The Lawbringers 4 by Brian Garfield

Author:Brian Garfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, colt 45, murder and mystery, piccadilly publishing, ebook westerns, westerns ebook, outlaws lawmen, brian garfield westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

There was a brief lull in the storm, with the song of it diminishing for perhaps ten minutes, and then it rose up again to all its former fury, and struck vigorously against the embattled saloon once more.

Shortly thereafter the tackshed door was flung open and a man, blue of face, stumbled into the room.

Without hurry, Armando Elias got up and walked around that man and shut the door, and went back to his chair.

The newcomer stood motionless in his frost-mottled great coat, as though the cold had eaten into his very joints and rendered him immobile. Only his eyes showed life. He was a big-boned man with a black stubble of beard and triangular, level eyes; that was all it was possible to tell, since the hat was scarfed down low on his face and he was almost lost in the bulky shapeless coat, soaked and mottled with ice.

Jim Brand got up and went to him, and said, “Get out of that coat, friend, and start walking around before your feet freeze up on you.”

The other made no answer. His lips fluttered with breath; his eyes were a little dimmed. Brand pulled the coat off him, meeting no resistance, and underneath it he found battered and water-soaked range clothes.

Pinned to the jacket was a dull metal badge. Knowing the temper of this room, Brand immediately unclipped the badge and slipped it out of sight into his own pocket. From the angle at which he stood, he was sure no one else in the room had seen the marshal’s badge.

The newcomer shuffled near the stove. Michaela came into the room from the kitchen and stared a moment at the stranger without expression, then turned back to her cooking. Brand said, “Stamp your feet, friend.”

The man went into the motions of walking, standing in one place. His feet went up and down with mechanical rhythm. Brand watched a moment, then spoke. “Feel anything?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” The man’s voice was hoarse from cold. “A little prickling, that’s all.”

“Keep moving, then. Don’t get too close to the stove.” Brand reached forward and pinched the man’s cheek. “Feel that?”

“Yes.”

“You’re all right then. What’s your name?”

“George Zane.”

“A pilgrim,” muttered Mitch Andrews. Andrews was pretty drunk by now. “A goddamned pilgrim. Welcome, pilgrim, to the far side of the Styx.”

“Where?” said Billy McCasford.

“Never mind,” Andrews said thickly.

Brand wondered what it was that weighed so hard on Andrews that he had to drink to ward it off. It might be anything from a crop failure to a killer’s conscience.

George Zane was still performing his awkward little dance, trying to send the blood back into his feet. He had worked his gloves off and now he removed the hat and scarf. His hair was long and straight, shot with gray; his skin had the toughness of old saddle leather. His face screwed up and he sneezed. A touch of ruddiness was coming back to his cheeks.

Brand said, “Old man, maybe you’ve got some dry clothes that will fit this gent.

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