Sundance 8 by John Benteen

Author:John Benteen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wild west, old west, gunslingers, sundance, gunfighter, frontier life, john benteen, benjamin haas, pulp western fiction
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Six

Jeffers’ office was a small, neatly painted frame building a few doors north of the Alamo Saloon. With his hat in hand, Sundance mounted the sidewalk and knocked on the glass panel of the door. The shade was up, and, inside, he saw a front office where two clerks were just preparing to leave, and, behind a rail, a single desk occupied by Jeffers. Bisbee was lounging in a chair nearby, and at Sundance’s knock he arose.

“Here he is, boss. And don’t worry, I see he’s had sense enough to clean his boots.”

“Good.” Jeffers hardly glanced at Sundance, arose, took his hat from a tree as the clerks went out and Sundance came to the rail. “When you’re through with him, meet me at the Alamo. We’ve got some things to talk about. I may have to send you down to Del Rio. We’re long overdue in hearin’ from my friend down there and Cavanaugh wants to know what the hell’s goin’ on.”

“Well, I ain’t been south in a long time,” Bisbee said. “Okay, Injun. Yonder’s the broom closet. You sweep and mop the floor and clean out the spittoons real good and I’ll be back in an hour to check on you. You do a good job, you git your four bits.”

“Me do good job, you damn well betcha,” Sundance said, with his vacant grin.

At the door, Jeffers halted. “And tell him not to touch any of the papers on these desks.”

“Don’t worry,” Bisbee said. “He can’t read. You heard that, Injun?”

“Me hear.”

“Well, git on the bit, then.” Jeffers left, and Bisbee stood there a moment more with thumbs hooked in gun belts as Sundance got out broom and mop. Then Bisbee followed, closing the door behind him.

Sundance swept industriously by lamplight for a full ten minutes, until he was sure Bisbee or Jeffers would not come back for something forgotten. Then, in two pantherish strides, he was at Jeffers’ desk, which was piled high with papers. Eyes flicking from time to time to the windows, holding the broom in one hand to explain his presence to any passerby, he carefully, covertly thumbed through the stacks of invoices, bills of lading, and correspondence. But he found nothing.

The drawers were next, and he grinned tightly when he discovered that they were not locked. Whatever valuables there were must be in the big safe in the corner. But maybe Jeffers did not count what he sought as that much of a valuable.

Two drawers, three, and then he found it, in the center drawer, a big brown envelope with the scrawled words on its cover: WYOMING DEAL. Sundance unwrapped the twine that closed it, fished out the first paper among many, glanced at it, saw that it was a copy of a letter. Addressed to Lance Cavanaugh, Cheyenne, Wyoming, the first line of the first paragraph seemed to leap out at him. Have just returned from Del Rio Texas and have procured services to accomplish what we discussed … Sundance read no more, but rifled hastily through the packet.

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