Shoot Him On Sight Read Online Free

door.
    Down at the corral I slapped a saddle on my pony, led him outside and closed the gate. The moon was still low and there were a few stars riding herd on some drifting clouds. From the bunkhouse came the plunking of a guitar. I wanted to say good-bye to the crew, knowing with what I planned it would be long before I saw them again, but decided against it. The fewer who knew of my actions, the better. I touched spurs to my horse and moved out to the trail running to Tenango City.
    The town was less than ten miles, so there was no hurry. A mile out of town I pulled rein, unsaddled and, rolling myself in the saddle blanket, stretched out beneath the spreading branches of an old live oak tree. I fell asleep.
     

III
    The sun was already high when I awakened. I didn't carry a watch, but guessed it must have been around six-thirty. For a moment I felt fine, rested, ready to enjoy the coming day, then I remembered what had happened and what I intended to do and I could feel the indignation boiling up within me again. Damn and blast Banker Kirby for the grasping skinflint he was! I could feel the hair rising at the back of my neck the instant I thought of him.
    Well, it looked like I'd have a long hard day ahead, so I'd better get started. Resaddling and shoving the Winchester into my saddle boot, I climbed up and reined the pony in the direction of town. It was only a short time later I was loping into Tenango City.
    City? That was an exaggeration if I'd ever heard one. There was just a single winding street, twisting between rows of high false-fronts and adobe buildings, a street dusty in the hot seasons and muddy in the rainy periods. A couple of cross streets. Two restaurants, three saloons, a general store, livery and so on. Oh, yes, and Kirby's bank. Some plank sidewalks or uneven paths on either side of the road. There weren't many people abroad. A few loungers were already seeking the shade between buildings. Three chickens picked at the rutted roadway, and a mongrel dog hurried along sniffing and catching up on the news regarding previous canines. Three men, clumping along on high-heeled boots, nodded and I gave them a civil "Good mornin'" before pushing on to the livery stable.
    At the livery I stopped and told the man in charge to give my bronc such water as needed, and a good-sized feed of oats. Then I made my way to the general store, where I got a box of forty-four cartridges, stuffed enough in my belt loops to fill it, then jammed the rest of the box in one coat pocket. Leaving the general store, I headed for the first restaurant I came to and stowed away a breakfast of ham, eggs and fried potatoes, rice pudding and two cups of coffee completing the meal. While I was eating I had the counterman wrap me up some slices of beef and tortillas. He asked if I expected to be away for a time. I explained briefly I was heading north to the Sawtooth Range to join Mike in some deer hunting.
    The horse was ready for me when I got back. I tossed a half dollar to the livery man and led the pony outside. He followed me out with some idea of talking a minute. I answered in monosyllables. The sun was commencing to pour down heat by this time. I stripped off my coat and wrapped the beef and tortillas package inside, then rolled the whole and tied it behind my saddle.
    "Looks like a lunch you was packin'," the livery man said.
    "You guessed right," I answered shortly. "I'm heading up to the Sawtooths to see if I can get me a buck."
    A buck? Hell, it was three hundred bucks I was after. I climbed back to the saddle, reined the horse in the direction of the bank. Here, I again halted and tossed reins over the hitchin' pole. I checked my saddle cinch and made certain everything was ready. While I was busy, Banker Kirby mounted the steps to the single doorway of his edifice of usury. He was a wizened mean-looking cuss with squinty eyes and a mouth that reminded me of a rat trap, dressed in shiny black, celluloid collar and a derby hat.