Free Hunt Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #5) by Frederick H. Christian Page A

really hard. And he
had decided, finally, that he was about to see that it
did.
    They were level with the Palace when
Howie Cade stepped into the street. He had Sheridan’s shotgun
ported across his arm and he pointed it quite negligently at the
oncoming riders. Hugess pulled his horse to a halt. Angel saw the
animal throw its head as the wicked ring bit jarred its sensitive
mouth.
    ‘ New by-law in operation as of
this ayem,’ Howie said conversationally. ‘You check your guns when
you come into town.’
    Hugess nodded, smiling. It came as
no surprise to him at all that Sheridan had decided to defend by
attacking. He had anticipated just such a demand, and his men were
already under strict orders not to even consider using their guns
except in extreme circumstances. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help
wondering about Cade. He surveyed the deputy
contemptuously.
    ‘ You look like hell, Cade,’ he
said dispassionately.
    Howie didn’t rise. ‘The guns,’ he
said again, gesturing with the shotgun.
    ‘ Suppose I say no?’ Hugess said.
‘You think you could get all of us with that?’ He curled his lip as
he referred to the weapon Howie was holding.
    ‘ Be interestin’ to see,’ Howie
said, settling slightly on his heels, his lips clamping into a thin
line. He didn’t look the slightest bit edgy, and his readiness to
start in any time Larry Hugess opened the ball was so apparent that
Hugess blinked, startled in spite of himself at the change in the
man.
    ‘ Well, well,’ he said softly. He
turned to his men. ‘All right,’ he said.
    Howie gestured with his chin toward
the hitching rail outside the Palace. ‘Hang your belts on there,’
he said. ‘Pick ‘em up when you leave.’
    Hugess smiled at the deputy’s
confidence: a patronizing smile that didn’t fail to have exactly
the effect he intended. Howie Cade swung his eyes away from the big
man, just that little spooked by Hugess. Hugess wasn’t just some
forty-and-found puncher on a lallyhoot, or even some paid gun. He
was The Man, just about as powerful as they came. You messed with
Larry Hugess at your peril, and here the sonofabitch was smiling at
him like a cat who’s contemplating some particularly juicy mouse he
aims to eat up when he’s good and ready. For some reason, it made
him angry. He jerked the shotgun at Hugess who, despite his
composure, reacted. Now it was Howie’s turn to grin.
    ‘ I’ll take that Winchester, too,
Hugess,’ he said.
    Larry Hugess slid the weapon out of
the saddle holster and handed it down. It was a pretty gun, the
1873 .44-40 center-fire model. Its receiver and breech were
custom-engraved to Hugess’s own specification, an ornate pattern of
leaves and flowers decorating the flat surfaces. Howie would have
given a year’s pay for a gun like it, and it showed in his
eyes.
    Hugess smiled to himself: he had
always believed that any man - and therefore every man - could be
bought. Not necessarily with money, of course. Some men you bought
with gold; others women; still others power. He had just
established Howie’s price and he filed the information away, not
knowing how totally wrong he was.
    ‘ Marshal,’ he said cordially,
moving his horse across Texas Street to the rail outside the
jailhouse. ‘Good morning.’
    Sheridan nodded. He’d taken in the
whole procession, watching to make sure that Larry Hugess wasn’t
planning a strike at the jail, with some of his guns hidden away in
an alley to cut down the marshal and his deputy and spring Burt
Hugess. In some ways he was surprised Hugess hadn’t done just that,
and he couldn’t figure why. Maybe he’d find out now.
    ‘ Been expecting you,’ he
said.
    ‘ Like to talk,’ Hugess said.
‘Maybe see Burt.’
    ‘ Fine with me,’ Sheridan said. If
he noticed that Angel was on the porch of the Oriental Saloon,
directly across the street, he didn’t show it by either word or
movement.
    Hugess swung down from the saddle, and his riders
started to follow suit.