“Walk out and shoot him dead.”
“I will have a rifle on the others should that be the way it happens.”
“Obliged. Here they come.”
“It’s a trap,” Mack said, spotting the fire. “One of the horses come up lame back yonder and they’re sitting up there waitin’ on us to ride in.”
Before anyone could stop him, Lou Kennedy yelled, “Walt Webster! This is Lou Kennedy. Can you hear me, Walt?”
“I hear you, you big-mouth,” Walt called. “You probably scared all the little critters within half a mile flappin’ your gums. What the hell do you want?”
“You and me, Walt. How about it?”
“With that scum with you backin’ you up, Lou?”
“No. Just me and you, Walt.”
“Damnit, Lou!” Mack said. “Back off now, you hear?”
“No way, Mack.” Lou shook off the other man’s hand. “I want him. If I gun Walt Webster down, I can write my own ticket, you know that.”
“Then go on!” Mack said, anger and disgust in his voice. “Walt. Walt Webster. This is Mack. You can have him, Walt. I give you my word, we won’t interfere. You got my word on it.”
“How about the others with you?” Walt called, hoping they’d fall for the question.
They did. “Walt, this is Leo Grant. We’re out of it, Walt. Me and Nat’ll stand clear. And that’s as good as gold, Walt. If you drop him, you can get on back to cover.”
“Four of them,” Angel said. “And the light’s fading, amigo.”
“Let it go.” He raised his voice. “Let’s get this done, Lou. We walk out on a five count. You count it down, Nat. Draw whenever you feel lucky, boy.”
Leo looked at Lou with disgust in his eyes. “You’re a fool,” he said flatly. “Did you ever stop to think that old man just might get lucky and blow a hole in you?”
“He ain’t even gonna clear leather. Start countin’, Nat.”
On five both men stepped out of the timber. Walt stayed close to the timber, forcing Lou to come to him. “How’s it feel, Lou?” Walt called.
“How’s what feel, you old fart?”
“Knowin’ you’re about to die.”
Lou cussed him as he walked up the slope. Walt stood, a smile on his lips. Lou was a fool, playing right into Walt’s plan. The slope was slippery, and by the time Lou got within shooting range, he’d be winded. Add to that he would have to shoot uphill—that is, should he be lucky enough to clear leather—and Walt didn’t believe he had it in him to do that.
“Come on, you punk tinhorn,” Walt called. “My coffee’s gettin’ cold.”
Lou called him several very ugly names as he struggled to get up the slope.
“He’s dead,” Mack said. “Dead and he don’t even know it. He’ll be wore out time he gets into range. Ol’ Walt planned it that way.”
“Sure, he did,” Leo said. “But I gave my word and I’m keepin’ it.”
“We all did,” Nat said. “And we’ll all keep it.”
Lou stopped about sixty feet from Walt. The climb up the snow-slick slope had been hard and the much younger gunslick was winded. “You got any relatives you want me to notify, you old fart?”
Walt laughed. “When did you learn to write, you ignorant whelp?”
“Draw!” Lou yelled.
“After you, boy.” Walt’s words were calm.
“Drag iron, damn you!”
“Go ahead.”
Lou hesitated. “You’re yeller, Walt. You’re scared of me, ain’t you?”
“Not at all, you two-bit thief. Your momma shoulda dumped you in a sack when you was born and chucked you into the nearest river. Now pull iron, you cheap little son of a bitch!”
Lou’s hand dropped to the butt of his .45. Walt’s draw was smooth and deadly. His first slug hit Lou in the belly, the second one in the chest, right side, blowing through a lung. Lou managed to get his .45 out of leather and cock it. He fired once into the air before his legs buckled and he slumped to the ground.
Walt stepped back into the timber. “You want to come get him, boys, come on. We’ll not fire on you.”
“ ’Ppreciate it, Walt,” Nat said.
But they didn’t have to climb the slope. Lou started slowly sliding down the slippery surface, losing his guns along the way. He was too weak to stop his slide. His hands did not have the strength to grasp anything. He rolled the rest of the way down. Leo reached out and pulled him into the copse of trees where they were hiding.
“Oh, Jesus,” he blubbered the words, pink froth staining his lips. “I’m hard hit. Did I get him, boys?”
