Free The big gundown by J.A. Johnstone

was.
    “That’ll be enough, gentlemen!”
    The deep, powerful voice cut through the angry muttering that filled the room. A stocky, heavy-jawed man in a dark suit came along the bar. The miners stepped back to let him by, even though he was unarmed and smaller than most of them. Judging by the man’s expensive clothes and the air of command about him, The Kid pegged him as the owner of the saloon. As such, the miners wouldn’t want to cross him, even though he was interfering with their fun.
    “Next round is on the house,” the man announced, confirming The Kid’s hunch that he was the owner.
    That offer was enough to defuse the situation. The miners dragged their fallen comrade into a corner and propped him up at a table. One of them reached down and picked up something from the floor, regarding it intently for a moment before he flicked it into a spittoon. The Kid knew that the item was the bitten-off tip of the miner’s tongue. Oh, well, the hombre didn’t have any use for it anymore.
    “I’m Charles Augustine,” the man announced as he stood in front of The Kid. “Why don’t you come with me? I’d like to buy you a drink.”
    The Kid looked around until he spotted his hat lying on the floor. He picked it up, brushed off the sawdust, punched it back into shape, and settled it on his head.
    “That’s liable to get you in bad with this bunch.”
    Charles Augustine smiled. “You think I’m worried about that? I have the coldest beer, the finest whiskey, and the prettiest whores in Bisbee. As long as those three things are true, those miners don’t care what I do.”
    The Kid knew that was probably true. He followed Augustine through the surly crowd. No one tried to stop them or even slow them down. Augustine led him through a door at the end of the bar, along a short hallway, and through another door into an opulently furnished office dominated by a big desk and a square, massive safe. Augustine went to a small bar in the corner and picked up a crystal decanter half filled with amber liquid.
    “Brandy all right?”
    “Fine,” The Kid said. He had come into the saloon to get a beer and maybe find out something about Colonel Gideon Black, and instead his temper and some bad luck had gotten him into a brawl. He would settle for brandy instead of the beer, but he still hoped for some information about the man he was looking for.
    Augustine poured brandy into a couple of snifters and brought them over to The Kid, who took one of them. Augustine clinked the glasses together and said, “To the best fight I’ve seen in here in, oh, at least a week.”
    The Kid sipped the brandy. It was like liquid fire and kindled a welcome blaze in his belly. “You have a lot of fights in here?”
    “I don’t discourage them. I always collect damages, from the mining companies if not from the miners themselves. They like to blow off steam when they come to town. A little fracas every now and then is good for business.”
    The Kid nodded and took another sip of the brandy. He noticed Augustine studying him with a canny expression but didn’t really think anything about it until the saloon owner said, “You’re not who you’re pretending to be.”

Chapter 11

    That statement took The Kid by surprise. “What are you talking about?” he said. “I haven’t even told you my name yet.”
    Augustine waved a well-manicured hand. “Your name doesn’t matter. You come in here wearing buckskins and boots and a big hat, and you’ve got a Colt strapped on like you’re some sort of gunslinger. But you sip that brandy like a cultured man who’s tasted fine liquor before.”
    “You’ve got me all wrong, Mr. Augustine. I’m just a drifter.”
    Augustine smiled like he didn’t believe that for a second, but he said, “Have it your way. So tell me what you’re calling yourself.”
    “Morgan.”
    Augustine lifted his snifter of brandy in a salute. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan. It’s not every man who can take