Larry and Stretch 5 by Marshall Grover

Author:Marshall Grover
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western ebook, piccadilly publishing, western pulp fiction, larry and stretch, cleveland publisher western, coouwboy and outlaws of the old west, leonard mears writing as marshall grover, marshall grover western ebook
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Seven – Too Many Shocks

Within the quarter-hour, Deputy Meyers was resting easy on the law office couch, his left arm encased in the bandages applied by Dr. Nathan Kyle. Marshal Fames had listened eagerly to Stabile’s report of the gunfight, a report substantiated by the younger deputies, and had pronounced himself satisfied.

“I should have thought of Bowes and his pards,” he reflected. “Renegades, no-accounts—all three of ’em. Easy to guess what happened. Old Jordy got to bragging, and they were listening. Trust Bowes not to miss such a chance.”

“I reckon Anna Layton can identify this map,” offered Stabile.

“Reckon she will,” agreed Fames. He passed the map to Deputy Paulson. “Brad, you take this over to Anna Layton at the Bonanza, and tell her what happened.”

“Let her keep it?” asked Brad, as he thrust the map into a vest pocket.

“Sure,” nodded Fames. “It’s rightly her property. And Brad—talk gentle. She’s in mighty bad shape.”

When the youthful deputy entered the Bonanza, he found the blonde woman seated alone at a table by a front window. Toby Jaeger had brought her a tempting breakfast—ham, eggs, hot biscuits with all the trimmings. Brad’s mouth watered, but Anna was making no impression on the food, merely prodding at it with a fork. Mindful of his chief’s warning, Brad chose his words with care.

She hung on his every word. Then, as he handed her the map, she nervously enquired, “Will this be the end of it then?”

“Looks thataway to me, Miss Anna,” drawled Brad. “Take a look at the map. That the same map them hombres stole off you?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “This is it.”

“So it’s all over,” he shrugged. “It had to be Bowes and his pards that bushwhacked your pappy. Well, if it’s any satisfaction to you, they didn’t get away with it. You got your map back—and they’re gravebait.” He got to his feet, donned his Stetson and bade her farewell. “Be seein’ you, Miss Anna.”

Deep in thought, she watched him amble to the batwings. As he was about to move out, he stood to one side, making way for the tall man now entering. Pete Davidson, manager of the Mid-Town Hotel, was a passably good-looking man in the late thirties, blond, with sensitive features, clear gray eyes and unassuming demeanor. He wore a town suit of gray broadcloth and leaned heavily on a cane. The limp was a legacy of a near-fatal accident that had occurred some years ago. Before accepting his present position, he had been a prospector.

And, before the coming of the arrogantly-handsome Chip Layton, Davidson had been Anna’s most faithful admirer.

“’Morning, Pete,” she greeted. “I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

“News doesn’t always travel fast in Blanco Roca,” he muttered. “Or maybe I spend too much time indoors. Anyway, I didn’t hear of your father’s death until this morning. I’m sorry, Anna.”

“You never met him,” she reflected.

“No,” he frowned.

“I suppose you’d have liked him,” she shrugged. “You’re the same kind of man. He was always prospecting—always hunting the pot of gold .

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