Black Conley Read Free

for her, if you get my drift."
    "I get your drift. Are you any good with that gun?"
    He laughed heartily. “I would have thought that once I told you my name, you would have figured out who I was. It worked for them fellers in town. Had the bartender shaking so hard he could hardly pour me a glass of whiskey."
    She nodded. Black Conley wasn't exactly what she'd expected him to be, but she knew about him, all right. From the stories she'd heard, he'd killed over thirty men and all of them in fair fights. She'd thought he would be older and more hardened, yet his brown eyes told her that it was possible a little boy still rested behind them. He didn't use the offensive language most men used when they came here looking for a job. To be truthful, he sounded like an educated man.
    So why was he here on her doorstep, offering to work as a ranch hand? For that matter, why was he out here in the middle of nowhere when his guns could make him more money in one of the bigger frontier towns? In thinking about it, she knew if he was as good with his guns as the papers said, he was exactly what she was looking for.
    "I do know who you are, Mr. Conley. Come on in. I can't offer you whiskey, since I don't allow it in the house, but I can get you a cup of coffee while I heat you up some of the stew we had for supper. It looks like you could use a good meal."
    He agreed and followed her into the house. Once inside, she could get a better look at him. The long black hair framed a dark-skinned face, with brown eyes that any woman could easily drown in. His background could be anything from Mexican to Comanche, considering he said he came from Texas.
    "If you take this job, my rules are simple. Like I said, I allow no whiskey at this ranch. If you want to drink, do it on your own time and do it at the Purple Moon in town. If you come home so drunk you cause a disturbance, you're fired. Do your work during the day and at night, if the girls aren't otherwise occupied you can take a poke at them, but not for free. They're working girls, and what they do at night brings money into the coffers of this ranch. Another thing; I pay a good wage, and I expect loyalty in return. What goes on here stays here."
    "Fair enough. My ma's rules were pretty much the same. ‘Course, she didn't have too many men who would come to the ranch for anything other than the girls. How much do your girls get for a night? I came here to work, but nighttime entertainment might not be such a bad thing."
    "Depends on the customer. The stage driver gets his for two bucks a roll, while the passengers pay four. As for you, I would imagine we could work out an arrangement where you could get yours for, let's say, a buck and a half."
    "It sounds fair to me. A good roll never done anyone any harm, just so long as it doesn't get in the way of what a man has to do during the day. I saw you eyeing my guns before. Any reason why you're so interested in them?"
    She ladled the stew into a bowl for him before replying. “Guess there is. I was thinking of putting out an ad for a hired gun. I've been having a lot of trouble with rustlers. Of course, I'm certain I know who's behind it. I just need proof. I need someone who is willing to find out just what's going on and use his guns if necessary. I'm losing the cattle on the range that borders the Diamond A. Clayte Adamson wants this ranch and he wants me. If he's the one stealing the cattle, it would certainly answer a bunch of questions."
    "I take it you don't want him."
    "That's right, I don't. Him and my pa had some harebrained idea about the two of us getting married and putting the ranches together. I set my pa straight the first week I was here. Clayte was harder to convince. About a month ago he lost his wife, and he was sniffin’ around two weeks later. He had the nerve to suggest we get married in order to combine the ranches and give his seven brats a mother. That's about the same time I started losing cattle. It wasn't hard to