Mark of the Hunter by Charles G. West Page B

the north end of town where we can make a quick stop and head right back outta town.”
    â€œIf you’re afraid somebody might recognize you, I can ride in alone and get coffee beans. You can wait for me on the edge of town.”
    â€œWell, like I said,” Dooley replied, “I need to do a little shoppin’ myself. If we stay outta the middle of town, I ain’t too worried.”
    They followed the road toward town until coming to a small store fifty yards from a saloon that appeared to be doing a fair business late in the afternoon. They pulled up in front of the store, but Dooley didn’t dismount. “I’m gonna look around a little while you’re in the store,” he said. “I’ll meet you back the way we rode in, if I ain’t back here when you’re finished.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” Cord said. He could see that Dooley was eyeing the saloon, but he wasn’t about to spend any of the money he had left to buy any whiskey. He thought he knew what the scruffy old outlaw had in mind, but doubted his odds of having one of the saloon patrons spring for a drink. He looped his reins over the rail and went into the store.
    â€œAfternoon,” a thin man with a shock of black hair and a mustache to match called out to him when he entered. “What can I do for you?” He laid a feather duster on the counter to give his full attention to his customer.
    â€œNeed some coffee beans,” Cord answered, then scanned the shelves while the store clerk went about the business of weighing out the beans. He decided he could also afford some dried beans to go with the smoked venison he was packing, so he told the clerk to weigh him out a couple of pounds.
    His purchases completed, he stepped out on the front stoop and glanced at the saloon. He was startled by what he saw. There at the hitching rail where half a dozen horses were tied, he saw Dooley’s buckskin pulled up to the rail in the middle. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he watched while Dooley unhurriedly pulled the saddle off a dun horse and nonchalantly threw it on the buckskin’s back. While he was tightening the cinch strap, a man walked out of the saloon and stood talking to Dooley. After a few short moments, Dooley stepped up in the saddle, turned the buckskin’s head toward the road, and rode away at a slow lope. Looking quickly back at the door of the saloon, Cord expected to see someone charging out to give chase, but there was no one. Dooley touched his finger to his hat as a salute as he rode by the store. After another look back toward the saloon, Cord wasted no time in jumping into the saddle and riding after him.
    When out of sight of the store, Dooley kicked his horse into a full gallop. Cord urged his horse to catch him. After about a mile, racing north on the road, Dooley reined the buckskin back to a walk, allowing Cord to catch up to him. “We’d best leave the road now and head for the Cache la Poudre,” Dooley told him. “There’s gonna be some feller lookin’ for his saddle pretty soon.”
    â€œI thought you’d gone loco,” Cord said, “in broad daylight, right out in front of that saloon.”
    Dooley chuckled heartily. “Hell, nobody thinks you’re stealin’ somethin’ when you ain’t tryin’ to hide it and actin’ sneakylike.”
    â€œI saw one fellow stop and ask you somethin’. What the hell did you tell him? He just walked away and let you steal that saddle.”
    The question brought on an amused response and another chuckle. “He asked me what I was doin’,” Dooley said. “I told him that dun belonged to a feller in the saloon, and I was just leaving him there so he could pick him up. ‘So you’re leavin’ a horse,’ he says. I said I sure am—gonna tie him right here to the rail just as soon as I get my saddle off.”
    â€œAnd he believed