Heart of an Outlaw *First in the Crane Gang series*

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

One month. Thirty-one days. Four whole weeks. 

Gill and Pete had been roaming around, stopping in every town along the way and dropping the Crane Gang name around to see if anyone had any information. 

And finally it seemed their persistence might be paying off. Gill hadn't really expected to find anything that would help them in this backwater town they'd stopped in for the night but it seemed there was truth in the old adage that good things come when you least expect them. 

Not only had they seemed to finally come to a place that the Crane Gang frequented but they seemed to have found a member. 

"Craig Crane, if you don't get your drunk compadre off my damn bar there's going to be a giant hole right through his middle!" the heavily mustached bartender warned as he hefted up a shotgun and glared at the man currently walking across the bar, spilling drinks and banging heads along his way. 

Pete and Gill shared a look, neither truly believing their luck! The man on the bar was clearly drunk beyond reason as he glared at everyone in the saloon and challenged them all to a fist of cuffs. It didn't look like the intoxicated man could take on a butterfly just now, let alone the dirty, trail worn, work hardened assortment of men currently occupying the crowded saloon. 

"Where do you reckon he got those pants?" Pete whispered as he sat back in his chair and chuckled. "I'd like to have me some like that." 

Gill snorted, "Yeah, they'd look real good with that hair of yours," he stated. The man on the bar was wearing the largest pair of white and black cowhide gaucho pants that Gill had ever seen on a person--he looked ridiculous, especially when you noted the brass studs on his red shirt and the shiny silver buckles adorning his gun belt which held the gaudiest pair of pearl handled .38's that Gill had ever laid his eyes on. 

"Don't be jealous, Gill," Pete winked as he shook out his thick red hair. "God only blessed a few men with such luscious locks." 

Gill laughed into his beer as he took a long swallow and scratched at the thick, black, wiry hair beneath his hat. The bartender bellowed angrily when gaucho pants kicked over a bottle of whiskey. "Godammit, Craig! Get Willie's ass off my bar before I kill him!" 

Gill scanned the saloon for Craig and his eyes landed on a young man, younger than twenty if Gill had to wager, stumbling down the stairs with his shirt undone, his belt half off and his boots clutched in his hands. "Don't kill him, Gary!" he grumbled. "I'll get him out of here!" 

"Come back soon, handsome!" the woman Craig had been upstairs with called as she leaned over the banister and wiggled her fingers at him. Gill saw a flush cover Craig's cheeks as he hopped clumsily into his boots. 

"I don't reckon I've ever seen a hardened criminal blush before," Pete stated thoughtfully. 

Gill shrugged, "Judging by the looks of these two we've found the members or their group that must suffer from idiocy. I'm sure they won't all be like this." 

"If they are all like this then we'll fit in just fine!" Pete winked. 

Gill chuckled, "Speak for yourself, red." Pete smiled broadly and the two men watched Craig grab hold of Willie and tug him off the bar. 

"Do you want to fight too?!" Willie demanded as he weaved on his feet and fixed Craig with a sloppy glare. 

"Sure don't, Willie, and you might wanna sober up a bit before Jeb sees you. If you challenge him to a fight you'll be shitting out teeth for a month," Craig replied, grunting under the weight of the other man as he weaved and leaned against him.