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I caught Laura and shoved her down in back of a rock pile with instructions to stay there. Then I raced to see what the commotion was all about.
I reached the end of the street in time to see two riders bearing down on Noah Cross. He had his Army Colt up and shooting, but a misfire had left him in a bad position. When one rider stopped his horse and took a careful aim, I carefully let off a shot that cleared him out of the saddle. The other man turned and fired his rifle at me, and my return shot missed him. It must have been close enough for him to feel the wind of it, for he spurred his horse and sped away into the night.
Noah was unscathed. We walked over to look at the man I had shot and found him made up in a very poor disguise of an Indian. Streaks of paint were on his cheeks and a band around his head held two big feathers. Other than that he looked just like what he was — a hired gun. He was dressed much too well for a cowhand's wages, and the ornate silver studded
gun belt was low slung for a fast draw.
He was somebody I had met as well. It was Toad, the gunfighter from the Drisco ranch. I pickup up Toad's fallen revolver and found it to be a Single Action Army that was almost new. The front of the trigger guard had been cut away, but that was the only apparent modification. I handed it butt-first to Noah.
"Now you won't have to wait for the money. And this one shouldn't misfire," I told him.
"Is it safe now?" This was Laura coming back in. She saw the body on the ground and shuddered, then scurried back to her family's
cabin. I remembered the shot the other rider had flung at me. It was from a lever action, so I looked over the ground where he had been and found a 32-20 shell that had been jacked out. "Look at this," I said to Noah. "It's probably the same shooter that's been sniping innocent people. The cartridge might not be rare, but it's the only one I've seen around here.
"That means that Drisco has come out in the open, doesn't it? Sending his man along with the other one."
"I guess it does at that. It means something else, too. They are ready for the war to begin. It must mean that Hazeltine is close by, probably at the Drisco ranch. It's time I went over there and nipped this thing in the bud."
"I'll go with you," offered Noah.
"No, in this case I'm better off alone. You're needed here to look after Adam as well as the rest of the folks in Kirbyville. If I'm by myself, I know that everyone is an enemy. It's better that way."
Later I re-thought those words. Watching the ranch yard from a distance, it was hard to see any advantage in doing this alone. In fact I was feeling downright lonely. Now was the time for action, for Hazeltine's wagon was drawn right up to the house.
Secrecy had been thrown out the window. Maybe because they had tipped their hand with the botched raid on Kirbyville.
That idea brought me up straight. If they were sure the settlers had figured it out, then they were liable to wipe the little town right
out.
As if for verification of the idea, a band of men came from the bunkhouse and approached the house. I recognized some of them as the old group of gunmen that had been there, and the rest were obviously additions of the same ilk. I remembered that Drisco had planned on driving a herd to the mines this week. That must be where the regular cowhands were. With the crew's attention on the main house, I felt I might be able to quietly move to the back of the bunkhouse. I didn't know what the plan of action would be, but it had to be a better setting than where I was now.
I eased along, taking advantage of every tiny piece of cover that I could find. I thought I had it made until I stuck my head around the corner of the bunkhouse and found the end of a pistol barrel nearly touching my nose. More by luck than skill, I knocked the pistol out of the way and buffaloed the watcher. I was able to catch the revolver without it going off and avoided detection.
An obvious distraction would be to fire the bunkhouse, but I hated to do such damage, even if Drisco was as guilty as sin. Besides, I could make almost as much smoke in the stove. Bringing a handful of grass from outside, I mixed it with the contents of a feather pillow that belonged to the cook. I threw on a quarter of a pint of whiskey that belonged to him as well. What the heck, he was going to be mad anyway.
I stuffed this mess into the stove and shut the damper a little over half way. Then I removed the front cover and tossed in a match. At first the flames went for the chimney but there was not enough draft and soon the smoke was billowing back out into the room. Talk about stink. Nothing smells worse than burning feathers. Quickly I let myself out the rear window and awaited results. I soon heard shouts from the front yard.
"Hey, the bunkhouse is on fire!"
"Grab some buckets and we'll put it out."
"Who left the stove going?"
"The stove wasn't lit today. Must have been a cigarette."
"Hey, the stove is going. Look at the chimney."
Buck Hastings was the first to catch the obvious. "Somebody's here. I bet it's that old Snake come back. If anyone sees him, shoot him. I warned him not to come nosing around back here. You two men go around that way, and I'll go the other. We'll box him in back of the bunkhouse."
I picked the direction that Buck's voice came from and got ready for him. There might be two on the other side but I knew Buck was the most dangerous. Just as I heard his footsteps approaching, the unfortunate fellow I had clubbed started to wake up. He leaned with his hands on the wall to get erect, and at that instant Hastings came into view with his rifle at ready. The other man lurched, and Hastings shot him.
The man was on the ground, a look of amazement on his face. "Buck, you shot me."
Buck didn't even respond. Shooting a man on his own side bothered him no more than swatting a mosquito. But there was one thing that did bother him. When he saw me, he let his rifle dangle from its sling and faced me in the ready position.
"This time I'm going to beat a snake," he told me. I could see that he wanted us on even grounds, so I holstered my gun and nodded.
When I did his hands flashed, but I was on fire that day, and I beat him by a good tenth of a second, driving my 255 grain slug where he lived. He went down and stayed down without even a twitch. There were no last words from Mr. Buck Hastings. I knew what his problem had been now. That day I saved his life had put doubts in his head about who was faster. He had picked a hard way to find out, but in the end he did find his answer.
The two men in back of me were coming around the corner when I threw a shot at them to keep them back. Pure luck made my bullet hit the lead man's pistol and sent it spinning away. That fellow wouldn't be using that hand for quite a while.
There were still a slew of fighters out there, and they were all against me. At least I thought they were. Outbursts of shots were coming from the other side of the yard, and I couldn't imagine who they might be from. Even if Noah Cross had followed me after all, he would have arrived by the same trail that I had. Someone had come from the exact opposite direction.
A riderless roan came trotting by, and I scooped up the reins and leaped into the saddle. I needed the extra speed the horse could give me.
Drisco and Hazeltine had to be in the main ranch house, for I could see the puffs of smoke coming from the windows when they shot at the unknown target at the other side of the yard.
"If you would grasp a nettle," I thought, and I ran the horse across the yard and up onto the porch.
The roan shied then, but I urged it on with my spurs, and we crashed through the door into the house. Two gunmen stood in the hall with mouths agape, and I thumbed a shot at each of them. One went down and the other backed into Drisco's office. I could see that the clearance was lower here, and I jumped from the back of the horse. I whacked it across the rump, and it kept going on toward the kitchen.
The man who had run into the office before me took his stand, and I shot him. Now Hazeltine turned to shoot. He had never seen me before and must have wondered who this strange intruder was. It didn't affect his shooting any, and a shot from his 38 Lightning caught me in the leg. My answering fire dropped him where he stood.
Ben Drisco turned and saw me after that exchange, his face twisted into hatred. "I should have let Buck have you. He said you were nothing but trouble."
"He's out yonder," I answered, "And he's as dead as a doornail. He made his try, and he wasn't good enough."
"Well I am," he bellowed, and he fanned his artillery Single Action Army. A slug buzzed past my ear and that threw my first shot wild. My second hit him solidly but he didn't even twitch. He threw one that
hit me on the edge of the chest, and I almost went down. Again I hit him solidly - then a blow struck my head, and the room started getting hazy.
Just before I faded out I saw his hate filled face clearly and I planted my last shot right in the center of it.
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