“Well, hell. They up an’ shot my horse an’ he fell on me. Other’n that, I was good.”
“Good with a busted-up foot an’ no ammo an’ standin’ there like a cigar-store Injun.”
Austin’s grin disappeared again. He leaned across the table until his face was but a few inches from Will’s. “I’ll say this: I’m ridin’ with you no matter how you flap your mouth. See, all you do is think on your own self. Hiram, he was my friend. I rode his girls around, an’ I paid a whole ton of respect to Sarah. I whacked fence poles for Hiram, an’ I hefted bales. Like I said before, he was my friend. An’ Sarah an’ the girls . . .”
“You got supplies?” Will asked quietly.
“I will have, come tomorrow morning,” Austin said. “A goddamn prairie dog could bust in that mercantile there an’ clean ’em out.”
“OK. Grab me a bunch of Bull Durham—the sacks with the papers. We’ll ride at first light.”
Austin held out his hand across the table. Will took it and they shook.
“You still handy with that Colt?” Will asked. “I mean when you ain’t clumsy enough to let a horse fall on you an’ you got no ammo?”
Austin drained the schooner he’d been holding and picked a new, full one from the tray.
“Name a target, Will.” Austin began to stand.
“Stay sittin’ right where you are.” Austin sat back down. “See them shot glasses on the shelf under the lady whose tits you shot off?”
“Sure.”
“When I say shoot, you pick off every other one from right where you are.”
“They’re kinda tight together, Will.”
“Yeah. They are. So will One Dog’s men be if we get to them at the right time.”
“Hell, man—this ain’t no contest.” Austin grinned. “I could do this here in my sleep. But look—s’pose you pick off the ones I leave? I don’ wanna ride with no ol’ fart who can’t handle iron. You got some years on you, Will—an’ you was locked in Folsom for—”
“Shoot,” Will said.
Austin had pushed his chair back, balancing it on its hind legs. His pistol was in his hand with speed that brought a smile to Will’s face. The six shots were thunderous in the saloon, but still not as loud as the storm outside.
“You nicked the fourth one.”
“Yer ass, Will Lewis—the sumbitch already had a notch in it. Now, ’cordin’ to what we agreed, you was—”
The shot glasses Austin left seemed to disintegrate at the same time. Will holstered his Colt. “OK?” he said.
Austin reached across the table once again. Once again the men shook hands.
The men Austin rode in with were having a fine old time, shooting holes in the walls, blowing bottles to smithereens, drinking with both hands and paying with neither.
“Your boys are tearin’ hell outta this place an’ they’re not payin’ a dime,” Will said. “I was wonderin’, could you get the whole goddamn bunch outta here?”
“I’ll make sure they pay up, Will.”
“Ain’t the point. That ol’ fella don’t need this horsehit. He ain’t a bad ol’ guy and I come to like him while I been here. I can see cowhands at the end of a drive with some money in their pockets raisin’ some hell, but these clowns of yours, they piss me off. If you don’t shag ’em out, I will, Austin—and then the damn fools’ll be carried out boots first.”
Austin drew his .45, tipped out his cylinder, and filled the empty spaces with fresh cartridges. He pushed his chair back and stood, right hand all but touching the grips of his weapon.
“Hey,” he hollered. “Hey. You boys put your rigs on your horses an’ git out. We was together for one thing—that bank—and we done it good. Now, git.”
“Austin,” one of them said, “the storm an’ all . . . We ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not nowhere. We’re real happy right here.”
“Well,” Austin said, “let’s talk about this, OK?”
“Ain’t nothin’ to talk about. We—”
Austin drew and fired his Colt twice. Both slugs found a home in the outlaw’s gut.
“What you boys gotta do is split his take, an’ like I said, git outta here, storm or no goddamn storm. Ever’body understand? Oh—an’ take that mouthy sumbitch’s body out an’ toss it in the street.”
No one answered, but the two outlaws began slapping wet blankets on the backs of their mounts.
“An’ lemme say this: I never seen nor heard of none of you. We never rode together. Any one of you who says different faces me—an’ if you back-shoot me, my pardner here will do what needs to be done.” Austin picked up a schooner and drained half of it. “You boys worked out OK. We all got money an’ that’s all we was after. But don’t cross my path . . .”
The men began to saddle up. Austin stood by the table, his Colt comfortably fitting his hand. When they’d all ridden out of the saloon, hats pulled down, slicker collars wrapped around their necks, Austin pulled a sheaf of bills from his pocket and strode to the bar.
“This oughta do it,” he said to the bartender, dropping the money. “If it don’t, there’s more where that come from.”
“That’ll do her fine,” the ’tender said. “I’ll thank you, sir.”
“Ain’t no ‘sir’ involved. I’m a common thief jus’ like the boys I chased outta here.” He grinned. “ ’Cept I’m a bit faster an’ a whole lot smarter.”
Will shook his head slowly from side to side. “Jesus,” he said. “He ain’t changed a bit.”
Will and Austin drank their fill, wrapped themselves in their ponchos against the storm, and fought the wind to the cathouse. The barber was passed out on the floor by his table and the hempa smoke was as strong as a skunk trapped in a closet.
“Damn,” Austin said, “if that don’t smell good, I dunno what does. I ain’t had me a decent smoke since me an’—”
“There’ll be no smoke and damned little booze, Austin. I remember you after suckin’ that weed, an’ you was as crazy as a shit-house rat. I’ll plug you myself, you start that craziness.”
“Feisty as ever,” Austin grumbled, following Will up the stairs.
“Take any room you want,” Will said. “They’re all empty.”
Austin tried the doorknob of the room next to Will’s. “Sumbitch’s locked,” he said, and kicked it hard. The door was stout; it stayed closed.
“Take another one,” Will said. “They’re all the—”
Austin drew and emptied his Colt into and around the doorknob. He pushed the door lightly with his boot, and it swung open with only a tad of metal-to-metal squealing. He grinned at Will, said, “ ’Night,” and pulled the battered door closed.
The storm and the rain hung around like stink on a manure pile through the night and into the day. Will and Austin stood glumly at the cathouse door.
“Well hell, we might jus’ as well get some grub, Will,” Ausin said. “Don’t make no sense to ride in this shit—an’ any tracks there was is long gone.”
“Yeah. Rain’s fallin’ on One Dog, too, though, an’ I doubt he’s stupid ’nuff to try to move cattle an’ horses in this storm. I figure he’s holed up somewhere. We’ll catch up soon’s we can ride. This mud is like greased ice; we’d be sure to bust up our horses, slippin’ an’ slidin’ an’ goin’ down.” He watched the windswept rain for a minute. “Food across the street ain’t too bad. Don’t matter if it was, howsoever—it’s the only choice we got.”
Will had always been amazed at Austin’s ability to consume food. A Mexican gunslinger in their gang years ago had referred to Austin as el gordo—the fat one. The gunsel had told Austin the Spanish term meant “the fast gun,” which had pleased Austin immensely.