Free Diamond Buckow by A. J. Arnold Page B

nearly enough. A good thing, too, he had to admit reluctantly. If he were to go to one of that kind, he knew he’d feel dirty for one hell of a long time. He considered Rebekah for a moment, wondering if his sister had turned out that way, and what sort of man she’d give or sell it to.
    Suddenly, Buck felt better about the whole thing. Well, hell, he theorized cheerfully. If there wasn’t enough for anything else, at least he could get a beer or two.
    He went into the nearest saloon that was still open, not knowing or caring anything about the place or what kind of patrons might be there. Seeing a bar along the left wall and tables to the right, he went up to the half-empty length of varnished wood and plunked down a coin.
    â€œBeer,” was all he said to the bartender.
    Buck ignored how young he was and what little experience he’d had at drinking. Because he was hot and dissatisfied, he gulped down more than half the cool liquid the first time he raised the glass. It jolted him some, and he peered into the amber bubbles. Deciding he liked the strange sensation in his belly, Buck tossed off the rest and fished out money for another.
    He was intently contemplating the second drink when someone moved in close on his right. Without looking up, he was about to tell the newcomer not to crowd him when another man to his left slapped him heartily on the back.
    â€œBuck!”
    He knew that voice.
    â€œBuck, what in the name of hell are you doin’, standin’ alookin’ into that beer like you’d lost your boss and sixgun?”
    He turned to stare at the speaker, instantly grinning and thrusting out a hand to shake.
    â€œGood to see you, Russ. You appear a sight better’n when I saw you last. Leastways now you ain’t as hung over.”
    Glad to run into his old riding partner, Buck forgot all about the other fellow, who had squeezed in too close to his space.
    The trail hand grunted in response, pointing from the beer to Buck’s beltline. “Go ahead. Put that brew where it belongs, and I’ll buy you another.”
    Buck downed it, grateful to hear friendliness in another man’s voice. Damn it all, just to have somebody to talk to.
    He guessed maybe a loner’s life wasn’t for him as Russ slid a glass over in front of him and asked, “Did you get that job you was a-lookin’ for last time I seen you?”
    â€œYeah, I sure did, but the luck hasn’t been good. How about you, still riding for...the same outfit?”
    Russ’s face and voice set in a cautious way. “Well, you know how it goes. An hombre’s got to do something.”
    Then he smiled more like himself as a new thought struck him.
    â€œSay, I’ll never forget that man who gave you directions in the restaurant that time. Some funny handle, I recall me and you talked it over. I wasn’t sure as to could you trust him or not. Did he steer you straight?”
    â€œHis directions were right on target.”
    Buck shook his head over the chain of events. His tongue a little loose from the beer, he told Russ more than he would have by daylight.
    â€œHis handle was Wide Loop Thompson, and he’s the richest rancher in these parts. He’s the head honcho at the Double P. When he ain’t around to hear, the pokes call it the Pied Piper.”
    â€œYeah?” Russ sipped at his whiskey, lifting a quizzical eyebrow. “How come?”
    â€œOn account of he won it in a poker game when it was nothing but a half-fallen-down log cabin with a few scattered head of cattle. Well, it seems that all the mavericks for miles around just sort of got attracted to Thompson’s rope. P.P. brands sprouted on them like flowers blooming in the spring. Now Wide Loop’s got the biggest operation in these parts, and him and the cheapskate I work for run this range between them.”
    Russ sighed. “Sounds like you ain’t too happy with the job, now you’ve