Killing Halfbreed by Zack Mason

sight behind the bar.
    Red kept pretty much to himself, but most people held a favorable opinion of him.  For some reason, I felt like he might be a person I could trust.
    I walked into the saloon and approached the bar.  Red seemed surprised to see me, but quickly got over his shock, and reverted back to service mode.
    One look at Red, and his Irish heritage was instantly apparent.  He had a bushel of bright, cardinal-red hair that resembled an untamable mop and was the source of his generic nickname.  His longish sideburns ran halfway down his jaw.
    He wore dark grey slacks and a matching vest, which sported a gold watch chain linking two pockets and presumably ended with the watch itself.
    The bridge of his nose was crooked.  I'd heard he'd broken it several times in pugilist matches.  A lot of Irish were boxers, and he was no exception.  No one in Cottonwood had ever seen him fight, but he was rumored to be pretty good.
    I was relieved to see we were alone in the saloon.
    "What'll it be pardner?"
    "Whiskey, what else?"  There really weren't that many choices.
    I studied him a moment after he served me up a glass.  "Red, did you know my brother?"
    "Not really, bumped into him a couple of times on the street, but he weren't the drinking kind.  Didn't exactly have the opportunity to socialize with him, if ya know what I mean.  Why?"  He looked at me quizzically.
    "I wondered if you’d heard anything about the rustling out on the ranches, specifically on my brother's ranch."
    "Never heard about no rustling on your brother's ranch, but it sure as heck was going on at the other three.  The hands talked about it often enough in here.  Especially Bill Hartford's foreman, Rob Murphy.  Murphy’s always harping about it, bragging how he's gonna string the culprits up if he ever finds them.  Last word I heard, though, was that your brother was the one behind it all."  He tilted his head and let a sly grin slip onto his face.
    I knew he was testing me, but my face still grew hot with irritation.  Then, an idea occurred to me.
    "Red, do you have any idea who the rustlers are?  I mean, have you heard anyone talking in here about it?"
    "Well, you might say I did and I had."  He kept his eyes glued to the counter he was wiping down.
    "For goodness sake, man, who?"
    "Can't tell you that.  People have kind of an understanding with me.  They talk freely in my saloon, and it don't get repeated.  Know what I mean.  If I break that confidence, who knows what would happen.  Might even find myself facing the wrong end of a Smith & Wesson."
    "So, you know my brother was no rustler then?"
    "I’ll say I'm pretty sure of that, but I never like to rule anything out."
    "Red, you've got to tell me what you know!  Ben’s been missing for months and so has his wife, Jessica. I've got to find them.  I have to know who the rustlers are ‘cause they're probably the only ones who can lead me to them."
    "Sorry, can't help ya."
    Frustrated anger ran through my arm, tensing it, moving my hand toward my gun.  If pleading didn't convince him, there were other ways.
    His smile froze my hand in place.
    "Uh-uh.”  He shook his head slowly.  “You pull that gun, and I'll pull the trigger of the shotgun I've got pointed at your stomach."  I hadn't noticed, but his right hand was resting out of view.  He obviously had the shotgun sitting in a sling under the bar in a way that he could swivel it and fire easily.  I had no chance.  Forcefully calming myself, I slowly returned both my hands to the bar counter.
    "No problem, Red.  I know when I'm outmaneuvered."
    "Listen, Talbot, I'm not insensitive to family ties.  I know you gotta do what you gotta do.  I promise to dwell on it for a spell, and if I decide to tell you what I know, I will.  But don't push me, all right.  You ain't gonna force it out of me."
    I nodded once in understanding.  There was nothing more to discuss.
    “Name’s Halfbreed, not