“Yes, sir,” the man said, greeting Bodine with a smile. “Something I can do for you?”
“Would you be Mr. Garland?” Bodine asked.
“I am, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Garland, I would like a pouch of tobacco and some paper for rolling cigarettes.”
“Yes, sir,” Garland replied, the smile still present as he walked around behind the counter, where he produced the tobacco pouch and the little packet of rolling paper. “Just travelin’ through, are you?”
“I’m on my way to Wyoming.”
“Wyoming, is it? Well, you got a ways to go, yet. By the way, I just got in a couple of cases of canned peaches,” Garland said. “They’re awful good, if I say so myself.”
“All right, I’ll take a can,” Bodine said.
“Yes, sir.” Garland turned around and reached onto the shelf behind him to grab a can, then he put it on the counter alongside the tobacco. “That’ll be six bits,” he said, opening the cash drawer.
“And all your money,” Bodine added, pulling his pistol.
“I beg your pardon?” Garland replied, a surprised expression on his face.
“I’ll be takin’ all your money,” Bodine repeated.
“What? You are robbing me?”
“Yeah.”
With shaking hands, Garland cleaned out the cash drawer and tried to hand the money to Bodine.
“Drop it into a bag with the tobacco and peaches,” Bodine said.
Garland did as ordered.
“Mister, this here is a real small store,” Garland said. “You steal this money from me, ’n I’m likely not to make it.”
“That’s not my problem,” Bodine said. With the gun still held in his right hand, he reached out with his left to grab the bag.
“You won’t get away with this, mister,” Garland said.
“We’ll see,” Bodine replied, starting toward the door.
There was a mirror just beside the door and, glancing into the mirror as he was leaving, Bodine saw that the storekeeper had brought a shotgun up from under the counter. Turning quickly, Bodine shot the man before he could raise the gun to his shoulder.
“Moe? What is it?” a woman shouted from a back room.
Bodine waited until the woman appeared, and seeing her husband on the floor, she raised her hand to her mouth and screamed.
“Moe!”
“You shoulda stayed back there, woman,” Bodine said.
“No, no, no!” the woman cried.
Bodine shot her as she shouted the third no.
With both husband and wife lying dead on the floor, Bodine went back to the counter and cut himself a large chunk of cheese from a huge wheel that sat next to the roll of wrapping paper. Tearing off some of the paper, he wrapped up the cheese, then cut off another chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. Before he left the store, he found a can of kerosene, poured it on the floor, lit a match, and dropped it. The flames leaped up.
As he stepped out onto the front porch, the dog, which had been lying so peacefully a few minutes earlier, was now on his feet, growling, with his teeth exposed.
Bodine shot him as well, then rode away as smoke rolled out through the door behind him.
Half an hour and five miles down the road from Garland’s Road Ranch, Bodine ate the peaches and counted the money. The robbery had netted him $146. That was enough to keep him going until he found the man who killed his brother.
“The truth is, Zeke,” Bodine said aloud, “it ain’t like me ’n you was ever all that close. Hell, if we had stayed together, I more ’n likely woulda wound up killin’ you my ownself. But bein’ as you was my brother I can’t let somebody else kill you ’n not do nothin’ about it. It just wouldn’t look right. I don’t know who it was that done it yet, but when I find out, I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”
Bodine wondered if it was Wynton Miller. He had never met Miller, but he had certainly heard of him.
“Miller, wherever you are, I hope it was you. I’m tired of hearin’ people sayin’ that you’re faster ’n me.”
Bodine turned the can of peaches up and drank the rest of the juice, smacked his lips in appreciation, then tossed the can away.
“Damn, I shoulda got me a couple more cans o’ them peaches afore I burnt the place down,” he said.
Bodine remounted and continued his ride north, toward Wyoming, and a place called Chugwater.
Twin Peaks Ranch
Ben Turley was surprised to see six new men arrive at the ranch, and as the men moved into the bunkhouse, they began staking out bunks, tossing aside the packs and cloth sacks that indicated the bunks were already taken.
“Whoa, hold on there!” Turley called. “Those bunks are already taken, and we don’t have enough for all of you. A few of you men are going to have to throw out a bedroll on the floor,” Turley said. “I don’t know what you are doin’ here anyway. We ain’t got enough work for you.”
“We’ll keep the bunks we got,” one of the men said.
“What’s your name?” Turley demanded.
“The name is Shamrock.”
“Well, Mr. Shamrock, just so’s that you know, my name is Turley, ’n I’m the ranch foreman. So if you are goin’ to work here, you’ll do whatever I tell you to do.”
“You may be the foreman, but these here men work for me, ’n you ain’t got no say over me or them.
