Benedict and Brazos 09 by E. Jefferson Clay

Author:E. Jefferson Clay [Clay, E. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action, Colt, Colt.45, cowboys, ebook, fiction, American, frontier, gunfighters, hero, Pulp, westerns, the, wild, west, western, ebooks, Piccadilly, publishing, Westersn
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2023-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Hank Brazos and Duke Benedict sat together at a table against the back wall of the Prairie Flower Saloon. It was just past eleven and the noise in the Prairie Flower was only little short of deafening. It was what Scobie Passlow referred to as a “bang night”. Barkeepers were kept busy hustling whisky and beer. Faro dealers barked the results and keno men raked in the losers and paid out the winners, sweating under the hot lights. The saloon was full of noise and swirling tobacco smoke. Along the bar and around the tables sounded booming laughter and shouting.

The Yellow House River boys were living it up.

Apart from the table occupied by a silent Benedict and a scowling Brazos, the only other quiet spot in the saloon was the corner past the bar where two big men sat drinking under the moose head on the wall.

The strong family resemblance between Luther Greathouse and his younger brother Shiloh was obvious at a glance. Both were big men with red faces and pale blue eyes. Both wore rough range denim and had thick, unruly crops of wild red hair. Each looked mean enough to kidnap his own mother.

Like Benedict, Hank Brazos had believed that Hetty, the Parnells and others had exaggerated somewhat about the Yellow House River bunch. But no longer. There had been about a dozen fights around town, any number of broken windows and a fire down at Belle Winter’s which had fortunately been doused before it could do more than burn up one room.

“We’re leaving,” Benedict said suddenly.

“For where?”

“For the hotel. Perhaps I can get a little game going there away from the hullaballoo.”

“But damn it all, Benedict, if we go off they might think we’re yeller like the rest of the towners who’ve gone home to bed early.”

Benedict shook his head in exasperation. “Johnny Reb, what in the name of all that’s holy does it matter what a pack like this thinks about us? Look, you’re a Texan and I know how Texans think, but you don’t have to go around proving yourself every time the clock ticks.”

“I don’t know about provin’ myself,” Brazos grumbled, “but I sure as hell would like to boot a few backsides hereabouts and that’s nothin’ but the simple truth.”

Demonstrating that he wasn’t quite as indifferent to what was going on as his words might have indicated, Benedict smiled at that and said, “To tell you the truth, Reb, I’m getting an itch to kick a few myself. Which is a sure sign that it’s time to head back to the Grand View.”

Massive shoulders straining against the thin stuff of his shirt, his bull jaw set hard, Brazos muttered under his breath and made a path through the crowd with Benedict following. It suited Brazos to head directly from the table for the batwings regardless of who happened to be in the way. One drunk fell under the impact of a heavy shoulder, another cursed as Brazos went by, took a look at the Herculean shoulders, then shrugged and shoved his face back into his mug of beer again.

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