He turned in the air. His head was toward the rear of his horse and he could see a line of weeds and rocks not ten yards off. He was not sure, but he thought he got off one shot before he hit the ground. He felt the thud as his chest landed first, but he had his arm out, his revolver aimed at the clump of weeds. He was thumbing back the hammer when a man suddenly stood up. He was holding a long-barreled revolver in his right hand. Longarm could see it was Gus Home. He fired twice, aiming for the center of the man’s chest. He saw the puff of dust from Home’s shirt, and then Home went over backward, the gun slipping from his fingers as he fell. Longarm had the impression, lying in the dirt, that he’d seen a splotch of red on the man’s shirt even before he’d fired the third time. But there had been no time to ask questions or to enter into negotiations. Home was a bandit, he’d fired first, he was standing up, and he was armed. That was enough to warrant another shot.
The flat fall on the hard ground had knocked the breath out of Longarm. When he could, he got slowly to one knee and then eased himself to his feet, still gasping at the air. His horse had run off a few feet and was standing, his reins dangling, looking back at Longarm to see what all the commotion was about. Longarm wasn’t worried. The horse was ground-reined and wouldn’t go far.
Still with caution, he approached the line of bushes where Home had been. He held his revolver out, the hammer cocked, as he walked forward. Then he was near enough that he could see the head, then the chest, and then the rest of the man. His white shirtfront was stained with two big splotches of blood. The high one appeared to have taken him in the heart or very near. The other was lower down, more of a gut shot. Longarm guessed it was the lower shot that had stopped him and the other that had killed him. He reckoned his third shot had gone wide. Still, it wasn’t bad, two hits out of three, while falling off a horse.
He stood over the man. Home was finished, all right. Longarm uncocked his revolver and shoved it in his holster. He looked around. The man’s horse should be nearby. He walked a few yards into a mesquite thicket and saw a horse tied just ahead. Home had done just as he’d thought, left him clear sign in the sandy tract and then ridden off into the weeds and rocks and doubled back to a bushwhacking position. His only mistake had been he’d used a revolver instead of a rifle, and then he’d had the bad luck of Longarm’s horse spooking when it did. Although on recollection, Longarm wasn’t so sure it was luck at all. In the dim recesses of his mind he seemed to remember hearing a horse neigh just before his own horse had reacted. His horse hadn’t spooked so much as he’d tried to turn to see the horse that was calling to him. Home’s mistake had been tying his horse so close. Well, Longarm thought, all in all he wasn’t a very smart bandit.
Longarm untied the animal and led him over to where Home’s body lay.
The smell of the blood made the horse nervous, but Longarm quieted him and tied him to a bush near the body. But before he loaded Home back across his horse, he took a moment to go through both sides of Home’s saddlebags. In one he found a leather wallet that had G.W. stamped on the front. He unfolded it and found quite a lot of currency. At least more than one would expect to find in the wallet of a man like Home. There were some gold coins totaling about a hundred dollars, and nearly three times that much in paper currency. But what was of the most interest to Longarm was three checks made out to the County Line Auction Barn and signed by men he didn’t know. One was marked for “six heifers” and was for $178. Another was for $98 and was noted to be for a “saddle horse.” The third was for $226 and bore no legend as to what it had been written for. Longarm had no doubt that the checks had been stolen the day before from the auction barn. Ownsby had been particularly aggrieved that the robbers had taken checks as well as the cash. He’d said, “Hell, I can understand them taking the cash, but they scooped up the checks that folks had paid for their stock with. The checks ain’t a peck of good to them damn robbers, because they are made out to the auction barn. They couldn’t cash them at any bank in the country.
But they was still of value to me. Must have been a thousand dollars worth, and that was money I could have put to use. Hell, just because they are crooked don’t mean they have to be ignorant as well.”
Longarm put the wallet in his own saddlebags. He would consider all the money, especially the checks, as the property of the auction barn. He reckoned that Ownsby and his wife would be glad to get that much back at least.
Finally he addressed himself to the task of getting Home up and across his saddle. Home wasn’t a particularly big man, but he was deadweight.
It was with an effort that he got the man across his saddle, belly down, his hands hanging on one side, his boots on the other. Longarm had some cords in his saddlebag, and he used several lengths to tie the body securely in place. Home’s horse was still acting up, looking wall-eyed and jumping around, but Longarm calmed him and the animal gradually settled down.
He caught his own horse up, rode over to where Home’s horse was, caught up the reins, and started back toward the river. He was not sure if he should go by Hannah’s or not. It seemed a little awkward to come by bearing her dead husband, but he wanted to make sure he had the right man. He calculated he’d hide Home and his horse, go in and talk to Hannah, and if it was all right with her, get her to identify the body.
But as he came down to the river, leading Home and his horse, he saw Hannah come out the front door of her cabin and wave at him and call out. He stopped the horses in midstream and said, in a loud voice, for her to go back in the cabin. “Hannah, I got a dead body back there on that horse. You might not ought to get too close.”
But instead of retreating, she walked down toward the river. “Is it Gus Home?”
He grimaced. “I think so. I was going to get you to take a look. That is, if you wasn’t too upset.”
“Naw. I’m fine. Bring him right on up here. Hell, I don’t even know the man. He don’t mean nothing to me.”
Somewhat reluctantly Longarm urged his horse forward, cleared the river, and stepped out onto the ground in front of the cabin. Hannah was still about forty yards off. She waited while he rode slowly to her. When she was still ten yards distant, he stopped his horse and dismounted. As she started forward, he put up his hand and stopped her.
He said, “I didn’t want to kill him, Hannah. He got in the first shot. Bullet hit my saddlehorn as you can see. I didn’t have much chance to do other than what I did.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know anything about such matters. Bring him on up here.”
Silently he led both horses forward and then stopped. With Hannah following him he went back to the trailing horse, took Gus Home by the hair, and lifted his head so Hannah could see him clearly. Longarm said, “Well?”
She nodded. “Yeah, that be the man I married.”
“Gus Home?” He was still bothered by the G.W. stamped on the wallet.
She shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know what his name really was. That was the one he give. But my sisters say a lot of them bandits got two or three names.”
