J. Allan Dunn

“ If you’re right about Bradey? And there’s any way I can help you?”
“Thanks again, doc. I’m glad there are no strings on me. He sure can pull a few himself. But, if I get a line on him, I’ll land him.”
“I believe you, Jim. How would you describe him, Jim. Kingfish?”
“Nope. There’s a trout out in California hits him better. Cutthroat variety.”
“H’m! A trout’s a game fish, Jim. Bradey’s the river hog variety, if only for what he tried to do to the Jordan woman to-day.”
Gorman said good night and made a round of the saloons, dropping in as casually as his official character permitted. ”

“ He hasn’t lived long enough to entirely poison his system with rotten liquor. He’ll be telling all his secrets before long. Really ought to have a nurse. Man, if possible.”
“I’ve sent Pete.”
“Good. I lied about those groceries, knowing you. Said the grocer asked me to bring ’em along and that was all I knew about it. Jim, you look as if you’d discovered a new trout stream.”
Gorman grinned. He and the doctor had fishing as one of their mutual interests. Each liked to steal away when there was a chance and creel a limit of rainbows. The physician always had a steel rod in his machine. ”

“ What is she—widder woman?”
“Her husband ain’t bin seen since a week or more. I’m goin’ to try an’ git some trace of him down town. I want you should see she ain’t annoyed, Pete. I’ve got a hunch her husband ain’t goin’ to be back in a hurry.”
Pete nodded. There was no fear of his gossip on that detail. And he was exactly fitted for it. Not too old to be spry—too old to sleep heavily, Gorman was assured that no one would interfere with the cabin, night or day, with out danger of flying lead and Pete was a dead shot, if not quite so quick on the draw as he once had been. ”