Free Fiddlefoot by Luke; Short

hotel across the street. A sudden hunger moved him into the street, headed him for the hotel dining room—a slim-hipped, restless man with misery in his face.

Chapter 7
    Hugh Nunnally drifted into the lobby of the Colorado House and idled up to the desk. He said good evening to Mr. Newhouse, the owner, bought a couple of cigars at the counter by the desk, and then strolled over to one of the deep leather chairs and sat down. Passing the dining room, he didn’t even bother to look in. He knew Frank was there.
    He lighted a cigar, stretched out his legs, and settled himself comfortably. Isaac Maas, the owner of the Rifle Tribune down the street, spoke to him with his customary gentleness on his way into the dining room, and Hugh lazily waved in answer. Afterward, he studied the half-dozen mounted elk and deer heads on the far wall, idly counting the points on each pair of antlers and wondering if he had killed bigger. There was nothing much on his mind; he had gone over what needed going over.
    Presently, Frank Chess came out of the dining room. Hugh, unobserved, watched him, noting the black eye and marked nose and the sober set to his dark, alert face, and he smiled. Rising, Hugh strolled over to the dining room door, looked inside, verified what he already knew, and then came back through the lobby.
    Through the front window, he saw Frank just touching a light to his cigarette. Hugh reached the door just as Frank was untying the reins of his horse at the hotel tie-rail, and Hugh strolled across the boardwalk and put a shoulder against the veranda pillar.
    â€œNice horse, Frank,” he observed. “Want to sell him?”
    Frank looked up, and a hard scowl came on his face. “Not to you.”
    Hugh smiled and said pleasantly, “Rhino’d like to see you.”
    Frank had his foot in the stirrup. He paused and looked sharply at Nunnally, and Hugh could almost see him telling himself, Maybe I’d better .
    Frank said derisively, “You’re a big fella now, Hugh. Why don’t you quit running errands for him?”
    Nunnally wasn’t to be baited; he smiled faintly. “I don’t mind it. Coming?”
    Frank tied his reins again while Hugh skirted the tie-rail, and fell in beside him. They crossed the street, passed the bank, and beyond it turned into Willie Haver’s barbershop. Haver, a bald, slight little man, was seated in one of his two chairs reading a worn paper, and at their entrance he lifted his thumb and pointed over his shoulder toward the rear and resumed his reading.
    In the corridor Hugh, leading the way, again smiled faintly, this time in anticipation. He palmed open the knob of the second door and stepped inside. This was a big, dimly lit room, the left rear corner of it filled with an oversize zinc bathtub. Rhino Hulst lay half-submerged in its soapy water, a half-smoked cigar in his mouth, a folded newspaper in one hand. There was a wall lamp behind and above him which was lighted against the perpetual gloom of this warm, soapy-smelling room. Rhino’s massive arms and chest almost filled the width of the tub. Beside him on the floor stood a brace of buckets filled with hot water.
    Rhino didn’t even look at Hugh, who crossed the room to the back wall.
    â€œHello, son,” Rhino said pleasantly to Frank.
    â€œHello, Uncle Rhino,” Frank said mockingly.
    Hugh, seating himself in a straight-backed chair, felt a perverse pleasure in Frank’s cockiness. It would make what followed so much more entertaining. He put his elbows on his knees and looked up at Rhino in time to see him scowling.
    â€œIs it the light, or have you got a black eye?” Rhino inquired mildly.
    Hugh looked over at Frank and saw that he had put his shoulders against the front wall, and tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his pants.
    â€œGet down to business, Fatty,” Frank murmured.
    Rhino chuckled. “How do you like Hannan’s theory?” Rhino asked.