Hangman's Creek Jury of Six by Matt Braun

Author:Matt Braun
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2011-08-23T00:00:00+00:00

Late that night, Starbuck and Poe rode into Tascosa. An isolated trading post, the town was situated on the Canadian River, roughly halfway between LX lands and the eastern border of New Mexico. Apart from a few adobes, there was one saloon and a general store. Tascosa had no streets, only a handful of permanent residents, and no law. It was the perfect haven for outlaws, on the edge of nowhere.

When Starbuck pushed through the batwing doors, a measurable hush fell over the saloon. There were perhaps a dozen men standing at the bar and seated around crude tables. Some of them knew him on sight, and the others would have instantly recognized his name. Yet, even to those who had never seen him, his presence was a matter to be weighed with care. In Tascosa, where every man looked to his own safety, caution was the basic tenet of survival.

With Poe at his side, Starbuck walked directly to the bar. Outside, he had checked the horses tied at the hitch rack, and none of them had been ridden hard. A swift glance around the saloon further strengthened his hunch: the men he sought were by now across the border into New Mexico. He rapped on the counter, and the bartender hurried forward.

“Evenin’, Mr. Starbuck.”

“Ernie.” Starbuck nodded amiably. “How’s tricks?”

“Oh, you know, dollar here, dollar there. What can I get you gents?”

“A little information.”

The barkeep gave him a guarded look. “I try to tend to my own knittin’, Mr. Starbuck. Feller stays healthier that way.”

“Ernie, you’ve got a choice.” Starbuck paused, motioning around the room. “You can worry about these boys later, or you can worry about me now. Which way you want it?”

“Jesus.” The barkeep licked his lips, shot a nervous glance over his shoulder. “That ain’t no choice at all.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” Starbuck fixed him with a level gaze. “Last night, maybe the night before, eight men wandered in here for a drink. Tell me about them.”

“How’d you hear about that bunch?”

“Let’s stick to me asking the questions.”

“Well, there’s not nothin’ special to tell, except maybe …”

“Yeah,” Starbuck prompted him, “except maybe what?”

“The youngest one,” the barkeep replied thoughtfully. “No more’n a kid, but the others treated him like he was meaner than tiger spit. Sorta strange.”

“Describe him,” Starbuck persisted. “Anything you remember.”

“Oh, he was an ugly little scutter. Wouldn’t stand no taller’n your shoulder. And his face was all lopsided. Looked like a jackrabbit when he grinned.”

“You mean he was bucktoothed?”

“Near about as bad as I ever seen.”

Starbuck turned to Poe. “What do you say, John? Think he fits the ticket?”

“In spades!” Poe agreed. “Couldn’t be no one else.”

“And I’ll bet they called him Billy.” Starbuck pinned the barkeep with a look. “Didn’t they, Ernie?”

“How the hell’d you know that?”

“Took a wild guess.” Starbuck stepped away from the bar. His eyes traveled around the room, moving from face to face. “This here’s private business, just between me and Ernie. Anybody sees it different, now’s the time to speak his piece.

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