The stranger shrugged. “Well, let’s walk down there and see the show. Get a good seat.”
“Are you loco, mister? Not me! The bullets could start flyin’ at any time now.”
“Not loco, Tulley. Just curious. Your colorful stories got me interested in this town.”
The stranger started down the boardwalk.
“Well, I call it loco,” Tulley insisted, but found himself tagging along again. “And I can’t let you go wanderin’ off around town this dangerous without somebody to hold that citified hand of yours.”
They paused at the end of the boardwalk, which provided a good catercorner view of the sheriff’s office and the five horses stopped in front of it.
Deputy Rhomer was over having a look at the two corpses slung over the pack animals. He turned toward the sheriff, who stood at the edge of the porch above the steps.
“It’s Stringer and Bradley!” Rhomer said.
Gauge ambled down and positioned himself in front of the old man and his daughter, both still on horseback. “I suppose you have witnesses to what happened?”
“We have plenty, Sheriff,” Cullen said.
“All on the Bar-O payroll, of course.”
“Right. Like these two here were on your payroll.”
“You mean, these two men of mine who your men shot down in cold blood.”
The girl, who was in a red-and-black plaid shirt and denim pants, yellow hair braided up, said, “In self-defense, Sheriff Gauge. They sneaked in at night and were setting fire to our high grass where cattle were grazing.”
“And your boys were waiting? Big range to know just the right spot.”
Cullen said, “I had a good idea where you’d hit. Do you deny these are your men?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No. Not at all. Good loyal employees. They wear deputy badges when we go out on posse. And that’s why I’m afraid you took yourself too big a bite this time, Mr. Cullen. Really boxed yourself in.”
“Oh?”
Gauge still had his hands on his hips, which put one hand near the butt of his .44. He was smiling up into a face that couldn’t see, but no doubt the old man could make out the nastiness in that unseen smile by the tone of the sheriff’s voice.
“You knew I was sending my men out to see you, old man, with a proposal to buy out your land. Wouldn’t be any trouble at all for you to lay an ambush for them, then start a fire that you could put out quick... but point to as something the dead men done.”
As they watched from the end of the boardwalk, Tulley and the stranger were aware that other onlookers, who’d filled in behind them, were now backing away.
As Tulley said earlier, bullets might fly...
Maybe that was why the stranger was knotting that tie-down strap, securing the holstered .44 to his right thigh.
Old Man Cullen was saying, a snarl in his voice, “You know damn well that it didn’t happen that way.”
Gauge shook his head. “I don’t know any such thing, Mr. Cullen. But I do know this. Those men were deputized by me before I sent them out, in anticipation of what you might pull.”
The stranger stepped down from the boardwalk and started across the street. Tulley reached out to stop him, but the man was already on his way. And that stride of his was a long one.
Gauge was saying, “And you don’t just kill lawmen and get away with it, old man. Not in my town.”
Rhomer gripped Gauge’s arm and pointed to where the stranger was over, having a look at the two bodies, turning the head of one to look at a dead face, doing the same with the other.
Then the stranger called, “Mr. Cullen!”
The old man’s face turned toward the voice, his expression quizzical. “Yes? Who is that?”
“Sir, are you responsible for these deaths?”
Cullen’s chin rose. “I am. Not personally, but men who work for me did, protecting my property. I take full responsibility.”
Gauge, frowning, whispered harshly to his deputy, “Who the hell is this?”
“Damn if I know,” Rhomer said. “Just some dude. Never seen him before.”
The stranger walked around to look up at the mounted Cullen, giving a respectful nod to the man’s daughter as he did. “Then don’t worry about it, sir.”
“Don’t... don’t worry about it?”
“No. You’ve done the law a service. These are wanted men. Dead or alive in four states that I know of. The posters are up all over the territory.” He turned and gave the sheriff a pleasant smile. “I’d be willing to bet you have them up in your office, Sheriff.”
“Who are you?” Gauge demanded.
The smile left the stranger’s face. “Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you took those circulars down, or never put them up.”
Gauge reddened. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the company you keep. Not very good.”
Gauge’s upper lip curled back in a terrible smile. “Listen to me, stranger... this is not your business. Back off and back away or we’re going to have a problem that I’m going to solve.”
The stranger ignored the threat. “In fact,” he said, loud enough for any onlookers or eavesdroppers to hear, “Mr. Cullen has a reward coming. About five hundred U.S. dollars for the pair of them.”
Stunned, a slack-jawed Cullen said, “Five hundred...?”
The stranger grinned. “Yeah, I know. Two of a kind usually doesn’t pay off that well.”
Tulley didn’t see them till it was too late — Riley and Jackson, coming around the near side of the sheriff’s office-jailhouse. They’d been inside there all this time, and were coming up behind the stranger, who was facing the sheriff.
“Mister!” Tulley called.
Willa Cullen had seen them, too, and she pulled her horse between the two bushwhackers and the dude, who immediately came around the back of the animal to find the two supposed deputies, already with guns in hand.
“Time to die,” Riley said, “you lousy, slicked-up—”
The stranger drew and fired, and neither man, despite the guns already in their hands, could do a damn thing about it except look down at the red blossoming over their hearts before dropping onto their backs to sprawl in the dusty street.
So close had the shots been together, they might have been one big blast. Tulley had never seen anything like it — drawing on two men whose guns were at the ready, taking them down like target-practice tin cans.
To himself the desert rat muttered, “And I was gonna hold his hand...”
Chapter six
A wide-eyed Willa Cullen had seen the shooting, too, leaving her stunned but admiring. Her father shouted her name, but Willa calmed him, saying, “It’s fine, Papa! I’m fine.”
She and the rest of her party settled their horses, riled by the gunshots, Whit filling her father in, as Gauge and Rhomer ran to their fallen comrades. Neither man had seen the gunfight itself, Willa on her horse blocking their view.
Gauge knelt over the men, who both stared back at him as sightless as George Cullen. Rhomer knelt there, too, and he and Gauge both looked up at the stranger, who was striding over, holstering his .44.
“Do me a favor, Sheriff?” the stranger asked pleasantly. “Check for posters on them, too? Maybe I got some reward money coming.”
Then he tipped his hat to the local law and started toward Willa, who was looking on, still on horseback. The scent of gunsmoke hung heavy.
Rhomer was glaring at the stranger’s back, his hand heading for his own holstered .44. Willa drew in a breath, ready to give warning.