Chapter 1

I leaned against the bar with my beer in my left hand—I never let anything occupy my right hand whenever I was in a public place. I wore two Schofield .45 caliber revolvers in a shoulder holster rig, as well as one strapped to my right thigh. The latter was to attract attention away from my shoulder holsters, which were really my main armament. If I stood with my arms crossed, it looked like I was in no position for a fast draw, but I could whip out the two pistols from my shoulder holsters without moving my hands before grasping the guns. This was the downfall of many a yahoo who wanted to challenge me! As a case in point:

A pimply-faced kid walked up to me in the bar and asked, "Air ya Bill Lang?"

"Yes, I am," I said without turning my body, just my head.

"Well, I think that ya're a fourflusher an' a fake. I'm callin' ya out, here an' now!"

I waved at the bartender, who walked over and leaned on his side of the bar. "Who's this kid who thinks he's a big man?" I asked, nodding toward the boy standing near me.

"That's Charlie Aiken. He's a bully an' a general trouble maker. Thinks he's Billy the Kid, or some such." Turning to the boy, the bartender said, "Go away, Charlie, afore ya git hurt real bad. This here Mr. Lang ain't gonna put up with much of yer nonsense."

"I ain't gonna back down. He's a coward ifen he don't take my challenge. I'm the fastest draw in the county an' he better back down from me."

"Look, kid. I don't want to fight ya, but ya're pushing me mighty hard. Ifen I draw, ya're gonna die. It's as simple as that!"

"Bartender, ya better move yer fat ass out of the way, cuz I'm fixin' ta draw, an' Mr. Bill Lang might accidentally shoot ya as he falls to the floor."

I nodded to the bartender and said, "Charlie, are ya shore ya want ta do this? Cuz, ifen ya draw, there ain't no turnin' back."

"Shore I'm shore! NOW DRAW!" The boy reached for his gun and I turned to face him. My left hand still held the beer mug as I drew my gun with my right hand. I cocked the pistol as I pulled it from the holster, and I pulled the trigger as the muzzle came to bear on Charlie's gut. He just thought he was fast, Charlie's pistol hadn't even cleared his holster when he died! The bullet blasted through his gut and cut his backbone in two as it exited his back.

I drank the rest of my beer before setting the mug on the bar, and I reloaded my pistol before returning it to its holster. I said to the bartender, "I shore am sorry 'bout that little dust up. It ain't gonna make trouble fer ya, is it?"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. Charlie don't have no friends nor family, so he ain't gonna be missed. By my reckonin', ya just did this town a favor." He turned to his swamper and said, "Buck, go git the marshal an' then clean up this mess."

"Shore thing, Mr. Smith. I'll git right on it."

The marshal came in a few minutes later with the swamper and said to the bartender, "Who do we owe our thanks to fer riddin' the town of this no-count saddle trash?"

The bartender pointed to me and said, "Marshal Sol Sedgwick, meet Mr. Bill Lang. He's the one what did our town the favor. I saw the whole thing, an' Mr. Lang tried several times ta git Charlie ta drop it. But ya know how Charlie was. He jus' didn't have the sense God gave a billy goat."

"Oh, I'm sure Mr. Lang didn't have any choice in the matter. Charlie was a real bully an' a bastard all aroun'. Lang?... Bill Lang, don't I know that name from somewhere?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so, Marshal. I have a reputation as a shootist, an' people jus' won't leave me alone."

"Well, ifen I may ask, what brings ya to Hixville, New Mexico Territory?"

"A friend of mine, John Buckley, is having some trouble with rustlers an' he asked me to drop aroun' to see if I could give him a hand."

"Shit, I know John Buckley right well. He's a good man! Any friend of John's is a friend of mine." the Marshal put out his hand for a belated handshake. I shook his hand and, apparently, that was all I needed to seal my welcome to Hixville, NMT.

The bartender stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Walt Smith, and I'm right pleased to welcome ya ta Hicksville, myself. Ya headed out to John's place this afternoon?"

"Pleased ta meet ya, Walt. Call me Bill. Yeah, I stopped in fer a bite ta eat and directions to John's place. Kin ya help me out on both?"

"Shore kin. Will a ham sandwich on sourdough do?"

"That'll be great! An' I'll have another beer. How about you, Marshal, kin I buy ya a beer."

"No, thank ya kindly. I never drink while I'm workin'. I need a clear head."

"Yeah, I know what ya mean. Two beers are my limit 'til after dark."

Later that afternoon, as I was following the directions to John Buckley's Circle JB ranch, I heard some shooting in the distance. I picked up speed toward the sound and saw the trouble as I topped a small hill. A woman was hiding under a buckboard and shooting at some men who kept riding around her as if they were wild Indians. The men were shooting back and laughing as they did so. Her horse was dead, so she wasn't going anywhere; the men acted as if they were just waiting until she ran out of ammunition for her small pistol.

I carry a shotgun in a scabbard by my saddle for situations where I might have to shoot while riding. I pulled it out of its scabbard and started charging toward the circling men. One of them saw me and started shooting in my direction. Suddenly the laughter was gone and the men were deadly serious.

All three of the men had seen me by now and were shooting in my direction. I didn't shoot back because I was still well out of effective range, but I was closing fast. I raised my shotgun in preparation for shooting and the three men suddenly remembered urgent business in the next county. They rode away as fast as their horses could carry them and I let them go.

I rode up to the woman, tipped my hat, and said, "Howdy, ma'am. Are ya OK?"

"Yes, thank you. Or, at least, I will be as soon as I kin git out from under this here buckboard. I'm Jane Buckley. Who are ya?"

"I'm Bill Lang an' I'm please ta meet ya. I didn't know John was married. It looks like he finally got some sense." I smiled and got off my horse to help Jane from under the buckboard. When she stood up, I could see that she was a real looker. Her hair was a dark brown and her eyes were a light blue-green. She was about 51⁄2 feet tall and her breasts really filled out her shirt. Her trousers were loose, like a working cowboy would wear them, so I couldn't tell more about her body. But I sure was impressed by what I could see of her pretty face.

"Oh, wonderful! John said that ya would be coming to help us out. Ya shore arrived at a good time fer me.

"Yeah, it looked that way. Who were those galoots?"

"I have no idea, but I'm sure that they did not have my best interests in mind. They deliberately shot my horse so that I had to stop. Sully was a fine animal and it was such a waste to kill him."

"How far are we from yer ranch house? Could we ride double ta git there?"

"It's about 3 miles that way. We could easily ride double ifen yer horse is up ta it."

"My horse is easily up ta it. Come on!"

We rode double to the ranch house and a Mexican came running up. "Miss Jane, what happened. Where is Sully?"

"Some yahoos shot him about 3 miles that way. The buckboard is still out there. Please get it back for me, Alberto. An' this is Mr. Lang. He'll be staying with us for a while. Please look after his horse after we git ta the house."

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Jane."

We rode up to the hitching rail in front of the house and I helped Jane down from my horse. I hitched him to the rail and Jane invited me inside. "John's not here right now. He's looking into something on the south range. He'll be back by supper. Kin I offer you coffee, or sumpthin' else?"

"Coffee would be real nice, Jane."

"OK, ya sit there an' I'll see 'bout it." She went into the kitchen and was back a minute later. "Evita will bring us some coffee in just a few minutes. While we're waiting, please tell me sumpthin' 'bout ya. John talks a lot 'bout ya, but I don't know how much I kin believe."