Shocked at what he’d done, Parnell turned, the muzzle pointing toward Golden just as Golden jerked his gun out of leather.
Parnell instinctively cocked and fired, the bullet slamming into Golden’s stomach and doubling him over. By this time, Rita had jerked a Winchester out of the boot and eared the hammer back.
“That’s it, Reno!” Eddie Hart hollered. “We don’t want no more trouble.”
Parnell looked at the dead and dying men. He felt sick at his stomach; fought back the nausea as he climbed back into the buggy, first holstering his pistol. He picked up the reins and clucked the mare forward, moving smartly up the street.
“I feel quite ill,” Parnell admitted.
“You’re so brave!” Rita threw her arms around his neck and gave him a wet kiss in his ear.
Parnell almost lost the rig.
“I seen some fancy shootin’ in my days, boys,” Pooch Matthews said. “But I ain’t never seen nothing like that. Damn, but that Reno is fast.”
“Like lightnin’,” another said. “Smoke’s been holding an ace in the hole all this time.”
The stranger walked back into the Pussycat and up to the bar. “You got rooms for rent upstairs?”
“Sure do. Bath’s out back. That was some shootin’, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” the stranger chuckled. “I will admit I have never seen anything like it. I’ll take a room; might be here several days.”
“Fix you right up. Even give you a clean towel. Them sheets ain’t been slept in but once or twice. Maybe three times. Clean sheets’ll cost you a quarter.”
The stranger laid a quarter down on the bar. “Clean ones, please.”
“We ain’t got no registry book. But I’m nosy. You ain’t from around here, are you?”
“No.”
“If you gonna hire on with Dooley, the room is gonna cost you fifty dollars a night.”
“I never heard of anyone called Dooley. I’m just tired of riding and would like to rest for a few days.”
“Good. Fifty cents a night, then. The schoolteacher is really the Reno Kid. Dadgum! How about that? Where are you from, mister?”
“Oh, over Nevada way.”
“Dammit, Parnell!” Smoke grabbed the reins behind the driving bit. “I told you not to go into town wearin’ that gun.”
“He s the Reno Kid!” Rita shouted, and everybody within hearing range turned and came running. “I just watched him beat two gunnies to the draw and kill them both. Right in front of the Hangout.”
Smoke looked at Parnell, shock in his eyes. “You hit something? With a pistol?”
“I stubbed my toe. The gun went off. I am not the Reno Kid.”
“He ain’t the Reno Kid!” Charlie said. “I been knowin’ Reno for twenty years.”
Parnell turned to Rita. “You see. I told you repeatedly that I am not the Reno Kid.”
“Oh, I know that, honey. But I sure got everybody’s attention, didn’t I?” She hopped from the buggy and raced over to Sandi to tell her story.
“Reno changed his name about fifteen years ago and went to ranchin’ up near the Idaho border.” Charlie cleared it up. “But he shore left a string of bodies while he was gunslingin’.”
Smoke turned back to Parnell. “You really got them both?”
“One was hit between the eyes. I’m sure he s dead. The lout called Golden took a round in the stomach. If he isn’t dead, he’ll certainly be incapacitated for a very long time.”
“What the hell is in-capassiated?” Hardrock muttered.
“Beats me,” Pistol said. “Sounds plumb awful, though.”
Parnell climbed down from the buggy and Corgill led the rig to the barn. Smoke faced the man. “All right, Parnell. You’re tagged now. There’ll be hundred guns looking for you ...”
That is perfectly ridiculous!” Parnell cut in. ”I am not the Reno Kid!”
“That don’t make no difference,” Silver Jim told him. “This time tomorrow the story will be spread fifty miles that the Reno Kid has surfaced and is back on the prowl. By this time next week it’ll be all over the territory and they’ll be no tellin’ how many two-bit punks and would-be gunhawks comin’ in to make their rep. By killin’ you. Welcome to the club, Schoolteacher,” he added bitterly.
Charlie patted Parnell on the back. “You go git out of them town duds, Parnell. The four of us is gonna take you under our wing and teach you how to handle that there Colt.”
Parnell stood with his mouth open, unable to speak.
“But Parnell don’t sound like no gunfighter’s name to me,” Silver Jim said. “Where was you born, Parnell?”
“In Iowa. On the Wolf River.”
“That’s it!” Charlie exclaimed. “You ain’t the Reno Kid, so from now on, your handle is Wolf.”
