Read The Smoking Iron for Free Online Page B

his position so his gun-belts were comfortable and asked, “What kinda fits?”
    â€œWantin’ perfection from rustlers. Like as if I didn’t have nothin’ to do but send deputies out to guard the K T. Never had no trouble like that when her daddy was alive.”
    â€œYou the law all down through the Big Bend?”
    â€œWhat there is of it. This here’s the only county that’s organized.”
    â€œSo the K T is havin’ trouble with rustlers,” mused Pat.
    â€œOther folks don’t squawk when they lose a few head of stock,” the sheriff said aggrievedly.
    â€œWhat time does the stagecoach leave for Hermosa?”
    â€œThis ain’t no information bureau,” the sheriff growled. “I don’t know who you think you are, Mister, but I still got my suspicions about you and yore tough-looking pardner.”
    Pat said, “I don’t give a damn what you suspect. When does the stage leave?”
    The sheriff hesitated. He caught his lower lip petulantly between his teeth and worried it. “Midnight. If the El Paso stage is on time.”
    â€œMidnight? That’s a hell of a time for a stage to take out.”
    â€œIt’s when it makes connections with the El Paso stage,” the sheriff told him stiffly.
    Pat nodded and got up. “It’s been a right nice talk, Sheriff. Don’t burn yore fingers helpin’ out yore brother-in-law’s graft at the livery stable. An’ I don’t want no trouble to come to Dusty Morgan on account of he spoiled a deal for Baines,” he went on harshly. “Me an’ Ezra, we’ll take it personal if anything happens to Dusty.” He turned and strode out of the sheriff’s office with Ezra behind him.
    This time he offered no opposition when the one-eyed man again wistfully mentioned a steak. They went directly to the restaurant across from the Topaz Saloon. There was a long wooden counter crowded with hungry men, with a row of oilcloth-covered tables along the other wall. One of the rear tables was vacant, and Pat and Ezra took chairs at it.
    A waiter approached and listlessly rubbed at some grease-stains on the oilcloth with a dirty rag, asking, “What’ll it be, gents?”
    â€œTwo steaks,” Pat ordered. “The biggest in the house an’ not too cooked.”
    â€œWith plenty of fried pertaters,” Ezra added hastily.
    The waiter called over his shoulder toward the kitchen, “Slice two rumps and let the blood run, an’ grease the spuds on two.”
    Pat settled back and folded his arms across his chest with a little sigh of anticipation. Ezra blinked his one eye after the waiter and then asked, “Why’d you ask the sheriff all them questions about the K T? You figgerin’ on buyin’ some heifers from the gal?”
    â€œMaybe she’ll sell ’em cheap,” Pat suggested. “Before the rustlers get ’em all.”
    â€œThat’s right. An’ the rustlers might sell ’em cheap,” Ezra observed shrewdly. “Did you know about that setup when you come down here?”
    â€œSort of. But the rustled stuff mostly goes over the river, I reckon. Not much chance of makin’ a deal there.”
    â€œI dunno,” argued Ezra. “Stock ain’t worth much in Mexico. I reckon they’d smuggle ’em back purty cheap.”
    Pat shook his head disapprovingly. “It’d be downright crooked to buy stuff a man knew was smuggled.”
    â€œI don’t like that sheriff,” Ezra announced suddenly. “Way he kep’ lookin’ at me you could tell he was willin’ to bet there was a reward out for me. Why didn’t you spring yore Colorado sheriff’s star on him, Pat?”
    Pat looked surprised. “I’d just as lief keep that a secret. Even a Colorado sheriff mightn’t be too popular down in the Big Bend.”
    â€œWhy’d you ask him about the