Winchester rifle. There was a bandoleer of ammo looped across his chest.
“He wants to be a deputy,” Earl said.
“Boy,” Johnny said, after he recovered from his shock at the sight. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?”
“I am going into the mountain to aid Miss Sally,” Larry said stiffly.
“Miss Sally don’t need no aid from you,” Johnny bluntly told him. “Boy, if you go blundering around up in them mountains, you probably gonna get lost and eat up by a bear. That’s the best way you might leave this world. The worst is gettin’ taken alive by them outlaws and havin’ them stick your bare feet in a fire for the fun of it.”
“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Larry informed him. “I’ll have you know that I belong to the New York City Pistol Club, am a very good shot, and have been duck-hunting many, many times.”
“That’s good, Lawyer. Dandy,” Cotton said. “I’m proud of your accomplishments. But have you ever faced a man who was shootin’ at you? And plugged him?”
“Heavens, no!”
The men stood for fifteen minutes, begging and pleading with Larry to give up his plan. He stood firm. Finally Earl sighed. “Go get me a badge, Cotton. We’ll swear him in. That might give him some edge.”
“Get him killed,” Cotton said. He stepped off the boardwalk and paused, looking back. “I seen Mills in town just before the stage run. Did he say anything to any of you? He looked sort of jumpy to me. Excited, I guess it was.”
“No,” Earl said. “I saw him. He met the stage and was gone before I could talk to him. And I wanted to tell him about Charlie.”
“I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve?”
“I shall endeavor to join with that stalwart group,” Larry said.
“Whatever that means,” Cotton said, walking off.
“Here they are,” Mills said excitedly, jumping from his horse. “The warrants on the Lee Slater gang. Saddle up, men! We’re riding for the deep timber.”
The men broke camp quickly and were in the saddle within fifteen minutes.
“We’ve got a few hours of daylight left,” Mills said. “We’ll get in close and camp, hit the outlaws at first light.”
“Ah . . . Mills, We don’t know where they are,' Albert pointed out.
“We’ll follow the sounds of shooting,” Mills spoke the words in a grim tone. “And we’ll put a stop to it before it can escalate further.”
The marshals exchanged glances.
“Pin your badges to your jackets,” Mills ordered. “These men have got to learn to respect the law.”
“And you think these badges are going to do that?” Moss asked.
“Certainly!”
“Right,” Winston said, with about as much enthusiasm as a man going to his own hanging.
Larry was dismayed when he could not find a proper English riding saddle anywhere in town. But he was not discouraged. He left town armed to the teeth, sitting in a Western rig, bobbing up and down in the saddle as he had been taught. The horse wore a very curious expression on its face.
“He’s gonna get killed,” Cotton predicted.
“Maybe not,” Earl said. “Men like that seem to lead a charmed life. But there is one thing for certain: he won’t be the same man coming out as he is going in.”
Not a single shot was fired in anger the rest of that day. When the news of the shoot-up on the slopes reached Lee and Luttie, they signaled their men back to camp for a pow-wow.
Even some of the bounty hunters had lost their enthusiasm for the chase.
“Has to be bad when Nap and Ace give it up,”
Dan Diamond opined.
“Big Bob gone,” Morris Pattin said. “He was one tough son of a bitch.”
Several bounty hunters—older, tougher, and wiser hands—quietly packed their gear and pulled out. In the Lee Slater group, Bud, Sack, Cates, Dewey, and Gooden rode into Rio under a white flag and turned themselves in to the sheriff’s deputies. Bud had passed out in the saddle a half a dozen times from the pain in his buttocks.
“We might have to amputate,” the doctor said, after winking at Johnny.
“Cut off my ass!” Bud yelled, then he really started bellering.
Smoke, Louis, and Sally worked until dark rigging their new defensive position above the timberline in the big lonesome. Smoke planted almost all of his dynamite under heavy boulders in carefully selected spots while Louis rigged deadfalls far below their position; they might not fall for them, but it would make them cautious. Then they all set about gathering up wood for a fire.
“We’ll take a lot of them out,” Smoke said. “But they’ll eventually breech our position. Just before they do, we’ll slip out through that narrow pass behind us and blow it closed. It’ll take them half a day to work around this range. By that time we’ll be long gone . . . hopefully,” he added. “We’ll have us a good hot meal this evening. They know where we are; our trail is too easy to follow. Anyway, we’ve got to have a fire this high up; we’d freeze to death without it. Let’s settle in and rest and eat. It’s going to get busy come first light.”
Larry built a fire large enough to endanger the forest. And it wasn’t just for heat. Spooky out here. All sorts of strange sounds were coming out of the darkness surrounding him. Larry imagined huge bears staring at him, vicious packs of wolves, and slobbering panthers waiting to pounce and eat him if he let the flames die down.
He needn’t have Worried about four—legged animals. No woods’ creature would come within a mile of that mini-inferno he kept feeding during the night. All in all, Larry cleared about an acre of land getting fuel for the fire. It looked like Paul Bunyan had been on a rampage.
“Who in the hell is that down yonder?” Curley asked, looking at the glowing bright spot surrounded by a sea of darkness.
“That goofy lawyer we was told about,” Carbone said, returning from his stint on guard. “The one with a crush on Sally Jensen.”
“Oh,” the others said, and dismissed Larry without another thought.
Mills and his marshals came upon Larry just after first light. He was trying—unsuccessfully—to fry a potato in bacon grease.
“You got to peel it and cut it up first,” Moss told him.
“Oh,” Larry said. “I employ a cook back home. I’m not much of a hand in the kitchen.”
“I never would have guessed,” Mills said. “Who are you?” He asked. He’d never seen anyone try to fry a whole potato.
“I am an attorney from back East. I have come into these battle—torn mountains to offer my assistance in bringing to justice the hooligans and ruffians who are endangering Miss Sally Jensen’s life.”
'“Sally Jensen!” the marshals all hollered. Mills said, “Are you saying that Smoke’s wife has joined him?”
“Most assuredly. I am not a man of violence, but with this new development, I felt compelled to pick up arms and race to the rescue.”
“Let me fix breakfast,” Hugh said. “After I build another fire,” he added. “I can’t get within five feet of the one you got.”
“Are you lost?” Winston asked.
“Oh, no.” Larry smiled. “I may not be much of a cowboy—as a matter of fact, I’m not a cowboy at all—but I spent some time at sea. It would be difficult to get me lost anywhere. I take my bearings often.”
“Can you use those guns?” Sharp asked.
“I’ve never shot a man before. But I’m quite good at target shooting. Have you ever shot a man?”
“Ah . . . no,” Sharp admitted.
“Any of you?” Larry questioned.
The marshals all looked embarrassed.
“This is going to be quite an expedition we’re mounting,” Larry mused.
