Chapter 13

I could tell from the way my assistant foreman rode up to the mail house that there was trouble on his back trail and danger was approaching us quick-time.

Instinctively, I reached up to the hat rack for my gun-belt getting the butterflies in my stomach when I opined a gun-fight was in the offing.

I always kept my handguns loaded and nearby out of force of habit.

Of course, I kept the hammer down on an empty chamber for safety reasons, but my belt had at least six full reloads if necessary. Other than several skirmishes in the war where I came close to running out of ammunition, the only time I ran short was when I was surrounded by a war-party of Sioux fighters who had jumped the reservation looking for scalps to hang on their tent-pole.

Most of my shoot-outs were over as soon as they began with my opponent downed with a single shot. I was firmly convinced that such matters needed a fast hand and a sure aim to keep those little nasty bees from hitting my body. I usually didn’t engage in any conversation and did my best to present the smallest target possible to the enemy at such times. I followed a general rule of getting as close as possible to ensure my first shot counted. I liked to have the sun at my back and always took out the one with a scattergun first because he presented the greatest danger.

I had a double gun rig, but I liked to use only on weapon at a time giving me a full ten rounds before I had to reload. I kept a two shot derringer in my boot to ward off an assassin if I got downed by a back-shooter or a lucky shot from multiple enemies.

My rifle stayed in my saddle because it was to bulky for close-up shooting that required speed and accuracy above all.

The rider was a nice boy called Troy Adams recently hired because of his reputed accuracy with handguns and a good knowledge of handling cattle out on the range. I had caught him humping Amy, Hattie’s oldest daughter from behind in the barn on an early Sunday morning before we were all headed to church for some serious prayer and true contrition.

The girl’s sounds of pleasure left me no doubts that she was the instigator in this little affair, and she bravely took the big boy’s business all the way up inside her with panting joy. I was unable to tell if she was getting in her feminine folds or in her brown eye because they were both fully dressed in their Sunday go to meeting clothes. I speculated it was her pretty bottom being pounded because most of those Mormon women tended to use that entrance for fun and games unless they wanted to get pregnant for some reason of their own.

Troy burst into the front hall foyer and swigged down a glass of water before he attempted to speak.

“Boss, we got trouble in town.

Some yahoos that looked an awful lot like gunslingers done kilt Jimmy the Kid and Cookie Tim before they even had a chance to clear leather.”

I fixed the assistant foreman a shot of my good whiskey and sat him down before he keeled over with the weight of his words.

“Take it easy, lad, what is done, is done. Let me ask you what started this fracas. Was it booze, gambling or one of the honey girls up on the second floor of the saloon?”

I could see the pain in Troy’s pale blue eyes. He was not really a hardcase yet like some of the older hands in the bunkhouse. I thought to myself that he was probably blaming himself for not throwing down on the trio of bad-men that had gunned down our boys.

“I was not paying attention to things, boss. I was fair caught up in looking into Miss Dolly’s beautiful green eyes. They were like pools of clear crystal inviting me to take a dip. Then, I heard a shout and saw Jimmy grabbing for his six-iron in desperation. I could tell he knew he would be too late because the fear had a hold of him. Them three fellas like to shoot him like a rag doll with their pistols and when Cookie tried to help-out, he got shot down like a dog in the street. One of them fellas even shot them both in the head as they lay in their own blood on the floor.”

“The bar bouncer told me later that it was all about how Jimmy accused one of the gunslingers of cheating at cards.”

I shook my head because it sounded like a set up to me and I had seen many of them in my days in these dirty little towns with no sheriff and the only law was your own hand filled with your own handgun to defend yourself from the outlaws.

It was a clear provocation by the anti-Cattlemen’s Association group and the gunslingers were probably hired by them to get the cowboys out of town and away from the railhead area where they wanted to process our rustled beef.

I decided to nip this in the bud and take these bad men down without crying to the Association for some intervention from law authorities. I had seen it time and time again and the best action was an immediate retaliation strike against the danger before it got out of hand.

I got Gringo and Honcho up from the bunkhouse and told Troy that we four would go into town and look up this trio of gunslingers to brace them about their violent action.

Gringo had an evil look in his eyes, and I noticed he took his throwing knives with him because he had confided in me that he felt naked without them even though it was not wise to take knives to a gunfight.

In all honesty, I had to admit all three of them were faster with a sidearm than me and they were a formidable crew all by themselves.

I had always been confident in a showdown because of my use of combat training in setting up the field of battle and I knew my accuracy was usually the deciding factor in any gunfight.

I told the boys that they should we watchful of the pair of armed guards in the saloon armed with shotguns because they generally sided with opponents of the Cattlemen’s Association. I suspected that that more to do with the politics of selling land lots to the settlers moving into the valley more than any other reason.

We waited until midafternoon before heading into town.

I knew it would be best to confront the bad men in the evening hours because they would have a few shots under their belts by that time and might be a bit distracted by the dancing girls scattered throughout the saloon and gambling den.

We rode into town just about dusk and waited for a moment at the top of the hill affectionately called “Boot Hill” by the residents because most of the buried bodies still had their boots on.