The gunfighter pitched forward, dead before he hit the ground.
Smoke picked that time to charge. They split up, with Smoke and Clint riding right into the front yard, the reins in their teeth and hands full of Colts.
Matt and Walt went to the right, Jackson and Rusty to the left.
Hammer grabbed for his guns. Smoke shot him down, the slug taking him in the chest. Hammer died sitting on his butt in the road, his hands by his sides. After a few seconds, he slowly toppled over.
Shorty DePaul came out of the bunkhouse just as Walt and Matt were galloping past. Shorty sighted in Walt. Matt’s gun crashed and Shorty felt the sledgehammer blow take him in the belly, about an inch above his belt. Matt fired again, his second slug striking the gunfighter in the chest and knocking him down.
“Kilt by a punk kid,” were Shorty’s last words.
Rusty and Jackson rode right into a knot of startled gun slicks. Pike and Becket went down under bullets fired at almost pointblank range. Molino stepped out of the barn and put a slug into Rusty’s shoulder. Rusty border-rolled his Colt and shot the man in the throat. Molino hit the ground, coughing and gurgling.
Jaeger and Chato Di Peso saw very quickly the outcome of the fight and slipped through the dust and confusion to the bunkhouse, quickly gathering up their possessions. They grabbed horses—neither one of them giving a damn whose horse it was—and pulled out.
Cisco Webster watched as Smoke jumped from the saddle, and ran behind a building, reloading as he ran. Dagger trotted to the corrral and began harassing the mares.
Cisco ran to the storage shed, flattening out against a wall. He stuck his head around the corner just in time to catch a bullet right between the eyes. He sank to the ground, a very curious expression on his dead face.
Clint, out of the saddle and down on one knee, doubled over the Colorado gun hand, Barstow, with two .44 rounds to the belly, then shifted his Colt and ended the career of Highpockets.
Jackson had helped Rusty out of the saddle and left him behind good cover with a half-dozen Colts taken from the dead and dying. Jackson went headhunting. He walked right up to Rim Reynolds and several of his men and began shooting as fast as he could cock and fire. Rim went down screaming in pain with two slugs in his belly. Jackson was burned on one arm and took the loss of part of one ear but he was still standing when the others were down. He calmly and swiftly reloaded, shook the blood from his face and stepped back out in the fracas.
Walt and Matt were standing side by side, the old and the young, their guns taking a terrible toll. Crazy Phil was down on his knees, with four of his men on the ground with him. Old Walt winked at young Matt as they reloaded.
Clint was working his way closer to the house. He had but one thought in his demented mind.
The Pecos Kid and Glen Regan—Glen was walking slow due to the gunshot wounds in his butt from back at the creek—tried to make the corral and get away. Rusty dropped them both midway. .
Blackjack Morgan stood with legs spread wide, his hands over the butts of his guns, facing Smoke, who still held his Colts in his hands. “I’m faster, Jensen!” he called over the din of battle.
“No. You’re just dead,” Smoke told him. He lifted his right hand and shot the gunfighter. There was a time for discretion and a time for valor, but at no time was there a moment to be wasted on fools.
Smoke stepped over the dying man and walked on.
A searing pain in Smoke’s left leg turned him around and slammed him up against a wall. Gimpy Bonner and Scott Johnson faced him. Smoke lifted his Colts and let them bang. When the dust and gunsmoke cleared. Smoke was bloody but still standing.
Smoke reloaded, checked his wounds, and bound a bandana around the leg wound. He walked on as the sounds of galloping horses came to him over the shooting. About a dozen men were hauling their ashes away from the ranch. Smoke lifted his right-hand Colt and ended life for Ben Lewis who had lined up Jackson with a rifle. Ben danced for a moment, his spurs jingling his death chant, then slumped to the ground.
“Jensen!” the voice turned Smoke around to face Luddy.
Smoke didn’t hesitate. Just lifted both guns and began firing and walking toward the man. He stood over the bloody outlaw, their eyes meeting.
“I thought you’d give me fair chance, Jensen!” Luddy gasped.
“Did you ever give anyone a fair chance, Luddy?”
Luddy laughed humorlessly. “Can’t say that I ever did, come to think of it.” He shivered once. “Cold. Mighty cold all of a sudden.” He closed his eyes and died.
Smoke turned away.
The gunfire had all but faded away. The grounds around the great mansion were littered with bodies. Jason was sitting on the steps, his shirt front bloody, but he was holding on to life long enough to see the outcome of what was about to take place in front of him.
Clint and Jud faced each other, both of them with the same wild light in their eyes.
“Hello, Daddy!” Clint said sarcastically.
“You son of a bitch!” Jud snarled at him.
“You sure got that right,” the son told the father, then grabbed iron.
Father and son stood ten feet apart and put lead in each other. Both went to the ground on their knees at the same time. Both continued firing. Jud toppled over and Clint was only about one second behind him.
Walt walked up, one arm dangling useless from a .45 slug. He looked at the scene in front of him then lifted his eyes to Jason.
“I reckon it’s over and done, ain’t it, Walt?” the man gasped. “I reckon it is, Jason.”
