Dead for a Dollar by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2021-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

Instead of following the telegraph operator’s directions, which would have taken him across the street and up to the gaudily painted front of the Texas Rose in the next block, Firestick remained on his current side of the street and retreated only a couple of doors down from the telegraph office until he came to the recessed entrance to a music store. He stepped into the entryway and waited, peering back toward the telegraph office.

He didn’t have long to wait before the red-haired operator stepped out of the office and rather frantically locked the door to his place of business behind him. Then, after a furtive look around, he turned and moved hurriedly up the boardwalk in the opposite direction from Firestick. This continued strange behavior, on top of the young man’s earlier reaction, caused the marshal’s forehead to crease in a thoughtful frown.

Returning to the telegraph office, Firestick saw through the paneled glass of its front door a paper sign hanging on a string. It read: BACK IN 15 MINUTES. Turning his head to look up the boardwalk, Firestick saw the red-haired kid, now in the next block, suddenly turn and disappear into the doorway of some business. The marshal stood very still for a minute, running through his mind all that had happened since he first showed up to ask if there were any wires for him.

He could only conclude one thing—the operator’s initial startled reaction and subsequent odd behavior seemed to indicate he had been expecting Firestick with a measure of trepidation and now had hurried to report to somebody that he was here. Who that somebody was and how he knew the marshal was on the way seemed easy enough to guess. But what Firestick didn’t quite understand was why his arrival would be met with so much apprehension.

He toyed with the idea of following the telegraph operator directly into wherever he’d gone. But then he decided he would proceed with things as he’d planned and wait to see what whoever appeared so interested in him being here had in mind to do next . . . and whatever it was, he’d be alert for it.

* * *

For one o’clock in the afternoon, the Texas Rose Saloon was doing quite a brisk business. It was a large, two-story, somewhat gaudy establishment, as Firestick had surmised from back down the street, with a long, ornate bar on one side and a stage for dancing girls—though none were currently performing—on the other. At the near end of the stage sat a grand piano surrounded by other band instruments, none in use at the moment except for a banjo being plunked by an elderly black man with cottony white sideburns sitting on a ladderback chair. The area between the stage and the bar was filled with several round-topped gaming tables. Only a few of these were seeing any action just now, with the majority of the afternoon’s patrons being bellied up to the bar.

Firestick took all of this in by gazing over the top of the batwing doors at the entrance.

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