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Dud Heskins opened the cabin door overlooking Robber's Roost, and the glare of the sun felt like a knife cutting into his head. Quickly he shut the door and sat down on the nail keg at the crude table. He had brewed that latest batch of moonshine himself, and it sure had a kick to it. The taste was terrible, but Dud was not one to worry about flavor. Maybe he should have left out the rattlesnake head.
More likely he should have thrown in a few more gallons of water. His knowledge of proof was hazy at best, but he guessed that this batch must be somewhere above one fifty.
Right now he poured a glass of 'shine and sat and looked at it for a full five minutes. Last night he had tipped a jug up over his shoulder every time he had a drink, but now it was like his pappy used to say, "If you're going to dance, you have to pay the piper."
Dud's stomach rebelled at just the sight of the liquor, and he had to force himself to quickly lift the glass and down two fingers in one gulp. He wheezed, and his vision blackened before the booze hit home, and a trace of well being started to trickle through his body. He sat another ten minutes before repeating the process. By the time he poured the second glass, twinges of hunger were waking up in his belly. He guessed he might live, at that.
He thought back to the information he had received yesterday. A wolfer named Lily had been passing through on his way to Montana, and he had told of finding a fresh grave between here and Salt Lake. According to the headboard, a man named Heskins had tried drawing against somebody named Jess Clay and lost. Jud set the man up with a good meal and treated him graciously, but then hinted strongly that it would be a good idea to get back on the trail before the snows melted any more and made the streams impassable. The wolfer was good at his work, which meant he could read sign better than most. Right now he read the makings of a bad situation that was bound to get worse, and he took the opportunity to leave with pleasure.
Heskins knew he should do something about this business, while the shock was still fresh in his gang's mind. Perhaps the worst part of this problem was that stupid Billy Smitts, who had been riding with Opie when they left camp. Billy had reported that Opie had left him behind when he headed for town because he didn't want to share his money. Dud knew better that this. Opie was such a lousy card player that he didn't have a chance of keeping his money longer than a day. No, Billy must have been there when Opie got shot, and he must have...run! Yes, that must be it. The kid was not only a moron but a coward as well.
After he finished about a half a pint of so-called whiskey, Dud went outside to look for Billy. He could not find anybody that remembered seeing him since yesterday morning. That figured. The little bastard had probably made himself scarce as soon as he heard about the wolfer's message. An old man that took care of the makeshift remuda recalled the boy saddling up an old dun and riding out around mid-afternoon.
The kid would be back. Dud didn't waste time sending anybody to get him. Billy was so stupid that he would probably return by the evening.
Heskins wasn't really affronted that someone had seen fit to shoot Opie; he was sure the punk had brought it about himself. It was just the principle of the whole thing. Jud couldn't let something like this go by without retaliation, or folks would think he had gone soft and was no longer able to lead this clan of thieves. By the time Billy came back that evening, Dud knew just what he was going to do.
Heskins waited until Billy was about halfway across the compound before he bellowed, "BILLY!"
The kid had just a second before had been strutting along trying to act like a dangerous man. Now he seemed to shrink in size in the eyes of the on-lookers, until he had shrunk to the stature of a small boy with a wooden pistol in his belt.
"Billy, I thought you said Opie left you to go to town." Dud wasn't asking any questions, he was making statements.
"We...we...we...," started in Billy but he was not given any chance to finish his stuttering.
"Don't try to tell me any lies; I can smell 'em a mile off, just like I can smell the fear on you. You're a pissant little bastard, and I'm going to tell you the next thing you are going to do before you get another chance to run away. You are going to take Buckwheat Smith and Pie Jones, and you are going to hunt down and kill this Jess Clay. I don't care if it takes you the next ten years. I don't want to see your faces back here until he is dead.
"Let me see, how can you prove that you killed him? Well, you could scalp him, but all scalps look pretty much the same except for he color. I know, Billy, why don't you cut off his head and bring that back?" Billy was looking very white and was swallowing hard at this point. It was easy to see he was getting sick just by thinking about it.
"Well, Billy, that doesn't seem to agree with you. Then how about you bring back that new pistol that Opie bought. Don't try to slip by another one, because I remember what he bought and in what caliber. You're so dumb, Billy, that I'll bet you don't even know who makes the Thunderer. Take a guess, Billy."
"Er, Smith and Western."
"It's Smith and Wesson, you MORON. And no, they don't make the Thunderer. I guess I don't have to worry about you switching pistols on me. Between the three of you there's not enough brains to make a guess.
"Now get going, right now, and don't come back until either Jess Clay or you guys is dead. Right at the moment it don't make a lot difference to me." When Billy opened his mouth in some lame protest, Dud absolutely roared, "I SAID RIGHT NOW!" This time the three left in silence.
Dud watched them ride off then went off in search of a fresh jug of moonshine. He figured the three might have a chance. If not, he would go finish Clay by himself. He was not one to brag, so only a few of the older members of the gang knew that he was by far the most dangerous man in the bunch.
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