War-Party! (A Peacemaker Western #6) by William S. Brady

Author:William S. Brady
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elmore leonard, westerns, zane grey, louis lamour, western series, piccadilly publishing, ebook westerns, william johnstone, ralph compton, bn rundell
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Seven

‘JESUS CHRIST, WHAT a mess! Oh, Jesus, would you look at the state of that upholstery! And the paintwork! The paintwork!’

Tevis Stark reached into his coat pocket for a match, failed to find one, tried his other pocket, no luck, tapped Abraham Kintyre on the shoulder and asked him for a light. Kintyre hurried inside his store, came quickly back out and sold him some matches.

Stark shook his head wonderingly and finally lit his short, black cigar.

He paced up and down beside his once-beautiful stagecoach, the pride and joy of his life making its maiden voyage, and this …

This had to happen!

He aimed a kick at one of the rear wheels, but reconsidered. The damage was extensive enough already. Instead he shouted out for the man removing arrowheads from the sides to take more care. His shouting made him swallow the acrid cigar smoke and he broke into a fit of coughing. Kintyre stepped over and slapped him on the back and Stark knew that the next thing would be that the store owner would try to sell him some cure-all to ease his throat.

‘Mr. Stark,’ said Kintyre earnestly.

‘What is it?’ asked Stark through watery eyes.

‘You must take a bottle of elixir. Only twenty-five cents and exactly the thing for a cough such as yours. Only the other day—’

‘Kintyre! You think I’m worried about something so petty? You know what I paid for this coach? You got any idea? Huh? Have you?’

Stark set his hands against Kintyre’s chest, pushing him lightly backwards.

‘How much d’you think?’

Kintyre shook his head. ‘I don’t know. How much?’

‘One thousand and fifty dollars.’

Abraham Kintyre went pale and for a moment it looked as if he might be in need of some of his own elixir. ‘A thousand dollars!’ he wheezed in amazement.

‘And fifty,’ nodded Stark.

‘And fifty,’ echoed Kintyre, dazed.

‘An’ now look at it,’ demanded Stark, swinging his arm and pointing. ‘Look at it!’

But it was more than Kintyre could take; he excused himself and walked slowly off the street and back inside his store to sit down and count his own blessings.

Stark saw McLain pushing through the small crowd that had gathered around the coach and hurried to meet him, pulling him over to the side and throwing back the door.

‘Take a look at that. At that upholstery. At the walls. There’s more blood on them than in any one normal human being. More blood than in a half-dozen! How can I expect passengers to ride in that? How can I?’

McLain looked at him, expressionless.

‘Everything I had went into this coach. Everything. I’m mortgaged to my balls for this!’ He thumped his fist against the stained, varnished side. ‘Now what the hell am I goin’ to do? Tell me that, McLain. What the hell am I goin’ to do?’

He stepped back, stuck the cigar in his mouth and stared at McLain as though he was honestly expecting an answer.

McLain took his time. ‘I know one thing, Stark. You got out of it alive, which is more’n can be said for one of your passengers.

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