to be enjoying it.
Until the odds shifted against him, anyway.
The slugger heâd knocked down a moment earlier was rising, groggy but determined not to miss the actionâs finish. Ryder moved around the dancing duelists, closing in to meet the odd man out. Distracted, turning toward the interloper he had never seen before tonight, the ruffian stooped to retrieve his fallen knife.
And it was Ryderâs turn to try a throw, although heâd never practiced it. Holding his borrowed dagger by the blade, he put his weight behind the pitch with no idea which end would hit his target, if it struck at all. In fact, the pommel smacked into his adversaryâs forehead with sufficient force to pitch him over backward, sprawling empty handed in the street.
An anguished cry behind him suddenly demanded Ryderâs full attention. Turning, he found Marley in a clinch with his would-be assassin, both men standing rigid for a moment in the lamplight. Marley pushed away a moment later, gave his dirk a sideways flick to clear its blade of blood, and watched the man heâd stabbed collapse facedown.
âWell, now,â he said to Ryder. âI suppose youâd better tell me who you are, or maybe use that Colt.â
âYou want to talk about it here? Right now?â Ryder inquired.
Marley considered it, surveyed the scattered bodies of his enemies, and said, âAll right. Put up the gun and come with me.â
Ryder holstered his Colt and fell in step beside the man heâd traveled some twenty-three hundred miles to find. Marley seemed perfectly relaxed, now that the skirmish was behind him, but he kept an eye on Ryder all the same.
âGeorge Revere,â said Ryder, when theyâd covered half a block and turned a corner, with their fallen adversaries out of sight. âAnd you are . . . ?â
âBryan Marley. You arenât drunk at all, I take it?â
âThought Iâd have a better chance to get in close,â said Ryder, âif they didnât take me seriously.â
âRight. And whyâd you bother?â
âAs opposed to watching you get killed, you mean?â
âOr turning back and going on about your business. Itâs what Iâd have done.â
âYou have a funny way of saying thank you, Mr. Marley.â
âMake it âBryan,â since you saved my skin. Same question: why?â
âI might have watched you fight with one, or even two. The four of them, I guess it just seemed wrong to me.â
âFelt wrong enough to risk your life?â
âMaybe I didnât think it through.â
âWe havenât met before,â said Marley. Not a question.
âNo.â
âYou donât sound much like Galveston.â
âI move around a lot,â said Ryder.
âDoing what, if you donât mind my asking?â
âThis and that. I move commodities from here to there.â
âCommodities. What kind?â
âWhateverâs in demand. Man has to make a living.â
âTrue. Iâve done a bit of that myself,â Marley replied.
âAnd made some enemies along the way, I guess.â
âCompetitors. Some take it worse than others when you top them on a deal.â
âApparently.â
âSo, thank you.â
âWelcome.â
âSince we both agree youâre sober, could you stand a drink?â
âI wouldnât mind.â
âYou ever been to Awful Annieâs?â
âHavenât had the pleasure,â Ryder said.
âSome might not call it pleasure,â Marley told him, âbut the Menefees wonât find us there.â
âThe Menefees?â
âOur sparring partners. There are more than four of âem.â
âI see.â
âThe good news is, they wonât know who you are if youâre just new in town.â
âMy lucky day.â
âThe bad news is, the ones we didnât kill will
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