The Range Wolf Read Free Page A

Guthrie,” Flaxen Brewster pleaded, “you won’t testify against us. It’ll mean prison. My father and I will . . .”
    â€œYour father and you will get exactly what you deserve.” I restored my wallet to where it belonged.
    â€œWe’ll book ’em and let you know when the trial will be set to take place,” Sergeant Baker informed.
    â€œHow long might that be?”
    â€œMaybe next week, maybe next month, but they’ll both be in the cooler until then. Judge Crockett’s got a lot on his docket.”
    Crockett’s docket to the contrary, I had other plans, which I didn’t intend to change.
    â€œSergeant Baker, may I speak to you privately?”
    â€œSure,” Baker said. “Step over here.”
    â€œSergeant,” I whispered, “I’m leaving town tomorrow.”
    â€œNot if you want to see these two grifters go to jail.”
    â€œIt is more urgent that I get to Houston. I’ve made arrangements for connections from there and I can’t change those arrangements. I’m sorry.”
    â€œDamn! Too damn bad,” he said just above a whisper. “You sure?”
    â€œI’m sure.”
    â€œWell, then I’ll have to do the next best thing.”
    Sergeant Baker led us back to the trio.
    â€œYou two grifters are damn lucky,” he said. “The gentleman has decided not to testify against you . . .”
    â€œThank you, thank you, Mr. Guthrie,” Flaxen Brewster sighed with genuine relief.
    â€œBut that doesn’t end it,” he went on. “Unless you’re out of my jurisdiction before the sun sets tomorrow, I’ll make up some reason to slam you in the cooler anyhow. Now get out of here before he changes his mind. Let go of him, O’Bannion.”
    O’Bannion did, but roughly, so roughly that Mr. Brewster nearly lost his balance.
    â€œWe’re grateful to you, Mr. Guthrie,” Flaxen whispered. “Eternally grateful.”
    Father and daughter made their way to the entrance of the Grand Palace with amazing dignity, under the circumstances.
    Sergeant Baker took something out of his pocket and handed it to me.
    â€œHere’s my card. If you change your mind, stop by the station. I’ll be there.”
    â€œI’m much obliged, officers. Thank you again and good night.”
    As the two minions of the law walked away, I could hear the sergeant grumble, “Damn grifters.”
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    Inside the Grand Palace, as I moved past the bar area, I saw Francine DuBois engaged in amiable conversation with a young gentleman who had an anticipatory look on his flushed face.
    At least, I thought to myself, with Francine DuBois, unlike with Flaxen Brewster, you could judge the book by its binding.

    Upstairs, I entered my room and closed the door. The room was dark, dimly lit by gaslight. As I moved toward the fixture to adjust the light and make an entry into my journal, the room abruptly got darker and I descended into that darkness from a blow across my forehead.
    Stunned into semi-conscious, I could barely make out the figures of two men. The blow giver stood by while his accomplice flung open my coat and removed my wallet.
    I suppose if I had mustered some sort of valiant effort I might have managed to put up some sort of resistance, maybe even overpower one of the intruders, but under those circumstances, I neither could, nor wanted, to muster anything resembling any effort, valiant, or otherwise.
    One encounter with whatever battered my skull would suffice. I feigned complete unconsciousness and hoped for the best, whatever that might be.
    It turned out to be a wise decision.
    Without further ado both figures quickly left the room and left me still stunned on the floor.
    How long I remained there I didn’t know—or care.
    When I finally managed to get to my feet, weave and wobble to the bed, I realized that the bandits were not entirely successful.
    The winnings from