Russell was hardest hit. Buck’s .44 had struck him in the stomach and torn out his lower back. The gunhand was not long for this world and everybody looking at him knew it.
“Any charges, Sheriff?” Buck asked, his voice steady and low.
There was open dislike in Reese’s eyes as he glared at Buck. He stepped closer. “You’re trouble, West. And you and me both know it. I hope you crowd me, gunfighter. ’Cause when you do, I’ll kill you!”
“You’ll try,” Buck replied in the same low tone.
Reese flushed. He stepped back. “No charges, West. It was a fair fight.”
Russell groaned, blood leaking from his mouth. He jerked once on the dirt and died.
“Have his full name recorded,” Buck said, playing the part of the hard hunter. “There might be a reward on him.”
“You’re a sorry son of a you-know-what,” Reese said. “Ain’t you got no feelin’s at all?”
“Only for those who deserve it,” Buck said. He turned and took Sally’s elbow. “Shall we continue?”
As the tall young gunfighter and the pretty lady strolled off, the young cowpuncher named Sam looked at them. He thought he knew who the gunfighter was, and his name wasn’t Buck West. But Sam thought he’d keep that information to himself for a time. Might come in handy.
“Your first gunfight?” Buck asked as they walked.
“Yes. And I hope my last.”
“It won’t be. Not if you continue living out here. It’s a big, wild, raw country still. The laws are simple and straight to the point. Justice comes down hard. Out here, a man’s word is his bond. That’s the way it should be everywhere. Tinhorns and shysters and crooks don’t last long in the west.”
“And you, Buck?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you last long out here?”
“No way I can answer that. I hung up my guns once. Thought I would never put them on again. It didn’t work out. Maybe I can walk away from it one more time. I don’t know. Worth a try, I guess.”
They paused at Sally’s front gate. “Would you like to have supper with me this evening?” Buck asked. “At the hotel dining room?”
“You’re awfully young to have already retired once from gunfighting.”
“Some of us had to start young, Sally.”
“Yes, I suppose. It’s an interesting land, your wild west. I’ll be ready at six. Good afternoon, Mr. Buck West.” She smiled. “Or whatever your name is.”
Jane looked out the window of her bedroom. Ever since she had seen the arrogant young man she had struggled to recall where she’d seen him before. She knew she had. But where? She just could not remember. And now the startling news that the young man had bested Russell and Dickerson in a stand-up gunfight.
Incredible.
She sighed and turned away from the window that overlooked the northern vastness of the PSR ranchlands. She had time for a bath before Stratton and Richards and wives came out for their monthly business and dinner meeting.
The face of the tall gunslick remained in her mind. His name would come to her in time.
Sheriff Dan Reese had gone through all his dodgers twice, looking for anyone who resembled Buck West. Nothing. But anybody that fast and sure had to have a backtrail. Trick was in finding it. Russell and Dickerson were both hard men. Or had been. And they both had been almighty quick. Yet this Buck West had handled them as easily as children. Just blew in out of nowhere. Probably came from Texas, way down on the border.
Sheriff Reese stood up and stretched. One thing for certain, he thought: Buck West was trouble. Best way to handle him was to get him on the PSR payroll. He’d talk to Richards about it. First thing this evening.
He glanced up at the clock. Had to shave and bathe now, though. Get out to PSR headquarters.
The dozen old mountain men made their camp about ten miles south of the town of Bury, in the timber of the Lemhi Range. As soon as they were set up, Preacher changed ponies and headed east, toward the Continental Divide and the Bitterroot Range. At first light, Dupre was to head into Bury for a look-see. Pick up some bacon and beans and coffee and salt and keep his ear open.
“Better wash them jug-handle things first,” Beartooth told him. “Probably git five pounds of dirt out of ’um.”
“I’d talk,” Dupre retorted. “Last time you took a bath it killed the fish for five miles downstream.”
“Ummm,” Nighthawk said.
8
Buck had ordered his one suit pressed, had bought a new set of longhandles and a new pearl-gray shirt, and was ready to knock on Miss Sally Reynolds’s door promptly at six.
As he walked the short blocks from the hotel to Sally’s house, Buck had been conscious of eyes on him. Not unfriendly eyes, but curious ones. He had passed several ladies during his walk. They had batted their eyes and swished their bustles at him. Buck had smiled at the ladies and continued walking, his spurs jingling.
He had spoken to the crowd of little boys that had followed him—at a safe distance. He had noticed that
