you think. We can't let her suffer. If she's bad hurt, have one of the boys…' He stopped at the sight of Jen's distressed face.
'You better get in where it's warm, Jen. We'll do all we can to save her.' The slender girl was dry-eyed, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she turned away and walked toward the house. Maria had heard the commotion in the yard and was standing in the kitchen door. Wordlessly she took the girl in her arms and led her into the house. Kirby caught a racking sob as the door closed, and he gritted his teeth. He watched Manuel lead the mare slowly into a shed.
'How sober are your boys?' he asked Josh, his voice as cold as the growing evening chill.
'Sober enough to do a job,' answered the foreman shortly.
'Curly and Ringo know about the rustling job. Pick two or three more boys and have them saddle up. And rope me another mount; the black's been carrying double. See that the boys are all carrying their guns. Be ready in ten minutes.'
'You riding to Lazy B tonight? There's no moon, and it'll be plumb dark in an hour.'
Kirby looked at his foreman as if he'd never seen him before.
'I said, be ready in ten minutes. We don't need light for the job I have in mind.' He turned on his heel and stalked to the shed where Manuel was working with the little mare.
'What do you think, Manuel? If anyone on the place can save her, you can. But I don't want her to suffer.'
Manuel's eyes were grave. 'She's lost a lot of blood, but there's no bones broke. She may have a stiff shoulder, but I think I can pull her through. Can't say what she'll be like once she's healed up.'
Kirby nodded. 'Do what you can. We'll take a chance on a stiff shoulder. May have to keep her for a brood mare, but she deserves a chance if you think she'll live.'
He went across to his waiting crew. Curly, Ringo and three other punchers watched silently as he approached. Gathering the reins of the roan Josh had saddled for him, he had his toe in the oxbow when a thought stopped him. He turned.
'This is trouble,' he said, 'big trouble… but it's Wagon's trouble. There may gunplay before this night is over. I'm not asking anyone to ride into bullets. If anyone wants to stay on Wagon, now's the time to say so. There'll be nothing said about it, now or any other time.' He tried a grin, but it was more of a grimace. 'Can't blame anyone for not wanting to get shot on Christmas.'
No one answered him for a moment. Then Curly looked him full in the face, his eyes hostile. 'You said there was Wagon trouble. Me and the other boys have always figured that we was part of Wagon. Kinda proud of it. Some of the boys are right put out they wasn't asked to ride. Figger when people start shootin' at women and horses, Christmas is over.'
Kirby dropped his eyes before Curly's steady gaze. 'Sorry I had to say that. Just wanted things straight. This thing won't end tonight. It may not end until some of us have been planted up there with Ma and Muddy. This is only the beginning.'
Ringo murmured, 'It's cold here, palaverin'. Be warmer ridin'.'
Kirby knew better than to try to express his thanks. He felt a lift of pride and gratitude. These men were not only willing to stake their lives on his word, but were ready to argue their right to fight. They had backed Muddy in every move he made. What man wouldn't feel a glow to know his friends would back him to the limit without even asking from where the bullets would come? He climbed into the saddle, a lump in his throat. Maria and Jen came to the door and watched silently as he led a thundering parade of hoofs across the yard.
It was black night when they rode into Lazy B. Lights showed in several rooms, and there was a dim lantern burning at the entrance of the barn. There was no sign of life about house or outbuildings.
Kirby pulled his horse to a stop facing the door, aware that his men had formed a semicircle at his back. Josh was at his side.
'Hello the house,' he called, his voice shattering the night's quiet. There was no answer, and he started to climb down when the door opened and a man's silhouette blotted out the light for a moment as he stepped out on the porch.
'What's wanted?' he asked, and they all recognized the strident voice of Hub Dawes.
'Get Bill out here,' Kirby told him, dislike showing in his tone.
'Bill ain't here. He's been gone since early in the afternoon. What do you want with him?'
'That's no affair of yours, Dawes. Now I'll ask you one, and your answer better be the right one. Why didn't you ride with Bill? I never see him any more without you looking like his shadow. And where have you been all afternoon?'
'I don't like your tone much, friend.'
'You'll like it even less if I have to ask you again.'
'You doubting my word, Kirby?'
'Your word isn't any better than your reputation, and that isn't worth anything. And if you ever speak to me again, remember that only my friends call me Kirby.' He swung to the ground, walked up to Dawes and seized him by the front of the shirt, lifting him until the man stood on his toes.
'This is the last time. Why aren't you with Bill?'
Dawes tried to bluster, then thought better of it. 'I was drunk,' he replied sullenly. 'I was sleeping it off when Bill took some of the crew in town to celebrate.'
Kirby thrust him back against the porch railing. 'Get out of my way; I'll see who's inside.' Dawes' hand made an almost involuntary movement toward his hip as Kirby turned his back. Josh spoke quietly. 'Do that, Hub. Go ahead and pull that gun. I ain't killed me a snake since last summer.'
Kirby came back out on the porch. 'There's no one here but a couple of drunks,' he said disgustedly. 'Place smells like a brewery.' He stopped and looked Dawes up and down.
'Remember this, Hub. You ever set foot on Wagon again where one of us can see you, and you better have a gun in your fist. We don't like your smell.' He deliberately shouldered him aside. 'And that includes your outfit.'
Hub found his voice. 'Bill ain't gonna like that kind of talk.'
'I'll soon find out how he likes it. We're riding to town right now, and I intend to give him the same warning. One of these days soon we'll come calling on you, Dawes. Any cows running loose on your place better have the right brand—old brands.'
Once again Dawes tried to bluster. 'You come out to my place, you'd better bring plenty help. Me and the boys can hardly wait for your call. Bring your whole crew.'
'That's an idea, Hub. That's an idea.'
Half a dozen ponies, all bearing Lazy B mark, stood at the hitchrack before the Nugget as Wagon rode into town. Only the saloon and the livery stable showed lights; the rest of Streeter was celebrating the holiday.
Joe was watching the door when they entered, having caught the sound of their boots on the wooden sidewalk. 'Merry Christmas, gents,' he said with a false cheerfulness belied by the furrow of worry crossing his genial countenance. 'Belly up and have one on the house.'
'And a Merry Christmas to you,' Kirby answered for his group, his eyes taking in the saloon's other patrons. Bill stood at the bar, flanked by five riders. Three of them Kirby had known all his life. They were range bums, cowhands who drifted from one job to another; men who would think nothing of hazing someone's steers or heating a running iron in a small hidden fire. The appearance of the two strangers proclaimed their calling as if each had worn a placard across his soiled shirt. One was a dark, dour man, well past middle age. The other looked like a mere boy until one got a look at his face. His hair, showing ragged beneath a battered Stetson, was almost white, dirty white. His eyelashes were the same color, and his eyes were flat and dull, nearly opaque.
These must be the gunhawks Josh told me Bill hired, he thought. He felt a chill as he returned the unwinking stare of the youngest gunman. 'We'll take that drink in just a minute, Joe,' he said. 'First, though, I've got business with Bill.'
Bill had his back to the room. He pivoted slowly, his elbows on the bar, boot heel hooked over the rail. His face was flushed, his eyes glittering with liquor and hate.
'Well, well, brother mine. You feeling the Christmas spirit? I thought you and I weren't on speaking terms. Now you want to talk business. Don't tell me you want to sell Wagon,' he sneered.
Kirby studied his florid face. 'You know Wagon isn't for sale to you,' he said coldly. 'But I'm beginning to understand where you're getting money to make such offers.'
