Annabelle Weston Read Free

right. They shouted cuss words to one another, a quarrel brewing—fueled, no doubt, by drink. Jed read the sign in need of a coat of paint. The Lonesome Saloon.
    Jed thought the name all wrong. Seemed like the busiest place in town, especially for the early morning hour. Music floated out into the street along with women’s laughter. His cock jumped. After he filled his empty stomach, he would satisfy his other need. The saloon would be the second place he’d visit today.
    He dismounted and headed for the livery. The large man came from around the back, wiping his hands on a rag. His forehead was smudged with coal dust and his clothes were filthy.
    “ Howdy stranger,” he said. He didn’t come any closer.
    Jed closed the gap. “Name’s Jeddah Poole. I’m your new sheriff.” He held out his hand to the smithy.
    The smithy took it and shook hard. “John Trumbull. Mighty nice to have you here, Sheriff.”
    He glanced back at the saloon. Jed followed his gaze. The two men he’d seen coming out of the Lonesome had mounted their shabby horses and were galloping out of town, shooting their guns into the air.
    John huffed. “We’ve been needing someone with a badge here in Tucson. The town can be rough as a cob.”
    “ Time that changed.”
    “ We had a U.S. marshal for a spell but the poor man was killed in a nasty business last year.”
    Jed had heard. The lawmen in the territory didn’t live long, he’d been told. He’d taken the position anyway. There was a job to be done and he was the man to do it.
    “ I was sorry to hear about the marshal.” He spoke sincerely. He’d not known the man but folks spoke of him with respect.
    “ Yes sir. We’re mighty pleased you’re here.”
    “ Thank you, kindly. I aim to keep the criminals out of Tucson.”
    He’d have to take them all in hand. Lay down the law, so to speak. He wouldn’t allow desperadoes to run around like they owned the place, free to do what they pleased. Towns like this were ripe for the picking for no-accounts.
    This was his town now and the good people of Tucson didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
    “ Have they been open all night?” He nodded toward the saloon.
    The smithy closed one eye. “You mean the Lonesome? That place operates around the clock.”
    Jed grunted.
    “ Prettiest gals this side of Santa Fe.” John grinned.
    “ You don’t say?” Much as Jed craved a whiskey and a woman, those two hombres shooting up the town had him worried. They were liquored up and itching for trouble. Discharging a firearm in town was dangerous.
    Jed wouldn’t be worth his salt as a lawman if he ignored them.
    “ You recognize those cowpokes who just rode out of here?”
    “ Couple of hired hands from one of the local ranches, I reckon. They don’t mean no harm, Sheriff, but they scare the bejesus out of the decent folks.”
    “ I’ll ride out and give them a talking to.” No one shot up his town.
    “ If you think it’ll help.”
    Jed reconsidered. Both he and the mustang were spent. “It’ll keep until later.”
    “’ Spect you want to keep your horse here?”
    Jed patted Shooter’s neck. “Yeah, and he’ll need some oats.”
    Mr. Trumbull took the reins. Jed removed his saddlebags and drew his Winchester out of its scabbard.
    The smithy led Shooter away, leaving Jed to find his own accommodations. For now, he’d have to be satisfied with the jail. He couldn’t afford a place of his own. He hoped to make roots here, settle down. Someday, with enough cash, he would buy some land, build a stable for Shooter and a house to call home.
    Jed wasn’t about to ignore his gnawing hunger a minute longer. He shouldered his saddlebag and made his way down the street. As he passed the Lonesome, he decided to stop in and give those boys inside a warning.
    He ascended the rickety wooden stairs and pushed open the swinging doors.
    The interior was dark, musty and heavy with cigar smoke. Peanut shells and sawdust littered the floor and crunched