California Killing by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman [Gilman, George G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Action & Adventure, Westerns
Amazon: B009BA1W5W
Publisher: Lobo publications
Published: 2012-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

EDGE slept no more that night. But over the violent years of his recent past he had become attuned to needing the minimum of rest. Thus, the nap he had taken while Justin Wood stood his negligent guard left the tall half-breed alert to face the new day. It dawned with a promise of high heat as the sun crested the eastern mountain range.

But food was a prime necessity to maintain his deceptively lean strength and when, from his sentry position at the window, he saw Grauman's Chinese Restaurant open up, he left the room.

The Paramount was silent as he crossed the empty saloon, its atmosphere heavy with the odor of old beer and stale sweat. There was little sign of early morning activity on the street, either, except for the pigtailed Chinese who was opening the window shutters of the restaurant.

Crossing the dusty street, Edge rasped his palm over his stubbled chin and considered the need of a shave. But a low growl from deep in his stomach emphasized the priorities. The Chinese heard his approach and turned, grinning broadly, bowing elaborately.

"Welcome to this most dishonorable eating establishment, sir," he sing-songed.

"You cook anything except Chop Suey?" Edge asked.

"Whatever you wish, sir:"

"Steak, beans and grits?"

"Best in California, sir," the Chinese said, bowing again. He was young, still in his teens. "Pardon sir, please do not break the foot mark."

Edge halted and looked down. The sidewalk ended at the side of the Holly Playhouse and there was just hard-baked dirt in front of the restaurant. Just to the left of the doorway was the imprint of a booted foot. Edge eyed the Chinese boy quizzically.

"Very famous, sir, the youngster said proudly. "One day after heavy rain, visitor come. Step in mud. Sun dry mud later. Now, when the rain comes, we cover the mark. People much interested. Come to see."

"Don't look like much to me," Edge said with disinterest.

"Famous gunfighter make mark, John Wesley Hardin, sir. You famous sir? We always have pail of water ready. In case not raining when famous, man comes."

Edge spat into the foot mark of John Wesley Hardin. "Known for one thing," he 'murmured.

"What that sir?" The Chinese was excited.

"Eating the waiter when I'm hungry and my breakfast ain't ready. Raw."

Edge reached out a hand and the boy emitted a startled cry. He scurried into the restaurant, Edge ambled in after him and took a checkered clothed table near the window, offering a broad view of the empty street. As he waited for the meal to cook, and then ate it, the sun hauled itself clear of the mountain ridge and it was as if its mounting heat breathed life into The Town With No Name.

He saw the tacitum Cooper sweep dust out of the Paramount and then fasten the batswing doors wide. Three men, still bleary-eyed from yesterday's drinking, went into the saloon, trying not to hurry. A flatbed wagon rolled along the street from the north and he recognized Mrs. Vine up on the seat.

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