Longarm said through the pain, 'Yeah, I figured something was up when Colton kept stalling like he did. He kept talking and also it took him too long to come out of the house. When he did, he was delaying, but I was slow. I didn't catch on to it in time, either. Was it Sally that screamed?'
'Yeah, she saw him out the side window or she must have seen him go out the back with the shotgun. I think they had it made up beforehand.'
'It was planned, no doubt about that. I figure Mark's shot was not really intended to kill me. He was too far away for a shotgun. I think it was just to get me off my guard and make me look over that way and give Morton Colton a free shot at me. It damned near worked.'
The two men went into the cabin, and Longarm sat down on a chair near the table. His right shoulder was already starting to stiffen up. There was a lot of blood on his shirt, but he didn't believe he was hurt very badly. He had been able to use the arm to get off three shots, good shots at a more than average distance. His eyesight, his ability to see better than most men, had once again saved his life.
Frank Carson helped him off with his shirt and they both looked at his right shoulder. There were three small holes.
'This don't look too bad. Looks like you caught the outer part of the shot pattern. You know that part of the blast ain't got that much power.'
'I know,' Longarm said.
Carson was pulling one of the holes open with his thumb and forefinger. He said, 'Hell, Mr. Long, there ain't no use you taking on about this. This here piece of shot ain't much below the skin.'
'That may be so,' Longarm said, 'but it still hurts like hell.'
Carson said, 'It ain't hurting nothing like it's fixing to when I go to digging that shot out.'
Longarm said grimly, 'I do hope you're on my side.'
'Well, you'll soon know.' Carson dug into his pocket and came out with a folding knife. He opened it, exposing a long, slim, sharp-pointed blade. He took a match out of his shirt pocket and then scratched it against the table and held the point of the knife in the flame. He said, nodding his head at the table, 'You better get you a stiff jolt of that painkiller right there. This might smart a bit.'
Longarm said, 'I reckon I might as well. I don't think I'm going to be standing in very good stead around here. This may be the last whiskey the Coltons give me.'
Frank Carson pulled up a chair beside Longarm and began probing in his shoulder for the shotgun pellets. It was hard for Longarm not to wince because the knife digging and probing around in his flesh was not exactly a pleasant feeling. He knew if he flinched the slightest, it would cause the knife to do even deeper work. He took several drinks of the whiskey as the operation progressed.
He said at one point, 'Hell, what is taking you so long? I thought you said these things were just right below the skin.'
Carson, busy at his work, said, 'Well, maybe I stretched it a little bit. Maybe I was just trying to make you feel good.'
'Well, hurry up, dammit. I've had more fun being run over in a stampede.'
Carson said, 'Aw, there.' He laid a bloody lead pellet on the table. 'There's one. Two more to go.'
Longarm said, 'You better pour me some more whiskey. I'm kind of feeling light-headed.'
'You know, Mr. Long, one thing I'm curious about. You say you were in the land and cattle business back there in Arizona?'
'That's right.'
'That Arizona must be a pretty tough place for a land and cattle man. You sure as hell handle yourself pretty well, especially with a gun. I've seen you with one in your hands twice, and you've come out on top both times.'
'Just lucky.'
'Yeah, I guess you could call it luck to fall down to keep from being hit by a shotgun and while you're falling, you put two bullets into one man and then just after you hit the ground, you plug another dead center in the chest from a pretty good distance away. I'd say that those shots you made were either awful damned lucky or showed considerable practice.'
Longarm said tersely, 'Like you say, Arizona is a rough place. A man needs to stay ready.'
Carson removed another pellet and put it on the table. By now, the whiskey was beginning to take effect, and it wasn't hurting too bad. Carson said, 'I reckon you know what this means?'
'No. What does it mean?'
Carson said, 'I don't think there's going to be any wedding bells in the near future for you, not with Miss Sally.'
'Will they feel that strongly about it?'
Carson pulled back and looked at him. He said, 'Hell, Mr. Long, you just killed the man's son. How do you think he's going to feel about it?'
Longarm said, 'Well, I don't know. I'll have to wait and see.'
Carson said, 'Well, here's the last one.' He held the lead slug between the point of the knife and his thumb as he showed it to Longarm. He dropped it on the table. He said, 'No charge. Happy to do it. The look on your face was payment enough.'
Longarm said, 'I can tell you're one of them kind souls that likes to go around amongst the poor and needy, doing good deeds.'
'Oh yeah,' Carson said. 'But now comes the fun part. Let me have that glass of whiskey you're drinking.'
