Winston hefted the shotgun shells in his hands. “These are heavy, too heavy for factory loads.”
“I had the gunsmith across the street load them for me. They’re filled with broken nails and ball-bearings and whatever else he had on hand.” He looked first at Mills, then at Winston and Moss. “Any of you ever shot a man with a Greener?”
They shook their heads.
“Close in they’ll cut a man in two. Makes a real mess. Fastest man in the world won’t buck the odds of a sawed-off pointed at his belly.”
“You’ve shot men with these types of weapons?” Moss asked.
“I’ve shot men with muzzle-loaders, cap and ball, Sharps .52, .Navy .36 and Colt and Remington and Starr .44-s and .45s. I’ve shot them with a Remington .41 over and under. I’ve used knives, tomahawks and chopping axes more than a time or two. If somebody was trying to kill me or mine, I’d drop him with a hot horseshoe if that was all I could find at the moment. Gentlemen, I just have to ask a question. You all have sidestepped it before, but level with me this time. Why in the hell did your superiors send you men out here?”
Mills cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable, and both Winston and Moss blushed.
Smoke waited.
“Truth time,” Winston muttered.
“Yes,” Mills said. “Quite. Smoke, we are all new to the West, and to its customs. Tenderfeet, as I’ve read. We’ve worked the cities and smaller Eastern towns, but never west of the Mississippi. The United States Marshal’s office is being upgraded in manpower, and, well, while we are not amateurs in this business, we, ah . . .”
Smoke held up a hand. “Let me finish it: you were sent out here to get bloodied?”
“That, ah, is a reasonably accurate assessment, yes.”
“Well, you might get that chance sooner than you think. Here comes Luttie with his whole damn crew!”
Chapter Seven
“Maybe they‘re coming in to put flowers on Don’s grave?” Winston said.
Smoke turned to look at him. The man had a twinkle in his eye. Mills and Moss were both smiling. The U.S. Marshals were new to the West, and perhaps had not yet been bloodied in killing combat, but they had plenty of sand and gravel in them, and a sense of humor.
“I’m sure,” Smoke said, picking up the sawed-off shotgun. “Shall we step outside and greet the gentlemen?”
Luttie and Jake rode at the head of the column, and they both gave Smoke and the federal marshals curt nods, then turned toward the hitchrails at the saloon. They dismounted, looped the reins and walked into the barroom.
“I don’t think they liked the sight of these shotguns,” Winston said.
“I’m sure they didn’t,” Smoke said. He sat down on the bench in front of the office. Mills sat down beside him, Moss and Winston stood nearby.
“I wonder what they’re up to,” Moss said.
“A show of force?” Mills questioned. “If so, what is the purpose? We rode right up into their lair the other day. They must know that we’re not going to be intimidated.”
“I don’t know whether any of them is that smart,” Smoke replied. “If I had to take a guess, I’d guess that this move is a diversion of some sorts.”
Mills was thoughtful for a moment. “Yes. I agree. Luttie and his Seven Slash bunch keeps our attention here, while the Slater gang strikes somewhere in the county. But where?”
“Nowhere close, you can bet on that. Around Silver Mountain, maybe.” He shook his head. “And it could be that Slater’s gang is going to hit the marshals escorting the kid . . . maybe to shut the kid’s mouth. Or they’re coming in here to try to break their friends out of jail.”
“If that bunch hits my men in force, my people won’t have a chance,” Mills said softly.
“I just hope I’ve impressed upon your people to shoot first and ask questions later,” Smoke said.
“You know they won’t do that.”
“Then if Slater and his bunch hits them, they’re at best wounded and at worst dead meat, Mills. I tried to impress upon you all that this is the West. I don’t seem to be a very good teacher.”
He stood up and stepped off the boardwalk.
Mills’ voice stopped him. “Where are you going?”
“It’s a warm day. A mug of cool beer would taste good right about now.”
“Step right into the lion’s den, huh?”
“Might as well. We did pretty well in there the last time, didn’t we?”
Mills smiled. “I should be ashamed of myself for saying this, but we damn sure did!”
“We miss all the fun,” Winston said glumly.
“Don’t count on that continuing,” Smoke told him, as they stepped up to the batwings of the saloon. “Once inside, Mills and I will stay together. Moss, take the right end of the bar. Winston, you take the left. Don’t turn your back completely on these ol’ boys. We’ll see how smart Luttie is. If he tries to brace us, we’ll put what’s left of the bunch in jail and keep them there.”
“What will we do with the rest of them?” Moss asked innocently.
Smoke looked at him. “Somebody will bury them.”
He pushed open the doors and stepped inside, walking to the bar, the others right behind him.
Luttie and his crew had spread out all over the table area of the saloon, and that told Smoke a lot. None of it good.
“Setup,” Mills mumbled.
“Yeah,” Smoke returned the whisper. “Glad you picked up on it.”
“What are you two love—birds a-whisperin’ about?” a Seven Slash hand yelled.
“You reckon they’re sweet on each other, Paul?” another said with a laugh.
“That’d be a sight to see, wouldn’t it—them a-smoochin’.”
“Maybe we ought to see if they’d give us an advance showin’?”
“Now that there’s a right good idea,” another said.
“Now, boys,” Luttie said, a strange smile on his lips. “You know I can’t allow nothin’ like that to take place. Them fellows is lawmen. They’s to be respected. Besides, that’s the famous Smoke Jensen yonder. He’s supposed to be the fastest gun in all the West. You boys wouldn’t want to brace the likes of him, now, would you?”
His crew—and the table area filled with them—all burst out laughing. I V
“I won’t have no more of this, now, boys,” Luttie said. “Although I’m not too sure about me givin’ you orders when you’re on your own time. Might be some law agin that. What do you say about it, Mr. Fancy—Pants U.S. Marshal?”
“I would say that you don’t have any authority to give orders when your hirelings are off the job,” he said stiffly.
“Hireling?” a cowboy said. “Ain’t it a fancy title, though?”
“Not really,” Mills told him, a tight smile on his lips. “It means anyone who will follow another’s orders for money—such as a thug or a mercenary”
Smoke was half turned, his left side facing the crowded table area. “When he gets up, Mills,” he whispered, his lips just barely moving, “kill him.”
Mills shook his head minutely. “I can’t do that, Smoke.”
The cowboy pushed back his chair. “Are you callin’ me a thug, Whistle-Britches?”
“Get ready,” Smoke whispered. “Cock that Greener, Mills.”
“Actually, no,” Mills raised his voice. “I was merely explaining to you the dictionary definition of a hireling. If you take exception to my remark, then you must have a low opinion of yourself.”
“Huh?” the cowboy said.
“Charlie,” another hand said. “I think he done insulted you. But I ain’t real sure.”
Luttie and Jake were staying out of it. Luttie had voiced his objections about his hands’ needling any further, so in a court of law, he would be clear of any wrongdoing. But courts of law didn’t impress Smoke Jensen. Six—gun action was much more to his liking.
“That remark of mine would only be taken as a blot on one’s escutcheon if the party to whom it was directed was in actuality, a thug or mercenary,” Mills further confused the cowboy and most of his buddies, including his
