“Where you headed?” Will asked.
“Olympus, I guess. From there, I dunno.”
“There’s nothin’ there,” Will said. “I just left that hellhole.”
Ray Gordon shrugged. “Don’t matter. It ain’t the town I’m after, it’s a murderin’ savage named One Dog. I’m gonna kill the sumbitch an’ take his scalp as well—him an’ as many of his scum as I can take down.”
“Why?”
Gordon swallowed and spat off to the side before answering. “ ’Cause he butchered my wife an’ my son. That answer your question?”
“Yeah. It does. See, I think we’re both about the same task. One Dog and his gang murdered my brother, his wife—an’ his two little daughters.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“You wasn’t there?”
“I was in Folsom Prison—just about to get out. Me an’ my brother was gonna . . . Ahh, shit.” Will hesitated, shook his head slightly. “What about you, when your people were attacked?” he asked.
Ray looked down at his horse’s mane for a full minute. “I was drunk an’ passed out,” he said, “ ’bout eight miles from my place. I fell off my horse. When I came to an’ caught him up . . . well . . .”
“You still boozin’?”
“I ain’t touched a drop since then—not even a beer. My whole life now is to kill One Dog.”
“You’re gonna have to stand in line,” Will said. “One Dog is mine.”
Gordon’s face flushed red and his dark eyes narrowed, locking with Will’s. “Your ass, he’s yours. Like I said, One Dog is mine.”
The glaring contest lasted a full two minutes. Finally, Will said, “We got time to debate on it. An’ ’course, either one—or both of us—could be dead ’fore One Dog goes down for good.”
“Could be,” Ray admitted.
Will rolled a smoke and offered his papers and sack of Bull Durham to Ray.
“Don’t use ’em. Thanks anyhow.”
“You drop any of them yet?” Will asked.
“Four for certain. Maybe a fifth one. You?”
“I figure about six or eight. I was in an’ out too fast to keep a good count. Seems like there’s always new crazies an’ killers joinin’ on with One Dog. I don’t know how many men ride with him.”
Ray grinned. “That’s easy enough. Ain’t hard at all. What you do is count all their arms an’ legs an’ divide by four—assumin’ you know your numbers. If you don’t, you’re screwed.”
Will laughed out loud and it felt good. It was the first time he’d laughed since he’d heard about Hiram and his family from the blacksmith. “Well look,” he said through his laughter, “suppose you got a renegade with but one arm or one leg?”
“Easy,” Ray said. “You shoot the sumbitch—even things out right nice.”
“Makes good sense,” Will said. “Say, how ’bout we set up camp together? My dog’ll fetch us in a couple of rabbits to cook up.”
Ray nodded. “I was about to suggest settin’ up together, ’cept I was afraid that goddamn wolf’d tear my eggs off if I stepped down from my horse. His eyes ain’t left me since we been talkin’ here, an’ not ’cause he loves me.”
“Wampus is OK. He won’t bother you unless I tell him to. He’s kinda protective, is all.” Will hesitated a bit. “You really think he’s half wolf?” he asked.
“I know he is, Will. He’s the pup of a timber, bred to what’s called a German shepherd. An’ I’ll tell you this ’fore you need to ask: I know wolves an’ I know dogs. I bountied on wolves for a dozen years—raised a couple pups myself an’ bred ’em to shepherds. It’s a fine mix, but they can get a bit flighty at times.” Ray swung down from his saddle. “You call him Wampus?”
“Yeah. See, a wampus is—”
“I
“Sure does, ’specially when they’re drunk or driftin’ with them mushrooms they like.”
The men unsaddled their mounts and staked them out to graze on the sparse grass. They drank from a hat- sized sinkhole of water. Will sent Wampus out and the dog returned with a bleeding, still-twitching jackrabbit between his jaws. Will sent him out again. This time Wampus was gone maybe a half hour and came back with another jack and a four-foot-long bull snake.
“I ain’t eatin’ no snake,” Ray said. “But he sure is hell on rabbits, though.”
“He is. The jacks are for us an’ the bull snake is his own dinner.”
Ray, crouched, arranging pieces of mesquite for the fire, said, “Funny thing. I never seen a dog—I mean a full dog, not a wolf cross—eat a snake. But the crosses seem to like ’em.
“I’d ’preciate you sendin’ him out a bit. Watchin’ an listenin’ to a critter like Wampus chow down a snake kinda stirs my innards.”
“Sure,” Will said. “I’ll admit his table manners are none too good.”
The men waited until it was dark to start their fire, in order to hide the smoke. Meanwhile, Will gutted and skinned the jackrabbits. Ray sat cleaning his weapons, with the entire arsenal spread out in front of him on his saddle blanket. Will looked on for a few minutes and then asked, “You fire all of them today?”
“Nope. Nary a one. Thing is, a weapon is like a good horse. Ya gotta look after it so’s you can trust it—an’ if you can’t trust it, it’s no damn good, horse nor gun.”
They lazed about until it was full dark, and then Will started the fire and skewered the rabbits on his knife. The fat dripping on the coals sizzled like bacon in a frying pan and every once in a while flared up, and the scent of the cooking jacks had both men salivating. They ate hungrily, thoroughly enjoying the crisply seared yet tender flesh.
Will belched and tossed a leg bone out into the darkness. “Damn. I’d give my right leg for some coffee right now. It don’t seem right to finish up a meal like we jus’ had without coffee, ya know?”
Ray smiled broadly, looking for a quick moment like a Halloween pumpkin in the flickering light. “You keep your drawers on for a few minutes an’ I’ll give you coffee so strong it’d melt a anvil. I make the best coffee in the West, an’ you can take that to the bank.” He scuffled about in his saddlebag, taking out a scorched and obviously well-used quart tin can. Then he carefully opened a fat cloth sack and dropped three handfuls of rough-ground coffee into the can. He added water from his canteen and set the makeshift coffee pot on the coals of the cooking fire.
“You got a mess kit or cups or anything?” Ray asked.
Will snorted derisively. “Sure. I got a silver tea service and a goddamn tablecloth as well.”
Ray looked at him for a long moment. “You’re a right feisty sumbitch, ain’t you, Will Lewis?”
Will thought it over for some time and then nodded. “Yessir,” he said, “I suppose I am.”
When the can was barely cool enough not to raise blisters, Ray and Will passed it back and forth.
Will smacked his lips. “Best coffee I ever had,” he said.
“You bet it is.”
Afterward they sat watching the coals of the little fire dim and eventually die. Will smoked; Ray worked one of his knives with a whetstone.
Will sighed.
Ray sheathed his knife. “This sure is excitin’, settin’ here doin’ nothing,” he said.
“I’m glad you said it before I had to. Wanna take a peek at Olympus? See what One Dog an’ his li’l friends are doin’?”
“Damn right I do.”
Riding was easy: the moon showed half its face, giving adequate illumination for the horses, at least at a walk. On the way, Will explained his rationale for holding off on attacks for a couple of days.
Ray reluctantly agreed. “But,” he said, “I purely hate to let them vermin live any longer than I have to.”
They began hearing gunshots when they were a mile or more outside the town. The throaty roar of a shotgun sounded every so often, making pistol and rifle fire seem puny.
