Free A Grave for Lassiter by Loren Zane Grey

long-winded speech before giving you the belt with your initial on the silver buckle.” Oliver glanced at Lassiter’s waist. “What happened to the belt?”
    Lassiter gave a short laugh. “Only the good Lord knows.”
    Although Oliver had only been in town a few weeks, he seemed to have a good idea of the lay of the land. Oliver said that Farrell had started a freight line under his own name.
    â€œWhat happened to Josh Falconer’s niece?” Lassiter probed. “Name of Melody. She was running things last I knew.”
    â€œShe moved what’s left of her outfit up to Aspen Creek.” Oliver said that Farrell had taken over not only the freight line here in town, but also the stable, warehouse, and the big house that Josh had built for his wife.
    â€œMelody must be having a hard time,” Lassiter said above the rattle of crockery and voices of other customers.
    â€œEverybody figures this spring she’ll be makin’ her last freight run.” Oliver cleared his throat. “You aim to do somethin’ about it?”
    â€œI aim.”
    Lassiter paid for his meal and Oliver’s coffee. Outside on the crowded walk, Lassiter ran a hand over his beard. “Wonder if the barber shop’s still open.”
    Oliver nodded. It was Saturday night, Oliver pointed out.‘An’ payday at the ranches an’ mines. The boys come in once a month to git a trimmin’, them that don’t cut their own hair.” Oliver’s voice hardened. “Or trimmed at Shanagan’s.”
    â€œSo he runs crooked games.”
    â€œNot him. But he lets Farrell sit at his tables.”
    â€œSeems Farrell hasn’t lost his touch.”
    â€œSeems like you know the bastard down to his toenails.”
    â€œI’ve twisted his tail a few times.”
    â€œI ain’t forgettin’ he euchred me outta five thousand Yankee dollars.”
    Lassiter looked at the long face with the bushy sideburns. “You ever accuse him of it?”
    â€œIf I had, I wouldn’t be here talkin’ with you this night.” Lassiter agreed. “There are times for a man to keep his mouth shut, for sure,” Oliver went on. “Like I didn’t with mine tonight. Sayin’ your name right out, like a fool. Minute I seen how everybody around me was lookin’ kinda shocked-like, I knew I’d done wrong.”
    â€œIf I do need a hand, where can I get hold of you?”
    Oliver said he was living at the hotel as long as his money held out. “I’m tryin’ to git a small stake so’s I can trick Farrell into a game. Next time, by gad, I’ll keep my eyes open. An’ I won’t touch one drop of whiskey.”
    â€œThe only way to play cards.”
    â€œ ’Course that night Farrell had a little help. I heard later he paid Vanderson to slip him cards. He was setting right next to Farrell, he was, but I never paid no attention . . .”
    â€œVance Vanderson, you mean?”
    â€œThe slimy, no-good.”
    Oliver drifted away into the shadows. Lassiter took a roundabout way to the barber shop so that he had to pass the big stables built by Josh Falconer and also the oversize warehouse. On both buildings was a sign: FARRELL FREIGHT LINES.
    Farrell was up to his old tricks, trimming the innocent, such as Oliver, and fighting a defenseless young woman like Melody.
    A final customer was just leaving the barber shop. The barber was about to close up. Lassiter offered him five dollars to shave off his beard, with three stipulations. He was to lock the front door, pull down the blind, and have no objection to Lassiter holding a gun on his lap.

Chapter Nine
    Shanagan was relieved to learn that Farrell was home, not out at Twin Horn. It saved an eleven-mile round trip. Even so, it was quite a walk to Farrell’s house, out past the warehouse and stables. All three structures were built by Josh Falconer shortly before his marriage, so