Free Twisted Hills by Ralph Cotton Page A

cupful,” said Charlie, “just to loosen him up, get him talking freely. I never counted on him taking the whole damn jug from us.”
    â€œWell, he’s done it,” said Hazerat. “Now there’s no telling what he’s apt to do. Let’s hope all that punched-up mescal don’t turn him wilder than a rat on a hot griddle.”
    â€œSpeaking of rats,” said Charlie, “look who’s coming here.” The two stood in a deepening mescal stupor, watching a gunman walk toward them from the direction of the hotel.
    â€œLook how long his legs are,” said Hazerat in amazement, watching the gunman’s boots appear to rise unusually high in the air with each approaching step.
    â€œYou two come with me,” said the gunman, spotting the Hooke brothers leering at him. “Segert said bring you to see him most quick.”
    The two stood staring.
    â€œIs he speaking Chinese?” Hazerat asked.
    â€œHe could be, far as I can tell,” Charlie speculated.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The half-Chinese gunman, Jon Ho, stood off to the side in Raymond Segert’s office. Having delivered the Hooke brothers as he’d been instructed, he stood quietly, listening without appearing to be listening—something he was good at. As he stood
not
appearing to listen, his dark sharp eyes remained fixed and blank, staring straight ahead as the Hookes stood in front of the powerfully built former Arkansan rebel leader.
    â€œSo, the two of you were on your way here when you came upon Kelso under attack,” Segert said, having heard their concocted story three days earlier.
    â€œThat’s the gist of it, Mr. Segert,” Charlie Ray said, the mescal making his tongue feel too large for his mouth. His words sounded clipped and awkward.
    Jon Ho stood as still as a statue. He knew the Hookes had scrambled their brains on mescal earlier. He’d smelled it on them. When they had gone to the hitch rail before riding out here, Charlie Ray had stepped up onto the wrong horse, twice. Hazerat had fumbled around like a blind man until he’d gotten his reins sorted out. Maybe the five-mile ride here had sobered them a little, Ho thought.
    But what did he care? he reminded himself. Gunmen like the Hooke brothers were a dime a dozen—Preston Kelso too, for that matter.
    â€œYou saved Kelso’s life,” Segert said to the Hookes. “I can’t see him living through all this if you hadn’t found him when you did and brought him to Agua Fría.”
    The Hookes just stared.
    â€œAnd now you’re here, you’ve rested a few days,” he added, “and you want to ride for me. . . .” His eyes drifted from Charlie Ray to Hazerat.
    â€œWe’d be pleased,” Hazerat said thickly.
    Segert nodded and lifted a cigar from an ornate silver Mexican ashtray on his desk. He put it in his mouth and reflected for a moment.
    â€œWe talked some the other day, but let me make sure I understand how this went,” he said. “You heard gunshots. You rode toward the sound, found Kelso shot full of arrows, scalped, fighting for his life. . . .” He drew on the cigar and blew out a stream. “Helped him chase those motherless savages off, and saw them ride away with saddlebags full of money—
my money
,” he added with a dark, heated look. “And that’s about it?”
    â€œExcept . . . ,” said Charlie Ray. His words trailed.
    â€œExcept what?” said Segert.
    â€œExcept we didn’t know it was money in the bags,” he finished.
    â€œOf course not,” said Segert. “How would you have known?”
    â€œWe didn’t,” Hazerat put in.
    Segert just looked at him.
    â€œHe knows that, Hazerat,” Charlie reminded his brother.
    Segert looked back and forth between the two as he drew on his cigar again.
    â€œIt happens I am short of men right