California Killing by George G. Gilman

gang?"
    Holly smiled expansively. "Money, Mr. Edge. You probably saw the sign when you came in. This has the makings of a boom town. It ought to have a star-studded future. And Mayer's got a big investment in it. He owns the hotel, four stores down-the street, a ranch out in one of the canyons and he's holding the mortgages on a lot of other properties. He even owns ninety per cent of the Playhouse right now. To get a return on his investments he needs people to come into the area. Easiest way for people to get here is through the San Fernando Valley. But at the moment it's Hood's valley. And people can't cross it without paying the price."
    "No free way across the valley, uh?" Edge muttered.
    "You know it," Holly answered. "And it's ruining Mayer. He built this town - made it what it is. And he wants it called Mayertown. He thinks the citizens will vote for that if he can get rid of Hood."
    Edge dropped his half-smoked cigarette into the dregs of his coffee and stood up.
    "You need any help, Mr. Edge, I'm at your service," Holly said. "No people, no audiences. I'm as anxious as anybody to see Hood swing."
    "From a greenwood tree?"
    Holly showed his expansive smile again. "We did a play of the story. It bombed."
    Edge nodded. "American audiences," he said softly. "They see bows and arrows, it's gotta mean Indians."
    He moved to the door and, with a final glance at the dwarfs, stepped outside. His foot sank deep into a patch of mud and he looked up into the grinning face of the Chinese boy. The youngster held an empty pail in his hand.
    "Pardon, sir. The little people tell me what you did to Mr. Mayer's men. And to Mr. Mayer. If you not famous now, I sure one day you will be."
    Edge sighed. "Obliged for the confidence, China."
    He moved off across the street, leaving a moist footprint with every stride, but the sun's heat dried it almost immediately. He noted, without changing his expression, that the window of his room was open. It had been closed when he left.
    In the Paramount Saloon, the croupiers were waiting idly at their tables. But Cooper was kept busy at the bar. As Edge entered, he drew the nervous attention of every customer and when his destination became obvious, a wide space opened up for him at the bar. All conversation stopped. Cooper moved to stand in front of him across the bar top.
    "I owe you," Edge said, taking one of the century notes from his pocket and holding it out Cooper took it and transferred it to his own pocket.· "Yep," he said, and used a cloth to wipe away the marker on the bar top.
    "Plus for the beers and room."
    "Change another big one?"
    "Nope."
    "Mark it?"
    "Yep."
    "Obliged." Edge started to turn away from the bar.
    "Hey, smart ass!"
    Edge completed the turn and fastened his eyes upon a stocky, fresh-faced youngster who had come halfway down the stairs and then halted. He was dressed in brand new Levis and shirt and a high-crowned hat, all black. Freshly polished high-heeled boots added two inches to his stature. He wore a gunbelt with two holsters, both tied down, snugly fitted with a matched pair of pearl-handled Manhattan Navy Models. His round face was set in stem lines and his pale blue eyes were steady as he looked down and across at Edge, ignoring everyone else who had turned to look at him.
    "Don't kill him," Cooper warned softly, leaning over the bar to' place his mouth close to the half-breed's ear.
    Edge kept his voice pitched on a conversational level, which was audible to all in the quietness of the saloon.
    "Who's the kid?"
    "I ain't a kid!" the gunfighter on the stairs yelled angrily. "And I figure to prove it."
    "Ain't either," Cooper confirmed in a whisper. "Name's Murphy. Must be forty at least. Went to war and came back claiming he got more commendations than anyone else in the Union army. Nobody believes him - him looking like he's fresh out of knee-pants. He wants a rep."
    Edge sighed, took out the makings of a cigarette he didn't want and began to roll a cylinder as