Page 105 of Native Hawk
Chapter 31
Jasper swirled the sarsaparilla in his glass. He’d come to the right place. These ladies knew something about the half-breed.
They weren’t going to give him up easily. They were protecting him, probably because, as the town sheriff had told him, one of the girls was the filthy redskin’s bride. He’d bet it was that foreign lady. She was wearing a wedding ring.
The little miss should be grateful, Jasper decided. He’d come to save her from the shame of having a half-breed husband.
In actual fact, if it were up to Jasper, he’d geld them all. The damned mixed bloods were polluting the white race.
Jasper washed away the bitter taste of injustice with another drink.
He was a patient man. He’d sit here sipping sarsaparilla all night if he had to. Sooner or later, his quarry would show up. He was sure of it.
No sooner did he settle in for a long wait than a plump little auburn-haired tart sidled up to him. She was so friendly that if he hadn’t moved his leg out of her way at the last instant, he was sure she would have perched herself on his knee.
“What’syourname, darlin’?” he asked.
“Amanda,” she cooed. Then she glanced conspiratorially around the room and bent close. Her eyes glittering, she whispered, “I’ve got somethin’ you want.”
That might be true. She had mischief in her eyes and a little extra meat on her bones. But his flag had only been able to fly at half-staff since his wife passed. Besides, he was on duty.
“Not now, ma’am,” he said.
Undeterred, she toyed with the buttons on his shirt and murmured, “I know where the half-breed is.”
His eyes widened. Now he was getting somewhere. “Is that so? And are you gonna tell me?”
She gave him a simpering smile. “How much is it worth to you?”
He grabbed her forearm and flattened his eyes. He hated uppity women. Peeling back his duster, he showed her the butt of his revolver. “How about you tell me, and I don’t shoot you in the face?”
She squeaked in panic, then started stumbling over her words, which came out thin and whispery. “He’s…he’s…he’s…up-, upstairs.”
“Which room?”
“The…the s-, second one on the…on the right.”
He glanced over her head, locating the second room. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He let go of her arm, and her knees buckled. Catching herself on the chair, she limped off.
Jasper finished off his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He gave his pistol a pat, even though he knew it was there…and loaded. Then, keeping an eye on the second story room, he eased away from the table, stood up, and headed for the stairs.
He was met at the foot of the stairs by the madam.
“You ain’t goin’ up there,” she said. “Not without payin’ me first.”
He knew better. The madam wasn’t going to let him up there at any price. So he played his trump card. Hooking his thumb in the lapel of his duster, he pulled it back to show her his badge.
Her face fell. He could see she still wanted to block his way. But she was smart enough to realize the madam of a whorehouse didn’t dare tangle with the law.
Still, the glimmer in her eye told him she wasn’t quite done fighting. She opened her mouth to shout out a warning.
Fortunately, he caught it in time. He drew his six-gun and shoved it into her stomach. She choked back her cry.
“Out o’ my way,” he mumbled. “And if you don’t want your girls shot, you’ll keep quiet.”
She faltered back against the stair rail and let him pass.
He took his time climbing the stairs, keeping his gun under the flap of his duster. After all, there was no reason to get anyone else involved. Men were still drinking and playing cards. The ladies on the balcony were still displaying their wares. Hell, his own boys were in one of these rooms, getting their pistols polished. He’d just settle the score behind closed doors.
