“You’re Coyote Jack?” “That’s me, mister.” Coyote Jack spit a glob of tobacco juice at his feet, then lifted insolent coal black eyes. “So now that you sent for me and I’m here, what can I do for you?” “Come inside to talk.” He led the Wyoming Territory’s most notorious bounty hunter into the spacious oak-paneled study that had belonged to Jed Holden and shoved closed the heavy carved door. “Brandy? Cigar?” With his head tilted to one side, Coyote Jack paused beside the mantel and stroked his gray mustache. A grin split his face as he nodded. “Sounds damned good, Mr. Holden. Don’t mind none if I do.” As Wyatt poured dear Uncle Jed’s brandy into a fine old crystal goblet, he appraised his visitor. By the time he handed Coyote Jack the brandy and a fragrant cigar from Uncle Jed’s humidor, he’d concluded that he was not displeased by what he saw.
