The Sheriff of Pecos by H. Bedford-Jones

Author:H. Bedford-Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Books on Demand

CHAPTER VII

MASKS OFF

It was late afternoon when Jack Robinson rode into the town of Pahrump, county seat of the county of the same name. The town was deserted apparently; somnolent and sleepy. The afternoon stage was not yet in with the mail. The courthouse square, with its long hitching rail, seemed abandoned to flies and sunlight. Even the jail and sheriff's office looked desolate; across the street from this last, Mike's Place showed not a sign of life.

Robinson went to the hotel and turned his horse into the corral there, leaving his saddle and bridle in the hotel office for safe-keeping. He then made his way to Main Street and sought the telegraph office. There was no line in Pahrump, but the telephone exchange handled messages. At the exchange, Robinson smiled at the young woman in charge.

"I left a message here yesterday, ma'am, askin' you to hold up any answer. Name of Fisher."

Without comment the young woman handed him a message. Robinson pocketed it, returned to the street, glanced at the message, and chuckled.

"What I need is grub, a bath, and a shave," he reflected. "Fresh shirt wouldn't hurt anything, not to mention a clean handkerchief. Grub can come last."

The stage and express office, an integral unit with the Johnson Merchandise Company, lay across the street. Robinson betook himself thither and confronted a listless clerk.

"What's all the excitement about in town?" he demanded. The clerk saw no humor in the question, but answered it seriously:

"Two men shot up yesterday; sheriff's gone out with a posse. Dunno why."

"I don't know why, either," said Robinson cheerfully. "You ought to have a pair of saddlebags sent up by express from Pecos City. Name of Fisher."

"Come in last night," was the response.

The saddlebags over his arm, Robinson went to the barber shop. There he obtained a shave, followed by a bath, and from the saddlebags he spruced up with a clean shirt and handkerchief—also a second gun.

His pilgrimage now took him to the nearest and only restaurant, where he put away a huge order of ham and eggs, with other things. This done, he dropped his saddlebags at the hotel, loosened his belt, bought a cigar, and sauntered down the street again. Thus far he had seen no signs of Mr. Murphy, and he rightly concluded that the gentleman was sequestered in or about Mike's Place.

These errands had taken up considerable time. The stage was nearly due, and the town showed some symptoms of animation. Horses fringed the long hitching rail in the square. A number of loungers about the sheriff's office showed that the posse had returned. Unhurried, Robinson sauntered to the post office and presented a smiling face at the window.

"Mail for Fisher, please," he requested.

The postmaster fished several long envelopes from a box, glanced at them, then gave Robinson a hard look.

"Nothin' fer you, I guess."

"Your mistake, mister," and Robinson smiled. "Those letters are for me, I believe."

"These here is for Sheriff Sam Fisher o' Pecos County."

Robinson drew a flat metal object from his pocket and laid it on the shelf.

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