Read Bad Men Die for Free Online Page B

town, soon to pull out and head south to the junction with the Union Pacific. Luke would have gotten on that train with McCluskey and spent as little time in Rattlesnake Wells as possible.
    But there was no locomotive at the station puffing smoke from its diamond-shaped stack as it built up steam, so Luke knew he would have to spend at least one night there, which meant his first priority was to get McCluskey safely behind bars again.
    A lanky old-timer with a bald head under a tipped-back hat perched on the driver’s seat of a wagon parked in front of a store set up in a big tent. A sign tacked to a post pounded into the ground read A LBRIGHT’S M ERCANTILE .
    Luke reined in and nodded to the old-timer. “Excuse me, mister, can you tell me where to find the marshal’s office?”
    The old man looked at McCluskey with wide, interested eyes. “Got yourself a prisoner there, I see. You a lawman, son?”
    â€œYou could say that,” Luke answered with deliberate vagueness. Plenty of people didn’t like bounty hunters and considered them one step above the reptiles that had congregated around the springs in times past.
    â€œWhat’d he do?” the old man wanted to know.
    Luke kept a tight rein on the impatience he felt. “Enough to get himself in plenty of trouble. If you could point me to the marshal’s office . . . ?”
    â€œOh, sure.” The old-timer leveled a gnarled hand. “Just go on down this street. It’s yonder a couple blocks on the left-hand side.”
    Luke nodded again. “Obliged to you.”
    â€œGonna lock him up?”
    â€œThat’s the idea.”
    â€œHe don’t look all that dangerous.”
    It was true. At the moment, McCluskey looked more pathetic than he did like a menace.
    Luke knew just how deceptive that was and heeled the dun into motion. He weaved through the traffic in the street, leading McCluskey’s mount. The outlaw drew a lot of interested stares, but Luke didn’t stop to offer explanations. He didn’t draw rein until he was in front of the stoutly built log building that housed the R ATTLESNAKE W ELLS M ARSHAL’S O FFICE AND J AIL , according to the sign.
    A little boy about ten years old, with bright red hair, stood in front of the marshal’s office and stared up at Luke and McCluskey.
    Luke said, “Son, do you know if the marshal’s inside?”
    The youngster had a little trouble finding his tongue before saying, “Yes, sir, he is.” He added with barely controlled excitement, “That’s Frank McCluskey!”
    â€œThat’s right,” Luke said, a little surprised that the boy knew who McCluskey was. “Would you mind fetching the marshal for me?”
    â€œSure!” The kid hurried to the door, threw it open, and called, “Pa! Pa, come quick! A fella out here’s got Frank McCluskey in irons!”
    Well, that probably explained it, Luke thought.
    Seeing as the boy’s father was the marshal, the boy spent a considerable amount of time in his pa’s office and could have studied all the reward dodgers that came in. The drawings of McCluskey that decorated some of those posters were reasonably accurate, with enough of a resemblance for the kid to recognize the genuine article when he saw it.
    A tall young man with the same red hair as the boy emerged from the office. He was hatless and had an open, honest, friendly face with a faint dusting of freckles. He wore a Colt on his hip and looked like he knew how to use it. A lawman’s badge was pinned to his vest.
    A whistle of admiration came from his lips as he looked at Luke and the prisoner. “That’s Frank McCluskey, all right. Good eye, Buck.” To Luke, he said, “Who are you, mister, and what are you doing with this desperado? Although I reckon I can make a pretty good guess.”
    â€œName’s Luke Jensen. McCluskey’s my prisoner, and I’m taking him to