Free Tinhorn's Daughter by L. Ron Hubbard Page B

blamed for rustling cattle. He’s almost lynched, but will stop at nothing to find his father’s killer … until he’s framed for shooting the father of the only girl he’s ever looked at more than once!

Branded Outlaw
    A leather-faced, sun-dried individual with a star on his chest was drowsing over a stack of reward posters, waking up occasionally to swat at a fly which buzzed around his ear. But the instant a shadow appeared in the door, Tate Randall, through long and self-preserving habit, swiftly came to life, one hand half stretched out as a welcoming gesture and the other on the Colt at his side. His bleached eyes squinted as he inspected Lee.
    â€œSay! You’re Lee Weston!”
    â€œRight,” said Lee.
    â€œThought you was up in Wyomin’ someplace havin’ a hell of a time for yourself! Bet old Tom’ll be plenty pleased to see you again. Used to stand down by the post office and read us your letters whenever you wrote. I thought—”
    â€œMy father was killed last night. The house was burned and the stock run off. I’m giving it to you straight, Randall. I’m looking for Harvey Dodge.”
    â€œHuh? Why, man, you must be loco! Harvey Dodge came in and bought the biggest spread in the valley. He’s probably the biggest rancher in these parts now. He wouldn’t do nothin’ like that!”
    â€œI’m still looking for Harvey Dodge.”
    Tate Randall stood up and shook his head. “Sonny, I’ve burned enough powder to run a war, and I’ve shot enough lead to sink a flatboat. If I had it to do over again, I’d use my head and let the law do the findin’ and shootin’. If you go gunnin’ for Dodge without any more evidence than you’ve got, there’s only one thing that’ll happen to you. We’ll be building a scaffold out here to string you up. Now think it over. You’n me can ride out and look over this killin’ and then—”
    In disgust, Lee, turning, started toward the door. But it was blocked by a smooth-shaven, rotund gentleman in a frock coat. Lee saw eyes and hands and thought, “Gambler!”
    â€œWhat’s up, Tate?”
    â€œDoherty, like to have you meet Lee Weston, old Tom’s boy.”
    Ace Doherty extended a be-diamonded hand, which Lee took doubtfully.
    â€œDoherty,” continued Tate Randall, “this young feller is about to go on the gun trail for Harvey Dodge. You can back me up that Harvey ain’t in town.”
    â€œNo, he’s not around,” said Doherty dutifully. “You’ve got Dodge wrong, youngster. He wouldn’t pull any gun tricks, like killin’ your old man.”
    â€œI don’t recall telling you that my father was dead,” said Lee.
    â€œHeard it at the store,” replied Doherty. “Well, cool him off, Tate. You’re the law and order in these parts.” He walked away.
    Lee faced Randall again. “It’s all right to try to cut me down to size, but there’s only one thing that counts with me right now, Randall. Last night about twenty men jumped my father. He wrote me his only enemy here was this Harvey Dodge. I’m talking to Dodge.”
    â€œWell,” shrugged Randall, “if you don’t trust justice, you don’t trust it, that’s all. Trouble with you gunslingers—”
    â€œI don’t happen to be a gunslinger.”
    Randall grinned thinly, looking at the well-worn Colts on the younger man’s thighs. “Maybe I heard different.”
    â€œMaybe you did,” said Lee. “But in Wyoming, it hasn’t been fixed yet that courts and sheriffs can be used by crooks.”
    â€œMaybe you’d better take that back, son.”
    â€œI’ll reserve judgment on that. But everybody is taking this too calm. The whole town has known for hours what happened out on the Lightning W, and you’re still sitting here!”
    He ignored