The Third Western Megapack by S. Omar Barker & Johnston McCulley & Gary Lovisi

Author:S. Omar Barker & Johnston McCulley & Gary Lovisi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western, historical, old west, short stories, cowboys
ISBN: 9781479402953
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2014-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

BOOTHILL BOUND, by J. R. Jackson

Blocky, silver-thatched Sheriff Cy Tenner did not think fit to get up when Ed Keel came into his office. He did not offer one of his big muscle-filled hands, either. He eyed at Keel coldly, his face stiff with dislike.

Keel was a drifter, beady-eyed, and incredibly thin. He’d been working for Sun-Fisher Jones out at his spread fir the last few months. Now Keel jerked his head around to the door, nodding outside where the sheriff’s palomino stood. The magnificent animal glistened in the sun like a golden statue for which a conquering Spaniard might have sold his soul.

“Want to sell your horse?” he asked.

Tenner rubbed his gray mustache and, slitting his old blue eyes, probed the drifter.

“You got that kind of money, Keel?”

“Why, no I ain’t.” The question clearly upset Keel. “Matter of fact, I come to report a stealin’. Two Indians robbed old Sun-Fisher Jones of all his savin’s.”

The old sheriff gulped his dismay and sat up straight.

“Where’s Sun-Fisher?”

“He cut out after them like a house afire—when he found the money gone.” Keel spread his hands. “I’d be with him, only my horse went lame. I come to you ’cause I feared the old codger might run into trouble.”

“Hm-m.”

“Sun-Fisher was always too trustin’ of strangers. Way I got it, the Indians asked for water. Sun Fisher went to the well. When he come back, they was gone—and the money.”

“Where were you?”

“Checkin’ Sun-Fisher’s traps in that jackpine thicket west of the cabin.” Keel watched the sheriff covertly out of a beady eye. “The old man was doin’ all right with his huntin’ and trappin’. We had to check ’bout every day.”

“Sun-Fisher saved that money for thirty years,” said Tenner painfully. The old trapper was a good friend, though they only saw each other a few times a month. “How much you reckon he had?”

Keel’s jacknife face took on a hurt look.

“Why, Sheriff, I don’t know ’zactly. Sun-Fisher told me once he had about enough to quit. I warned him a tumbledown shack wasn’t no place to hide a horde of gold pieces. He wouldn’t listen.”

“Yeah, I know he hid the money in the cabin,” mused the Sheriff. “You’re right, Keel. Old Sun-Fisher was far too trustin’.”

Tenner noticed the fishy look Keel shot at him. There was more here, he thought, than met the eye. He wished old Sun-Fisher had kept his money in a bank. The rugged oldster, crowding eighty, had lost a pile in a bank crash once and wouldn’t trust one after that. Not that he hadn’t taken other precautions.

“You want any more of me?” asked Keel.

“Tell me about those Indians.”

Keel described the Indians, glibly, as he claimed he had heard it from Sun-Fisher. While he talked, a fat, red-faced man with a sprinkling of sandy whiskers hurried into the office. The fat man nodded briefly at Keel, smiled at the sheriff. This was Tom Dawkes, shrewd and able horse dealer to the town of Lynx.

“Mebbe you got a customer, Tom.” The blocky lawman nodded at Keel.

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