Free Texas Killers by J. T. Edson Page A

Portside Hotel.
    â€œMr. Clint,” the man said, speaking in a low voice as the small Texan started to ascend the stairs. His English had a guttural timbre, but little trace of an accent.
    â€œIf you-all’re meaning me, mister,” Dusty replied, just as quietly, halting and looking over his shoulder. “You’ve got the wrong name.”
    â€œIt is the one given to me by the bartender at the Binnacle Tavern,” the man answered, and twisted his head to glance in the direction of the main entrance, through which Charlene and von Farlenheim could be seen crossing the street. “But if I do have the wrong man, I apologize.”
    â€œAnd if you haven’t?” Dusty challenged, knowing that the bartender worked for Rameses Turtle and had been instructed to send any potential employers to see him at the hotel.
    â€œI have a proposition which may be of interest to you,” the man replied, without removing his hands from the pockets.
    â€œCould be I’m already hired,” Dusty warned,turning to face the man and hooking his thumbs in his gunbelt.
    â€œIf you are,” the man said, throwing another look and a nod toward the front door, “Whatever they are offering you, we will pay you more to work for us.”
    â€œSounds like you and me’d best do some talking,” Dusty suggested. Although the Comtesse and the Bosgravnian had disappeared from view, the man’s gesture had been sufficiently informative for him to decide that continuing the conversation could be worthwhile. “Only I don’t reckon’s this’s the place to do it. We’d best go on up to my room.”
    â€œI would prefer somewhere more public,” the man stated, a wary glint coming to his eyes. “Just as a precaution, you understand.”
    â€œWhy sure,” Dusty conceded, in an off-hand manner. “One thing I admire is a cautious hombre. Fact being, I’m a mite that way myself. So you’d best let go of that gun and bring your hands out empty.”
    â€œWh—?” the man began.
    â€œDo it!” Dusty ordered and, despite his voice retaining its even tone, there was something subtly differing about his bearing. “I can draw, shoot and kill you before you can turn it into line.”
    Stiffening slightly, the man stared at the big Texan for a few seconds. Like the town marshal, he was so impressed by the strength of Dusty’s personality that he no longer thought in mere feet and inches where his challenger was concerned. Nor did he doubt that the other was confident of being able to carry out the statement. Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his fingers to release the butt of the Colt Storekeeper Model Peacemaker in the right side pocket and brought his hands into view.
    â€œThat’s better,” Dusty drawled, glancing around to make sure they were not attracting attention. “Would the bar over there be public enough for you?”
    â€œIt will,” the man agreed, impressed by what had happened.
    For all that the desk clerk had noticed, the two might have merely met in an amicable fashion. Apart from glancing up as they made their way toward the bar room, he paid no attention to them.
    Following the man in, Dusty took the lead and picked a table which commanded a view of the street through the window. There were only a few customers and none close enough to overhear a conversation if it was carried out with circumspection. A waiter came over to take their order as they sat down.
    â€œAll right now, mister, let’s get the deck dealt and see how the cards fall,” Dusty requested, after the drinks had been delivered and the waiter had returned to the counter. “First one up being, what do I call you?”
    â€œYou mean my name ?” the man asked, looking uneasy.
    â€œHappen you-all want to give it to me,” Dusty replied, his whole attitude implying disinterest. “If not, you can tie on any fancy brand