Free Death In Helltown by John Legg

little.
    Belle slipped on a thin robe. “Who the hell are you?”
    “Name’s Harlan Bloodworth.”
    “What do you want, Mr. Bloodworth?” Her tone was not at all pleasant.
     

Chapter Ten
     
    “Where’s Ed Tucker?”
    “Don’t know. Don’t give a damn. Now let me go back to sleep.”
    Bloodworth raised his eyebrows in surprise when Mattie hauled off and smacked Belle across the face.
    Belle looked at her employer in shock, a hand rubbing her already reddening cheek.
    “Tell this man what he wants to know,” Mattie ordered. Her face and voice were hard.
    “What if I don’t know much?” Belle asked meekly.
    “Then tell him whatever you do know.”
    “Where’s Tucker?”
    Belle hesitated only a moment, long enough to see Mattie getting ready to smack her again. “He … He said he was going to Dodge.”
    “Dodge?” Bloodworth asked, surprised. “Why in hell would he go back to Dodge?”
    “I don’t know. He said he did something near there. I thought he was crazy if he had done something wrong there and was goin’ back. But he seemed cocky, almost as if he was tryin’ to show up the marshal or something.”
    Bloodworth nodded. Many a hard man were arrogant like that, often to their own demise. “When did he leave?”
    “Two, three days ago, I think.” Belle looked a little sheepish. “I been busy.” She glanced sideways at Mattie almost as if seeking her approval. 
    “What was he wearin’?”
    Belle shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t payin’ attention to his duds. He did have a new hat, though. He seemed mighty proud of it. Buckskin color, short, flat crown, snakeskin band.”
    Bloodworth thought for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you kindly, ladies.” He tipped his hat to both, turned and walked out. At the bottom of the stairs, he glanced into the parlor. Max was sitting on one of the couches, holding his head. He did not look up.
    Within half an hour, Bloodworth was in the saddle and trotting out of Wichita. It was a long haul back to Dodge, and Dogtown was a fine place to stop. He figured he’d stay the night there, have a decent meal, a few drinks, sleep in a real bed.
     
    **  **  **  **  **
     
    Bloodworth walked into the first saloon he found, the Pig’s Blood, and waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The place was dark, and smoke clouded the air that moved only when he had opened the door. Two faro tables were doing a brisk business and several tables were occupied with men who were either drinking, gambling, or both. He stood, eyes scanning the foul room, then moved forward. Suddenly he stopped. He couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted a man in a buckskin-colored, short-crowned hat with a snakeskin band. A grim smile crossed his lips.
    Bloodworth limped forward, slipping the loop off the hammer of his Remington. He stopped against the bar and ordered a beer. He slid his pistol out and stuck it into the side of the man to his left. “I’d be obliged was you to come along peaceably with me, Mr. Tucker,” he said quietly.
    He realized in an instant that he had underestimated Ed Tucker. The man was faster than he had expected. He whipped around, his elbow catching Bloodworth a glancing blow on the side of his forehead. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stagger Bloodworth. His pistol went off, singeing Tucker’s shirt, he thought. And as his pistol jerked out his hand, skittering across the floor and his side bounded off the bar, he heard someone beyond Tucker yelp.
    But he did not care because someone grabbed him in a bear hug from behind, and Tucker moved toward him from the front. Bloodworth had the fleeting thought that it was strange that Tucker just didn’t shoot him, but he had no time to wonder about it.
    He planted his good leg on the floor and kicked out with the other. The sole of his boot caught Tucker in the midsection, driving him back and knocking the wind out of him. As the foot came back to earth, he half swung and pushed