The only trouble was, this was a hard, lawless land he was crossing, one known to be a stronghold of roving bands of cutthroats and cattle rustlers. And, unfortunately, three of them were heading in his direction at that very moment.
Nathan wore a two-shot .45-caliber derringer in his sleeve and a Colt .45 on his hip. In addition to that, he had a good Winchester repeating rifle in his saddle scabbard and a Bowie knife hidden in his boot top. But Nathan had little doubt that the three rough-looking men still a quarter of a mile away and trotting toward him were equally well armed and perhaps even as proficient with their weapons.
“Well,” he said as he continued herding his horses, “I might be able to outrun the bunch of them. But then they’d know I was afraid and had a lot to lose and so they’d keep coming after me. Or I can just open up on them first and hope to drop one, maybe even two … but then the third would probably put a bullet in me before I could get around to him.”
Nathan frowned. Both choices were bad, and there was the slim chance that these three riders were honest cowboys, men just coming to pass the time of day before continuing eastward. Nathan didn’t want to kill decent, hardworking men. Breaking his accomplice’s neck back in Denver had left a bad taste in his mouth and, if Tom hadn’t decided to suddenly get greedy, he’d still be alive today.
I’ll give them a chance, he thought. Maybe they are friendly and mean me no harm.
When there was still about three hundred yards between himself and the three riders, Nathan saw one of them reach for the pistol at his side and then ease it up and down in his holster. That convinced him that the men had deadly intentions. He took the precaution of slipping his derringer out of his right sleeve and transferring it to his left hand. Nathan had taught himself to shoot quite accurately with either hand, should he ever find himself outnumbered and in a rather desperate situation such as this might become.
“Howdy!” the man on the high-headed gray horse shouted.
“Howdy!” Nathan called in return, spurring his mount forward so that he would meet this trio in advance of his band of fine horses.
When Nathan was out in front, he drew in his reins, cocked his derringer, and kept it folded under his fingers and behind the horn of his saddle. The three men also reined up, and the man on the gray thumbed back his droopy hat.
“Nice horses, mister.”
“Thanks.”
“Where you heading?”
“South.”
“Where you come from?” an angular, greasy-haired man with evil-looking eyes on a buckskin wanted to know.
“Rock Springs.”
Nathan took a quick glance at the third and youngest outlaw. Probably not out of his teens, the kid looked damned worried. He wore baggy clothes and clodhopper boots, the kind that farmers and homesteaders favored. Nathan didn’t miss the fact that there was a gun strapped around his thin waist and reminded himself that he could not afford to overlook the kid, who was probably as deadly as a baby rattlesnake. Even so, the kid would be the third target, while the man on the gray would be the first and the bad-eyed one would earn Nathan’s second bullet.
The man on the gray horse dropped his gun hand to his side and eased up a little in his stirrups. He surveyed Nathan’s band of exceptional horses and smiled. “Well now, stranger, do you have a bill of sale for those horses?”
“I do,” Nathan said, feeling his heart begin to pound. “But why do you ask?”
“Been a lot of horse stealing up around Rock Springs,” the leader said with a cold, almost mocking grin. “And you are a stranger to these parts.”
“I’m just passing through, mister. Looking to go to Arizona, where the winters are warm.”
“Yeah,” the thin man said. “But what if you stole them horses? And what if we didn’t ask to see your bill of sale? Why, we’d be plumb negligent, wouldn’t we, Brady?”
“We would for a fact,” the man on the gray said. “And I hate to be negligent. What do you say, kit?”
The kid took a deep breath and managed to nod his head. Nathan noticed how his hand also inched toward the butt of the six-gun that seemed too large for his body. “Kid don’t talk much,” Brady explained. “But I’m sure the kid is as eager to see that bill of sale as we are.”
Nathan knew their game. They’d expect him to bury his right hand in his pocket or his saddlebags and that’s when they’d draw and shoot him off his horse. They’d probably done it more than once and, when bracing the foolish or unwary, it posed little risk.
“You want to see my bill of sale right now?” he asked, pretending to be a little slow even as his mind ticked off the sequences that he would go through in order to kill these three men and survive.
“That’s right,” the thin one said, his lips drawing back with contempt. “Let’s see your gawddamn bill of sale! We ain’t got all damned day.”
Act as if they’re scaring you shitless, Nathan reminded himself. Let them feel overconfident so they relax just a hair and then kill the first two with your derringer.
Nathan looped his reins over his saddle horn and absently patted his coat pocket as if he were starting to search for the bill of sale. At the same time, he nudged his mount ever so lightly with the heels of his boots so that it stepped even closer to his enemies. Close enough to almost reach out and touch the heads of their horses because, when it came to using a derringer, closer was always better in order to plant both your bullets in their chests.
“Let me see here,” he said, reaching his lower coat pockets and then raising his left hand as if he were going to check his shirt pocket.
“Hey!” the thin man screamed, his hand diving for his gun. “He’s got-“
Nathan had a very sudden change of heart. The thin man was definitely his first target because he was extremely fast. But not fast enough to draw his heavy six-gun when Nathan’s derringer was already up and pointed at his narrow chest. Nathan’s derringer barked smoke and fire, and the man on the buckskin slapped at his heart, then stared as he began to topple forward in death.
Nathan’s left hand had only to shift a couple of inches before it rested on Brady. The man was big and slow. Nathan would have taken more time to place his bullet if it had not been for the kid. As it was, when the derringer barked again, Brady took the slug just below his rib cage. The big man screamed like a panther and his eyes bugged. He tried to fire but hadn’t the strength, so he grabbed at his gut, blood pumping out between his thick fingers.
Nathan’s hand released the now-empty derringer. He went for his six-gun but froze when he saw that the kid already had the drop on him. For an instant they just stared at each other. The kid had every reason to pull his trigger … but didn’t. He just held his gun out and sighted down its barrel.
“I reckon I hold your life in my hands, mister,” the kid said in a voice that trembled. “I reckon I’m more important to you right now than God.”
Nathan felt sweat erupt all over his body. “I reckon that’s true enough,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound like his own.
“I ought to kill you and take the whole damn bunch of these horses. With your guns and rifles, the saddles and everything, I bet I could get five hundred dollars. Easy.”
“I don’t think you’d get very far,” Nathan said, desperate to buy time enough to find the advantage. “You’d run into some more like those two friends of yours. This country is crawling with their kind of vermin. You wouldn’t get fifty miles.”
The kid was blue-eyed with sand-colored hair and freckles. He looked as if he ought to still be in school or holding a bamboo pole beside a fishing hole instead of being in a position to be the last one standing after a gunfight.