What did we get from his place?”

“Mostly those cedar posts yonder,” Casper pointed. “O‘Brien had ’em hauled in. Thinks he can sell ’em.” He grinned—a grotesque expression on his bony face. “I bet it took that squatter a year to cut that many posts.”

“We got us some planed lumber, too,” Kurt added. “Maybe a wagon load. An’ some wolf hides. There was a pair of mules out there, but they weren’t worth chasin’ so the boys shot ’em.

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