It was nearin' midnight, and there was only one face in the saloon that Sheriff Black couldn't place: a young man playing cards, well-dressed but not overdressed. Respectable, from the look of 'im, but not established. Wasn't playin' especially well or poorly, so probably not a professional gambler -- not that the stakes out here were high enough for a successful gambler to travel this far out. If he was a card-sharp, he was better'n most; the sheriff had run off two or three of those, and there was a certain air they usually cultivated. This kid didn't have it.
No, he looked more like he was down on his luck or on the run, and playing cards to pass the time. None of the fake-brotherhood joviality that the professional grifters were so good at. Didn't look much like a murderer, but then again who did?
Won't know 'til it happens, he thought, and settled back in his booth.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to leave comments; it lets me know that people are actually reading my blog. Interesting tangents and topic drift just add flavor. Linking to your own stuff is fine, as long as it's at least loosely relevant. Be civil, and have fun!