wall or the ceiling if you have to. I just don’t want to have all three of them stomping on me.”
Higgins licked his lips. “Wha-what do I do if they, if one of them draws a gun or somethin’?”
“They won’t, but don’t worry about it. If one does, I’ll handle it. Now, you got all this?”
“Got everything except my shotgun. It be back in the bedroom.”
“Well, get it, but don’t say nothing. You understand?”
“Why, my stars and garters, Marshal, you reckon I’m crazy? If Sylvie knew what I was about to do she’d have a fit.”
Longarm waited until the stationkeeper had gone into the back and returned carrying the big-bore shotgun over his arm. He had it broken open, and Longarm could see the brass ends of the two big shells. Longarm motioned for Higgins to shut the door behind him. When he’d done so, Longarm said, “You attract any attention?”
Higgins shook his head. “They was busy fillin’ up butter molds. Guess the churnin’ is all done. How you figure to get after ‘em, Marshal?”
Longarm said grimly, “I’ll think of something. Starting a fight is a hell of a lot easier than stopping one. Remember that I’m your employee and when things get calmed down, you tell them they will have to move on. No matter what they say or offer, you make it clear they’d better get on down the road.”
Higgins looked worried. “Them is some mighty rough-lookin’ folks, Marshal. You said one was little and one was pudgy, but they didn’t look all that much like that to me. You ain’t fixin’ to get yoreself in no storm, be you?”
Longarm smiled. “I hope not, Herman. I certainly hope not. But it won’t be the first time. I’m going to close this door behind me, but you stand ready to come through when you hear it getting rowdy. And don’t be bashful about raising your voice. I hate to scrap around on the floor like some schoolkid, but I don’t know any other way.”
“Why don’t you jus’ take this here musket and run em off?”
Longarm looked at him. “If they are who I think they are, that will just put them on their guard. No. I want this to seem like it has nothing to do with what I think they are up to.” He reached up to make sure the pocket where he carried his badge was buttoned. He didn’t want that falling out in the middle of the fight.
Finally he went over and took hold of the knob and turned it. He dreaded how his face and fists were going to feel in a very short time. Even when you won you always got hurt some in a fistfight.
He stepped into the common room. The three men were standing at the plank bar drinking whiskey. They looked up as he slammed the door behind him. The one nearest to him was the smaller man. He had thin features and was wearing a flat-brimmed, flat-crowned tan hat. He looked clean-shaven, but then he didn’t look old enough where shaving had become a problem. It was the next man that took Longarm’s eye. He was at least thirty, with heavy shoulders and big arms. He had a round, hard-looking face with deep-set, small eyes set back under his eyebrows. The third man Longarm couldn’t see very well because he was blocked by the bigger man in the middle. But Longarm did, quickly, see that all three were wearing cutaway holsters with tiedowns over the butts of their revolvers.
It was only a few paces to the bar. He took them in quick strides. The men were watching him, glasses in their hands. He said in a hard voice, “You boys have made a mistake. Ain’t no whiskey for sale here. That whiskey is my private stock.”
It was the big man who turned slightly to face him. He said in a casual voice, “Likely you are wrong there, feller. We bought these here drinks from the stationkeeper. Not five minutes ago. So if it be yore private goods, he don’t know it.”
Longarm had edged up until he was only about two feet from the smaller man. But it was not him that he intended to take out of the fight first. The first punch was going to be the important one, and he intended that for the big man with the big shoulders.
Longarm took a small step to his left to bring the man into range. He said, talking over the head of the smaller man, “That old man don’t run this place, I do. An’ I’m tellin’ you that ain’t whiskey for sale. We don’t take no saddle trash in here and won’t be no grub neither. Now drink down what you got and get out the door.”
The big man pushed himself away from the bar. He said over his shoulder to the pudgy man Longarm couldn’t quite see, “Frank, looks like we got us some homegrown meanness right here. He gonna run us off. Done called us saddle trash. What you think of that?”
Longarm edged further to his left to bring the man who had been called Frank into view. But he didn’t want to see Frank; he wanted to see Frank’s side arm and where it was. It was still in the holster and the tiedown was still over the butt, but Frank’s hand was dangerously close to a position to change all that in the bat of an eye. Longarm said, “He better think it’s a good idea, ‘cause I am fixin’ to start throwing you snakes out of here in just about five seconds.”
The big man had his weight on both his feet. His little pig eyes were watching Longarm with delight. He looked like a man who was about to have some fun. He said, “You hear that, Frank? He called us snakes and said he was gonna throw us all in the sand in about five seconds. All of us. That right, feller?”
Longarm said, “Don’t be calling me any of your family names, feller. Now turn around and walk toward that door.”
The big man laughed slightly and turned his head toward the man behind him. As he did Longarm raised his right hand as if to scratch his ear. But he only got his hand just above shoulder height. There it suddenly turned into a fist and he drove off his right foot, stepping forward with his left, putting his whole shoulder behind the punch. The blow hit the big man flush in the face just as he was turning to face Longarm again. Longarm saw his fist hit the man on the upper lip and the lower part of his nose. He saw blood fly, and felt something crunch beneath his knuckles. It was either teeth or the bone in the man’s nose.
The big man went over backwards, falling into the pudgy man behind him. But Longarm didn’t wait to see the results. The stride of the punch had taken him even with the small man and he pivoted on the balls of his feet, pulling his right boot back, and then hit the smaller man with a sweeping left on the side of the head. The man’s hat flew off and his face banged down on the planks of the bar. As he bounced up Longarm had already drawn his right hand back, and he caught the man under the chin as he was trying to rise. It was more of an uppercut than anything, and it lifted the man off the floor and leaned him partly over the bar before he slid down to the floor.
But even while he was hitting the smaller man Longarm was already moving down the bar to where the pudgy man was trying to scramble up. Longarm saw that he was trying to jerk loose the tiedown on his revolver. With a swift move Longarm kicked out with his right foot, catching the man on the hand with the heel of his boot. The
