Bill's eyes narrowed. 'I don't think I like what you're implying, brother dear.'
'I don't care a hoot what you like. Maybe the truth hurts.'
'Get on with your business, Kirby. I'm in no mood to take any of your guff.'
Kirby was watching the young gunman, who had moved slightly away from the bar and was standing with his right hand hooked into his gunbelt, his feet wide apart. The older stranger hadn't moved, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that Josh was watching his every move.
'Here it is, Bill. And you won't like it. Early this winter someone rustled more than two hundred head of prime Wagon beef from the river flats. Five days later you sold about two hundred more steers than you owned. They were all re-branded Lazy B. I'm not saying that you hazed my cows across the river personally, but I'm saying that you sold more cows than you had left from the split. Where did you get 'em?'
Despite the import of Kirby's words, fighting talk on the range, something like honest surprise crossed Bill's face before it was supplanted by rage. 'That's shootin' talk, Kirby, but I'm letting you go for a minute. I don't know a darn thing about your cows. The ones I sold were what was left of the herd Muddy left me, no more.'
'Did you ship your stuff from Galeyville?'
'Yeah, I did. Or rather, I ordered it shipped from there. I wasn't along; Hub Dawes made the drive for me. I've got a paper to prove it.'
'You're going to find another paper in your mailbox tomorrow. You're going to get a bill for two hundred head of prime beef at the market at the time of the sale. I'll give you just ten days to pay up. If I don't get the money, I'm going to take you to court, and I'm going to tie up Lazy B so tight you won't even be able to draw your breath.'
Bill stared at him in astonishment. 'By gosh, I believe you're serious. You've just accused me of rustling.'
Kirby shook his head. 'No, just of selling rustled beef… my beef.'
Bill's trigger-like temper flared. 'You send me a bill and I'll make you eat it!'
Kirby stopped his roar. 'I didn't finish. Three times someone has tried to bushwack me. Maybe you didn't fire the shots, but it looks like you were behind them. If it happens again, I'm coming to Lazy B with my crew to wipe you out. In case I stop a bullet, Josh will be glad to handle the chore for me. You asked for war; now you've got it. Only it will be out in the open, not from behind a tree or through a hotel room window. And I don't give a darn if it starts right now.'
Bill was livid. 'Why not? There ain't no man alive can call me a rustler and bushwacker and live to brag about it… not even you!'
Kirby had been watching the pale-eyed young gunman. His Colt crashed at Bill's move, hut he wasn't aiming at his brother. Bill slumped to the floor. Kirby watched in astonishment. He had seen his bullet thud into the chest of the young gunman an instant before the latter's gun had cleared leather. The older stranger was stretched on the floor, a bullet hole between his eyes. Kirby turned to see Josh's wavering gun covering the rest of the Lazy B crew. It finally dawned on him that Joe had accounted for Bill. He was leaning over the bar, peering down at Bill's prostrate figure.
'Hope I didn't bean him too hard,' he worried. He still held the loaded end of a pool cue, the weapon that had taken Bill out of the fight. Kirby breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that his brother was alive. His sigh was echoed gustily by Lon Peters.
'Danged if I ever saw anything like it,' said the sheriff. 'Even on Christmas you have to kill people. I told the old lady as soon as I seen you ride in that there was goin' to be a shootin'.' The sheriff took a deep breath. 'Joe, that billiard shot you made on Bill's head was about as pretty as anything I ever saw. I guess you know you saved his life. I'm beginnin' to wonder if it was worth it. Well, it looks like Christmas is over for the undertaker.'
Kirby looked at Bill's crew. 'You heard what I told your boss. The same goes for you. Don't let me catch you on Wagon property. Right now, if I were you, I'd get my boss out of here.'
The sheriff sighed again. 'And right out of town. The gunplay for this Christmas is over. If I find any one of you in town in an hour, I'll open up a cell.'
The sheriff followed the punchers as they got Bill to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him through the door. He paused and looked at Kirby.
