“How . . . how loopy?”
“Well, see . . . if a man gives him a good fight, Gentle Jane, he’ll cut the fella’s eggs off an’ eat ’em.”
“That’s pretty crazy.”
“For sure. Another thing: Jane wears a string of ears ’round his neck. He likes to take trophies. He . . . well . . . he’s already filled two strands, is workin’ hard on the third.”
“This guy sounds real dangerous, Austin.”
“He is—but only if he’s comin’ after you with a gun, knife, or his fists. Other than that, he ain’t a bad fella.”
“How do you know him?”
“I shot a Union corporal who was goin’ to run Jane through—from the back, mind you—with a cavalry sword durin’ a bar tussle. I’ll tell you this, ol’ Jane is worth ten men to us, maybe more. Plus, lotsa Injuns know about him an’ he scares the hell outta them. They figure he’s a evil spirit.”
“Well. I’m sure this Gentle Jane is all you say he is, pard. We can’t use him, though. Having somebody that screwy around won’t cause nothin’ but trouble. Suppose he ups an’ turns on us?”
“Won’t happen. He calls me his brother.”
“He doesn’t call me his brother, though. Nope—we can’t risk it.”
“Kinda late, Will.”
“What? You didn’t . . .”
“Yeah. While you was out I wired him. I suspect he’s ridin’ hard this very moment to come an’ give us a hand. All we gotta do is wait up a couple days, let your paw heal some, an’ make sure Dog doesn’t come through our door. Could be that Injun I put the arrow in was on his own, without no orders from One Dog. If that’s true, the sonsabitches are still searchin’ for us.”
“Dammit, Austin . . .”
“There’s no sense in squallin’ over what’s already did. We can’t change nothin’ now. You’ll see I done a good decision, Will.”
“Right. So did Custer.”
Gentle Jane rode into Olympus three days later. He wasn’t a big man, but he was as frightening as any man a person would care to see. His skin was a copper shade and his eyes black diamonds with a manic fire burning behind them. He wore a full beard that reached the belt of his deerskin drawers. His necklaces of dried ears rested on the beard. He had a bow over his back and a large quiver full of arrows hung from a string of latigo from the horn of his stock saddle. He had a .30-30 in a scabbard on either side. His gun belt carried a pair of Colts. Stitched to each holster was a sheath holding a bowie-type knife with blades a good foot long. His horse was large—almost drafty—with hooves the size of dinner plates and a head on him like a beer barrel. Even given the animal’s size and a three day ride, he trip-tropped along like a circus pony, snapping each huge hoof up almost before it touched the ground.
Will and Austin watched Gentle Jane ride down the main street. “That a pistol butt I see at the top of his boot?” Will asked.
“Yep. Got one on the other side, too. Jane, he don’t like to be underarmed. Got him a derringer an’ more knifes here an’ there.”
Gentle Jane ground-tied his horse in front of the saloon’s hitching rail and climbed down from his saddle. “Jane don’t ever tie his horse—he figures he might not have time to diddle ’round with a hitchin’ rail. Ain’t a bad idea, ya know?”
Will sighed. “We might jus’ as well go on over an’ say hello—since the man is here an’ all.”
“Ummm—don’t offer to shake with Jane. He won’t do it. He’s gotta have both paws free at all the time.”
“Jesus.” Will sighed again.
“But let’s watch from here for a minnit. See what goes on in the saloon.”
“Why? What’s . . . ?”
“Jus’ watch, OK?”
They watched. After a few minutes a typey looking piebald tied at the rail swung his head back to glare at Gentle Jane’s black. The big horse met the ’bald’s eyes and clicked his front teeth—the size of piano keys—together with a sharp, snapping sound that reached all the way to the hotel. The piebald turned back quickly to stare at the batwings.
Five or so long minutes passed. “Look,” Will said, “if we’re goin’ to ride with this—”
A thunderous, resonating boom, the likes of which would have made a Sharps report sound like a penny firecracker, rattled windows throughout the town. A cowhand sailed through the batwings like a diver into a deep pond, hit the street face-first, scrambled to his feet, and ran, both his nostrils gushing blood. His hat remained in the street where the cowpuncher had hit. There was another boom and the hat turned into a handful of confetti that rose from the street ten or twelve feet and then drifted gently, smoothly, to the street.
The shortest part of a second later a stampede of cowboys, gamblers, drunks, and saddle tramps stampeded out of the saloon and either ran or untied their horses and mounted them at a run.
“That’s a eight-gauge shotgun,” Austin said.
“Ain’t no such thing.”
“There is, though. Jane, he had it made up for him. A ol’ gunsmith in Tucson put it together. You oughta see the cartridges—they’re as big as a hog’s snout.” Austin stood from his crouch by the window. “We can go on out an’ meet Jane,” he said. “Now you remember—no hand shakin’.”
Gentle Jane stood at the bar with a short-barreled shotgun on the wood in front of him. The stock was a deep, dark, polished wood and the trigger guard and triggers were brass. Bluish wisps of smoke were drifting up from both barrels.
“Jane,” Austin shouted, “you came! I knowed you would! Good to see you, brother!”
“My brother,” Gentle Jane said. His voice wasn’t what Will expected. Instead, it was level, calm, and it reminded Will of that of a teacher he’d once had. “My love for you remains as the moon and stars remain.” He eyed Will. “Who is this gunslinger? Does he challenge me? I’ll have his ears, brother Austin.”
“No! No!” Austin began to reach out to touch Jane’s shoulder, and then pulled it back as if he’d stuck it in a fire. “Will, here, he’s my friend—my pard. See, a crazy name of One Dog killed his brother and his brother’s wife and baby daughters an’ burned down his house an’ barn.
“Will is set on killing them all.”
“Is good,” Jane said. “I have heard of this One Dog. I’d not eat his heart nor take his ears, because he’s a coward. How many guns does he have with?”
“Maybe thirty-five, forty, somethin’ like that. When one is killed he picks up another saddle tramp or army deserter.”
“One Dog kills all black men he sees, no? He wants all blacks to remain under the white man’s whip, to work and sweat and be sold like cattle to other white men, to take a man from his woman and children. Is this not true?”
“It’s true,” Will said. “He raids farms, rapes the women, kills them, kills the men and children, and steals the stock—cattle and horses. He sells them in Mexico.”
“Austin—you and Will have killed some of One Dog’s men?”
“Four. We carve
“What is this
“My brother’s name was Hiram. We were going to use our first initials as the name of our ranch.”
“What is this ‘initials’?”
“First letter of each of our names.”
“I do not read. You will need to show me
“Sure.”
“Is good. Now we will eat and drink and make some plans, no?”
The ’tender was still crouched behind the bar, white-faced, trembling. “Barkeep,” Austin said. “You cook us up three of the best an’ biggest steaks you got—blood rare, they gotta be—an’ set up a couple of bottles of whiskey and three glasses.”
“Three bottles,” Jane said. “We will go to a table where we can see the door. Bring bucket of beer, too.”
