Free Lassiter Tough by Loren Zane Grey Page B

himself. Swiftly, he punched out empties from his smoking .44. They bounced along the hard ground, then he reloaded.
    A round man with a jiggling belly under an immaculate white shirt came hurrying up to stand next to Sanlee. “I’m Arthur Hobart of the bank,” he said to Lassiter. “You certainly owe Mr. Sanlee a vote of thanks. He saved your bacon.”
    Lassiter wondered about that. The bank was beyond the saddle shop. But, of course, Hobart might have been in the street when the shootout took place. He saw Hobart turn away, give Sanlee a small smile, a pat on the arm, then walk away through the crowd. In Lassiter’s mind, a strong affiliation had been established between Diamond Eight and the Bank of Santos.
    Sanlee was helping his sister into Chandler’s wagon, where she sat, stiff as a mud wall, pale about the mouth.
    â€œI reckon Krinkle carried a grudge on account of you messin’ him up the other day,” Sanlee said over his shoulder to Lassiter. “The other fella was his no-account cousin. I reckon Krinkle talked him into backin’ his hand.”
    â€œI reckon,” Lassiter said dryly, his eyes as cold as a sleet-driven sky.
    â€œYou could use a drink, Lassiter,” Sanlee suggested. “Rep’s got some talkin’ to do to my sister. Let’s you an’ me go over to O’Leary’s an’ . . .”
    â€œI’m due back at roundup.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” Sanlee said shortly. He walked over to where a ring of men were staring down at Krinkle. “Damn it, Doug,” he said to the corpse. “You an’ your temper. I told you that holdin’ a grudge can get a man killed. An’ it sure did.”
    Lassiter walked stiffly to where he had left his horse. Millie was rattling away in Chandler’s wagon, and Sanlee was crossing to the saloon.
    As Lassiter untied the reins at the rear of the store, Isobel Hartney opened the back door and leaned out, blond and beautiful. She was wearing her apron again and a stub of yellow pencil was behind an ear.
    â€œThe other day you were lucky, Lassiter. Today you had even more luck. That’s twice. I dread to think of a third time.”
    â€œTell you the truth, I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”
    He gave her a tight smile and rode out.
    Only after a mile or so from town did he begin to let down. He could have used the whiskey Sanlee had suggested. But Lassiter had no intention of drinking with him. He knew as sure as there was sun in the Texas sky that Sanlee had put the pair up to it. Kill both of them, Chandler and Lassiter. Then Sanlee could bargain away his half-sister in another direction, perhaps with one of the ranchers whose names had appeared on the death list.
    Strangely enough, the cattle drive to railhead went without incident. With two money sacks holding $74,000 in cash, Lassiter made a much faster return trip. While away, he had done a lot of thinking and concluded that his obligation to Rep Chandler had been fulfilled. It was time to settle the business hestill felt he had with Sanlee, despite Millie’s insistence that her brother was not involved in the death of Vince Tevis. With the Sanlee matter out of the way at last, he would head for Arizona. He liked the country and had friends there.
    Upon his arrival back at Box C, he was surprised to find the ranch yard strung with Chinese lanterns. There was a bustle of activity, men moving long tables into the yard. The Romero brothers, who did all the barbecuing for the area, were digging their pits.
    Rep Chandler spotted him through a window and came limping to the door with a cane. He grinned broadly. His leg was no longer splinted. “Thank the good Lord you got home in time, Lassiter. Millie will be awful pleased. . . .”
    â€œTime for what?” Lassiter asked as he handed over the money sacks. Chandler hardly gave them a glance.
    â€œWhy, for the weddin’, that’s what. Only