“Cimarron Kane’s a gunslinger and an outlaw,” her father pointed out, “and the rest of that bunch is rough as a cob, too. Not to mention there’s probably twice as many o’ them as there is of us. Just how do you expect us to have a chance against odds like that, gal?”
“Simple,” Frankie said. “We hire a couple of gunfighters of our own.”
And with that, she turned and looked directly at Matt and Sam.
Chapter 13
“Wait just a doggone minute,” Matt said.
“We’re not gunfighters,” Sam said.
Frankie pointed at Matt. “He is. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve heard of you, Bodine. People say you’re mighty fast on the draw, and I figure this fella you’re riding with probably is, too.”
“Just because I can handle a gun doesn’t mean it’s for sale,” Matt said.
“Anyway, we can’t afford to hire no gunfighters,” Thurman Harlow said. “And even with the two o’ them, we still wouldn’t be no match for Kane’s bunch.”
“We’d stand a better chance than we do now,” Frankie argued.
Matt said, “You could just
Sam lifted a hand. “Wait a minute. You can’t just volunteer us to get in the middle of a…a whiskey war, Matt.”
“You wanted to volunteer us to be deputies for Marshal Coleman,” Matt shot back. “How’s that any different?”
“Well, for one thing—” Sam looked at their host. “And I mean no offense by this, Mr. Harlow…Marshal Coleman isn’t breaking the law.”
“Oh, no offense, no offense,” Harlow said. “We all know it ain’t legal to cook up that moonshine. It’s sort of a family tradition, though. Harlows’ve been cookin’ ’shine back in the mountains for longer’n anybody can recollect. Even if it was still legal to buy it in town, we’d be makin’ our own. We just wouldn’t be sellin’ it.”
Matt said, “The thing of it is, you’re not doin’ anybody any harm. That law’s crazy, and folks won’t stand for it very long. In the meantime, there’s no good reason you can’t help people out by makin’ a little good whiskey.”
“Other than the fact that it’s against the law,” Sam said.
“A crazy law! Weren’t you listenin’?”
Harlow held up his hands. “Now, there’s no need to go to fussin’, especially a couple of pards like you fellas. I told you, you’re welcome to spend the night ’cause of what you done for Frankie. There’s no reason for anybody to feel beholden to anybody else. Lemme fetch a jug, and we’ll all have a friendly drink.”
He went over to a cabinet and took out a jug with a cork stopper. He brought it back over to the table and set it down in the center.
“You fellas ain’t been introduced to my boys yet,” Harlow said. “This here’s Alf…Quint…Dex…and Farrell.”
One by one, the Harlow brothers nodded. They still didn’t seem very friendly, but at least they weren’t trying to kill the blood brothers anymore. Matt and Sam returned the nods, and Sam said, “Pleased to meet you. Sorry about the misunderstanding earlier.”
A couple of grunts was as close as the Harlows came to acknowledging that. One of them pointed at the jug and asked, “We gonna drink or talk, Pa?”
“We’re gonna drink,” Harlow said. He pulled the cork from the jug and then held it out to Matt. “Guests first, Mr. Bodine.”
Matt took the jug, lifted it, and swallowed a healthy slug of the clear, fiery liquid inside it. He tried not to gasp as he lowered the jug. “That’ll warm up your insides right smart,” he said as he handed the jug to Sam.
Sam took just a small sip, and even though he didn’t drink much, he had to say in admiration, “That’s mighty smooth…and mighty potent.”
“Thank you kindly,” Thurman Harlow said with a smile. “We aim to please.”
He took a drink, then passed the jug on to his sons. It had to be almost empty by the time it made it around the table.
“How about me?” Frankie asked.
Harlow frowned and shook his head. “You know I don’t hold with gals a-drinkin’, Frankie. ’Tain’t ladylike.”
“So it’s all right for me to tote the stuff around over half the countryside and get shot at by Cimarron Kane because of it, I just can’t even have a taste, is that it?”
“I never said it was all right for you to get shot at.”
Frankie blew out her breath, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “I’m going to bed,” she muttered as she turned away and started toward a door on the other side of the room.
“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Harlow called after her.
More muttering was Frankie’s only reply as she went through the door.
Harlow picked up the jug and shook it back and forth. A sloshing sound came from inside it. “Sounds like there’s just a taste left,” he said. He held the jug out toward Matt and Sam. “One of you fellas want it?”
“You go ahead,” Sam told his blood brother. “I’ve had plenty.”
