Halliday 16 by Adam Brady

Author:Adam Brady [Brady, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action adventure, action hero, American Old West, cowboys, Gunfighters, piccadilly publishing, Western ebook
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2022-06-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six – Hellions for Sure

IKE TELLER AND Col Winn returned to Calder, dusty, sunburned and empty-handed ... and sullen to boot.

They came into town by way of a back alley and made their way to the northern end of town. Entering Calder’s second and rather sleazy saloon by the back door, they carefully checked the dimly-lit room before making their way to the scarred counter. The smell of cigarette smoke and body odor didn’t bother them in the least. They’d been in worse places.

The barkeep was as thin as a reed. His face was covered with scars and his reddened eyes completed a picture of bad health and a sour mood. He looked them up and down without offering them a word of welcome. Teller threw some coins carelessly onto the counter and said;

“Two better whiskeys than last time.”

“Last time?”

“We were through earlier and we didn’t much care for the hospitality.”

“It don’t ever change, mister. Take it or leave it.”

When he made no attempt to serve their drinks, Winn said quietly;

“Pay my friend no heed. He’s just come from a hangin’.”

“A hangin’?” the barkeep asked, his disinterest gone now.

The men further down the counter were beginning to show interest in the new arrivals, too.

“Yep, a hangin’. The high dance of a man who got in our way.”

The barkeep drew back a pace and held up his hands.

“Ain’t nobody buckin’ you two,” he said hoarsely.

“Then bring us our drinks,” Winn growled.

He turned his back to the bar and studied the other customers—three hardcases in an obvious, down-at-the-heels state of non-prosperity, a drummer in a battered hat and frock coat, a runt with trembling hands, slack mouth and haunted, hungry eyes.

“So?” Winn asked, staring at each man in turn.

The drummer was the first to look away, and in so doing muttered;

“Is there any place peaceful around here?”

The runt standing beside him whispered something in his ear and got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. The hardcases settled over their drinks in disinterested silence.

The barkeep brought their drinks, hurriedly took the money and moved away. Teller tasted his drink and swore, but drank it anyway. Winn turned to face the room, staring sullenly at his glass. There was complete silence in the room which was broken by the sudden creak of the batwings then heavy footsteps. Winn looked at the newcomer, then shot a quick glance at Teller, whose drawn face told Winn he, too, had seen the newcomer arrive.

Jim Mitchell strode across the room, stopped in front of the barkeep, ignoring everyone else, and asked;

“Any of the crew been in, Pike?”

The barkeep shook his head. “You lost some?”

“The five who went out with the posse on their ride to Butte Creek.”

“Try Logan’s,” Pike offered.

“They’re not there,” Mitchell said, and when Pike reached under the counter for a fresh glass, Mitchell shook his head. “No, thanks. You see ’em, tell ’em I’m ridin’ out in ten minutes. If they don’t beat me back to the ranch, they needn’t bother comin’.” He glanced at the customers, reserving a deliberate, hard look for Winn and Teller.

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