Warlock

Murch said, “All right,” unemotionally. The piano began to play again. Murch poured whisky into the glass Clay had left; his throat worked as he drank.

“What’s chewing the professor?” he asked.

“Taliaferro wants him to play that new piano at the French Palace. That Wax’s been scaring him.”

“That’s poor of Wax,” Murch said.

“He just works for Taliaferro, and Taliaferro’s got a new piano and nobody to run it.”

Murch nodded stolidly. “What’ll we do about it, Tom?”

“I’ll see,” Morgan said. “Get back up on that stand. I meant what I said about backshooters, Al.”

Murch nodded again. Sweat showed on his forehead in a delicate fringe beneath his receding hair. He went back over to the faro layout.

Morgan poured himself another quarter-inch of whisky, leaned back, and waited.

It was dark outside when McQuown came in, wearing a pale buckskin shirt, smiling pleasantly, his face slanted down and his red beard against his chest, the lamplight catching glints off the big silver conchos on his belt. With him were Billy Ga

Morgan nodded to McQuown as the three of them went on down the bar. Billy yelled with surprise and jumped forward to embrace his brother, while McQuown glanced casually around the room. Now there was a steadier exodus. When McQuown’s eyes met his for a moment, Morgan gri

5. GANNON SEES A SHOWDOWN

STANDING beside his brother at the bar of the Glass Slipper, John Ga

Now he was back among them, and he tried to smile at Billy, his brother. Billy looked thi

“Blaisedell’ll be about halfway to Bright’s by now,” Pony said, in his shrill voice, and Luke Friendly laughed and glanced toward the batwing doors.

“Don’t you wish it, Shorty,” Wash Haggin said, and winked at Ga

“Blaisedell’ll be around,” Wash went on, to Pony. “This one is a different breed of horse.”

Abe smiled and bent his head forward as he lit a cheroot. In the brightness of the match flame, his skin looked clear and fine as oiled parchment. Long, harshly cut wrinkles ran down his cheeks into his beard. He shook the match out, blew smoke, glanced up to meet Ga

“It is surely nice to see you back, Bud,” he said. His eyes were bright as wet green stones. Casually he turned his buckskin back, and Cade leaned forward to whisper to him. Abe nodded in reply.

Ga

“New marshal,” Billy said. “Clay Blaisedell, that’s a gunman from Fort James. Citizens’ Committee hired him to run us out of town. We’ll see who’s going to run tonight.”

“Well, I expect he won’t run,” Wash said cheerfully. “He’s the one that shot Big Ben Nicholson,” he told Ga

Ga

Billy’s face turned sullen. “Why, we’ll make a play in here,” he said.

“Not so bad odds in here,” Wash explained. He jerked a thumb and whispered, “Morgan over there is kin to him, I heard; anyway they are partners here. And a charge of buckshot up there,” he went on, indicating the lookout. “Only I hope to God it is birdshot. And count up Morgan’s dealers and barkeeps and who knows what the hell else besides. Morgan is supposed to’ve cut plenty score himself. It is a fair enough shake.”

Cade finished his conversation with Abe and turned to the bar with his back to the others. Calhoun was watching the door, scraping a thumbnail along his boneless nose.

“Billy,” Abe said. “Maybe you and me and Curley and Wash could have a hand of cards over there.”

Billy nodded tautly, and, with Wash and Curley, moved off after Abe. As they sat down in the rear, beyond the piano, a group of miners hurriedly vacated a nearby table. The piano player banged his hands down in a sour chord, and got up too, bumping, in his departure, against Calhoun and Friendly as they moved down to the end of the bar, and apologizing profusely. Pony Be

Ga

The Glass Slipper continued to empty, men abandoning the bar and the gambling layouts without apparent haste, but steadily, clotting together as they thrust their way out the doors. The gambler, Morgan, came down along the bar against the traffic, his hair gleaming smoothly silver under the light of the chandelier, his face dead pale with the black bar of the mustache across it. Icy eyes touched his briefly. Morgan disappeared through the door at the back, beyond where Calhoun and Friendly stood.

Then Ga

Carl halted there, among the others, but the man who must be Blaisedell came on, a tall, broad man with long arms, and a way of carrying himself that was halfway between proud and arrogant. His faintly smiling mouth was framed between a thick, fair curve of mustache and a prominent, rounded chin. For an instant the most intensely blue eyes Ga