'Maybe you and your crew better ride out, too. I'd feel easier if you was headin' for home. I'll be comin' out to see you sometime tomorrow. Reckon there won't be no trouble about those gunslicks, except for buryin' them, but I'm plumb curious about the rustled cows you was mentionin'. About the time I got interested in what you were sayin', the danged guns goin' off made me miss the endin'.'
'We'll get going, Lon. It'll be all right to have a drink with Joe, won't it?'
The sheriff chuckled. 'That was sure a pretty billiard shot Joe made. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.'
Sheriff Lon Peters was an early riser. Some said it was because he had to get out of his house, away from his wife's constant scolding. Those who really knew were aware that her scolding meant nothing, that it was only a cover for the deep affection she felt for her salty spouse… an affection he returned with interest. Like his wife, he was ashamed to show it. The only evidence of his devotion was his constant reference to 'the old lady' or 'that woman.'
He rode in to Wagon the next morning while Kirby and Jen were having breakfast, before Josh had given the bunkhouse crew their orders for the day.
'Mornin', folks.' He sighed as he pushed open the kitchen door without the formality of knocking first. 'Reckon I will have a cup of coffee, now that you've asked me.' He watched while Maria filled his cup and placed cream and sugar within his reach. 'If my old lady could make coffee like Maria's, I'd marry her. Think she uses what's left in the pot for furniture polish.'
Jen, who knew Lon's wife was famous for her cooking, laughed. 'I'm going to tell her you said that the very next time I see her,' she told him. 'She'll be glad to know what you think of her cooking.'
'Me and my big mouth.' He sighed. 'Well, my term of office will be up soon. Guess no one will miss me much if I ride on out of the state. There sure won't be any place for me in town if the old woman hears I said that.'
Kirby joined in their laughter, but his eyes were troubled. 'Is this an official visit, Lon?'
The sheriff let out a gusty breath. 'Yes and no, boy. I stopped by to tell you that I don't look for no trouble about those two hombres got shot up last night. They was known gunmen, and I never did cotton to the idea of hired killers struttin' around the streets of my town. There'll have to be an inquest, but I know Doc Williams will agree they got what was comin' to 'em, seein' as how I was a witness to the shootin'.' His face broke into one of his rare smiles. 'I wouldn't have missed seein' Joe use that pool cue for a new double eagle. But maybe you'd better be in town this afternoon about two o'clock, just for the record. I ought to be back by then.'
'You riding somewhere, Lon? It's a long time until two o'clock.'
Lon let out his familiar sigh. 'Thought maybe I'd pay a little visit to Dawes' spread. Been curious about that layout for a long time. 'Course I would have another cup of Maria's coffee before I go… was I pressed.'
Maria filled all their cups, and the conversation became general until the sheriff ambled out to his horse, the heavy Colt slapping his bony thigh. Kirby's eyes were troubled.
Jen asked a question: 'Was there more shooting last night?' Maria stopped work clearing away the table and waited for the answer.
Kirby refused to meet her eyes. 'Yes, there was, Jen. But this time you aren't a part of it.'
'Did Bill…?'
'No, Bill didn't stop a bullet. But a couple of his hired gunmen are ready for Boot Hill. That was what Lon was talking about.'
Jen's voice came from far away. 'It's all a part of what I tried to say yesterday. It won't work, Kirby. It just isn't meant for us. Every time you went to town there'd be trouble… gun trouble. I just couldn't stand waiting here at Wagon, never knowing when they'd bring you home tied across your horse. When is it going to end? How will it all end—when both you and Bill are dead? I told you I wanted all of you, a whole man. Maybe I'm selfish… even weak. But I want
Kirby looked at her, his eyes mirroring hurt and despair. 'Maybe you're right, Jen. But I ask you to think of this: I didn't start the trouble! I never wanted to fight. But if I didn't fight for what I think is right, you wouldn't want
