“Nope. Wolf, it is. The Wolf is on the prowl. I like it.”
“This is madness!” Parnell yelled.
“Go on now, Wolf,” Hardrock told him. “Git you some jeans and boots. Strap on and tie down that hogleg. We’ll set up a target range.”
“See you in a few minutes, Wolf.” Pistol grinned at him.
“This is absurd!” Parnell muttered. He started up the steps, tripped, and fell facedown on the porch. He picked himself up with as much dignity as possible and entered the house.
Charlie shook his head. “We got our work cut out for us, boys.”
Golden died that night, cursing the man he believed to be the Reno Kid as he slipped across that dark river. Twenty-four hours later, a dozen men were riding for Gibson, their burning ambition to be the one man who faced the Reno Kid and brought him down. Another twenty-four later, two dozen more punks and tinhorns would be on their way, until those looking to make a reputation by killing the Reno Kid would grow to a hundred. And the news had spread that Smoke Jensen was really in Gibson-nobody had believed it up to now; indeed, many people believed that Smoke Jensen really did not exist, he was such an elusive figure.
Telegraph wires began humming and a dozen big newspapers sent reporters into Montana to cover the story. Within a week, Gibson had a brand-spanking-new hotel and had been added to the stagecoach route.
The stranger from Nevada decided to stay, watching all the fuss with amusement in his eyes, spending most of his time sitting in a chair under the awning in front of the Pussycat.
Dooley had pulled in his men, cussing at all the notoriety and knowing this was no time to enlarge the range war. The hate within the man continued to fester, ready to erupt at any moment, spewing blood and violence all over the area.
Judge Ford was at some sort of conference, out of the state, and would be back in about a month.
“Another good idea shot down,” Cord said, disgusted at the news.
Four more saloons had been thrown up in Gibson, along with several more stores, including a gunshop, a dress shop—for a lot of ladies of the evening were coming in-an apothecary shop, and another general store.
A lot had happened in a week.
Thanks to the Reno Kid aka Parnell.
“We found out what was wrong with Wolf not bein’ able to shoot worth a damn,” Charlie told Smoke.
Smoke closed his eyes for a few seconds and shook his head. “Wolf,” he muttered. “What a name. What was wrong with him, Charlie?”
“He’s scared of guns! Pistols ’specially.”
“Good God! Charlie, there’s about a hundred people in Cibson—new people-with one thought in mind: to kill the Reno Kid, real name Parnell, now called Wolf. He’s a schoolteacher, Charlie. Not a gunfighter. The poor man is a walking target.”
Hardrock grinned. “But we come up with something, Smoke. Lookee here.” He held up the ugliest and most awesome-looking rig Smoke had ever seen.
“What in God’s name ... !”
The old gunfighters had taken two double-barreled shotguns and sawed the barrels down to about ten inches long. They had then fashioned a pistol-type butt for the terrible weapons.
“Those things would break a man’s arm!” Smoke said, eyeballing the rigs.
“Not Wolf arm. For a schoolteacher, he’s powerful strong. And he’s just as fast with these here things as he is with a pistol,” Silver Jim said with a nearly toothless grin.
“That’s all the booming I been hearing.”
“Right! Man, Wolf is plumb awesome with these here things,” Pistol said. “We got ‘um loaded up with rusty nails and ball-bearin’s and raggedly little rocks and the like. We done loaded up near’bouts a case of shells for him. He’s ready to go huntin’ him a rep.”
“ Pistol, Parn ... Wolf doesn’t want a rep,” Smoke said.
Charlie grinned. “You ain’t seen much of him for a week, Smoke. You gonna be ass-tonished at the change. Come on.”
Smoke was more than astonished. He didn’t even recognize the man. Parnell had grown a mustache, and that had completely changed his appearance. He was dressed all in black, from his hat down to his polished boots. He looked very capable and very tough.
“I gotta see him draw and cock and fire these hand cannons,” Smoke said.
“With pleasure, Cousin.” Parnell strapped on the weapons.
“You watch this,” Charlie said, as Cord and several others gathered around.
Pistol and Silver Jim rolled several full water barrels out and backed away.
“They’s a-facin’ you, Wolf!” Charlie said, excitement in his voice. ‘ Watch ’um now. Watch they eyes. That’ll give ’em away ever time.”
Parnell tensed, his hands hovering over the butts of the terrible weapons.
“They’s about ready to make their play!” Hardrock called out. “You got to take out the man on your left first, he’s the bad one.”
“Now!” Silver Jim yelled.
Parnell’s right hand dipped and his left hand came across to support the sawed-off shotgun. One barrel exploded in a roar of gunsmoke, the second barrel was shattered as Parnell let loose the second charge. As fast as
