Free Sudden--Troubleshooter (A Sudden Western) #5 by Frederick H. Christian Page B

Wes Cameron was here in Yavapai, and
not only that but about to buy drinks for them all. Gradually they
came sheepishly in. Cameron was as good as his word, and soon there
was a sizeable knot of men standing alongside him at the bar,
drinking in his words, eager to be near him, to slap his shoulder,
to watch his every movement so that later they would be able to
boast that they had drunk at the same bar as Wesley
Cameron.
    Appleby watched the crowd
sourly for a moment as they clustered around the gunman, and nodded
to himself. Cameron would be a ten-day wonder; the same mob would
as cheerfully hang the gunman if they were given enough cause, and
led to it. For some reason the thought seemed to amuse him. He smiled briefly and then turned and
pushed his way out into the street. Over the heads of the
clustering sycophants around him Cameron watched the Marshal leave,
and a sardonic smile touched his lips. Good actor, he told himself.
Wonder if he’s got any nerve when the chips are down? Probably not,
otherwise I wouldn’t be here now. He turned back to his new
‘friends’ with inward distaste, forcing a smile on to his
face.

Chapter
Eight
    SEVERAL UNEVENTFUL days had passed; Green had told Harris to pass the
word along to his neighbors to be double careful, after the
bushwhacking attempt on Susan and the youngster. Philadelphia had
been constantly plaguing the cowboy with questions about his foray
on to the Saber. What had he done? What had he seen? What had he
found? To these and all the boy’s queries Green turned a deaf ear.
‘Yu’ll know soon enough,’ he told Philadelphia. ‘Meanwhile, yu keep
yore eyes skinned for anyone pokin’ around these parts who don’t
belong up here.’
    Indeed, the cowboy was in
no mood for questions. He was himself unable to properly explain
what he had discovered on the Saber. It appeared that someone on
the ranch was responsible for the attempt on Philadelphia’s life,
but it seemed very unlikely that Lafe Gunnison knew about it. The
man was bluff and forthright; he was not the kind of actor who
could carry off a deception of such magnitude, Green was convinced.
If Gunnison was ignorant of the fact that someone in his employ was
responsible for the ambush, then it followed that the motive which
could have been attributed to the bushwhacker – that he was working
for Gunnison, trying to throw a scare into Harris in order to make
the homesteader move off his land – no longer applied. That being
so, what was the motive? Why had Philadelphia and the girl been
fired on? These and other thoughts occupied
the puncher’s mind as he went about his daily tasks until in the
end he revealed them to Harris.
    ‘Yo’re sayin’ that Gunnison
don’t know someone on his ranch tried to kill my gal?’ the
homesteader asked.
    Green nodded. ‘Can’t
rightly rigger it out,’ he said. ‘She don’t make sense. Unless
there’s some other reason for gettin’ yu off this land that ain’t
got nothin’ to do with Gunnison …? ’
    The old man shook his head.
‘Beats me, Jim. This land just don’t seem worth all the
trouble.’
    ‘Tell me about when yu
first come here, Jake,’ suggested Green. ‘It might just give me
some ideas.’
    ‘Not much to tell,’ the
homesteader told him. ‘Reb Johnstone an’ Stan Newley was the first
to file on land up here. When I came out from Missouri it seemed a
likely thing to file alongside ’em. Kitson came next, then
Taylor.’
    ‘How long ago was all
this?’ the cowboy wanted to know.
    ‘Gettin’ on three, four
years now,’ Harris told him. ‘Reb’s been here longest: just over
four years.’
    ‘Yu all built yore own
places?’
    Harris nodded. ‘No, wait a
minnit,’ he corrected himself. ‘Reb Johnstone moved into an old
cabin when he first come up here. His place stands where the cabin
used to be. Some kind o’ line shack, I think it was.’
    Green nodded again. ‘This
trouble – the raids, the horse-stealin’ that Kitson mentioned: