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Authors: Joe R. Lansdale
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of there with my Winchester. I had stowed my saddlebags and the Sharps back at the flophouse and I wanted to get back there before Moses decided to sell them.
Out in the street, swinging his way along on the other side, I spied a familiar face. I recognized all three men. One of them was a Crow Indian in cowboy dress. The other was Taggart. And the man leading them was none other than my old friend, Mix Miller.
I felt a hot flush. Suddenly I thought of Bucklaw falling from his horse, his face half blown away.
I swung-cocked the Winchester and started across the street.
“Mix!” I yelled.
Mix stopped, turned, and looked at me. He didn’t seem to recognize me. Which was understandable. My clothes looked worse for wear and my hat was drooped down in my face. I had a thick beard and mustache as well.
“I know you?” Mix asked. The Crow and Taggart had stopped in their tracks behind him. They were really putting the eyeball to me.
“Yeah.”
“Well, can’t say as I recall the face.” His hand drifted down to touch the butt of his revolver even as he smiled.
“We met in Custer.”
“I met a lot of people in Custer. Sorry, don’t remember you.”
“Sure you do. We robbed a train. Got a hatful of watches and some change.”
Mix’s eyes narrowed. “Melgrhue?”
“Melgrhue,” I said, and jerked the Winchester up even with Mix’s chest.
He was fast, but not fast enough. My shot caught him in the chest and shattered his breastbone. He twisted on his heel as if it were nailed to the ground, and wound down to the ground.
His two companions drew down on me. A shot sent my hat spinning. I dropped and cocked two quick shots at them. One knocked the Crow’s right eye out but the other missed Taggart.
Taggart’s revolver was right on me. I knew Taggart had a bullet with my name on it, but suddenly the side of his head went to pieces and he went sideways into the street.
I wheeled to my right. Honest Roy was holstering his .36 Navy.
“Figured I owed you one,” he said. “‘Sides, I was losin’, and it was a fair game.”
“Glad to see you.”
“I think one of them’s still alive.”
The streets had been half full a moment ago, but when the gunplay started it had cleared out. Pedestrians poked their heads out from behind barrels and saloon doors now. They went back about their business, not even curious. They had seen this plenty of times before.
Roy and I walked over to the trio, and I saw that Mix was still alive, but in a very bad way.
“Want me to finish him?” Honest Roy said.
“He’s finished enough.” I squatted down. “Where’s Carson?”
He opened his mouth and tried to spit on me, but all he managed was a gurgle of blood on his chin. I grabbed his hair and lifted up his head. “Where’s Carson,” I repeated. But Mix was dead.
I stood up. “There a sheriff in this town?”
“No. Old Man Williams will bury them for the change in their pockets. Leave them.” Roy reached down and took Mix’s hat, tossed his own on the ground. He placed it on his head. “Fits,” he said.
4
“Tell me, Red Spot,” said Honest Roy as we walked over to the flophouse. “What did you have against them fellers?”
“They killed a friend of mine. Tried to kill me. Double-crossed me on a deal.”
“Reckon that’s reason enough,” Honest Roy admitted. “But if you don’t like double-dealin’, you’re in the wrong place, son. And it’s gonna get worse. When this gold fever gets spread good, every debtor, gambler, hardcase and two-bit double-crosser in the country will be here.”
“Horse thieves, too,” I said.
Honest Roy slapped his knee. “Hell, son, they’re already here.”
Inside the flophouse, I reclaimed my gear and Honest Roy got a place for the night. He paid Moses.
“Don’t stink up my blanket,” Moses warned him.
“Shut up, puss-belly,” Roy snapped.
We went on back to the sleeping quarters. I said to Roy, “He sure is a cantankerous
Out in the street, swinging his way along on the other side, I spied a familiar face. I recognized all three men. One of them was a Crow Indian in cowboy dress. The other was Taggart. And the man leading them was none other than my old friend, Mix Miller.
I felt a hot flush. Suddenly I thought of Bucklaw falling from his horse, his face half blown away.
I swung-cocked the Winchester and started across the street.
“Mix!” I yelled.
Mix stopped, turned, and looked at me. He didn’t seem to recognize me. Which was understandable. My clothes looked worse for wear and my hat was drooped down in my face. I had a thick beard and mustache as well.
“I know you?” Mix asked. The Crow and Taggart had stopped in their tracks behind him. They were really putting the eyeball to me.
“Yeah.”
“Well, can’t say as I recall the face.” His hand drifted down to touch the butt of his revolver even as he smiled.
“We met in Custer.”
“I met a lot of people in Custer. Sorry, don’t remember you.”
“Sure you do. We robbed a train. Got a hatful of watches and some change.”
Mix’s eyes narrowed. “Melgrhue?”
“Melgrhue,” I said, and jerked the Winchester up even with Mix’s chest.
He was fast, but not fast enough. My shot caught him in the chest and shattered his breastbone. He twisted on his heel as if it were nailed to the ground, and wound down to the ground.
His two companions drew down on me. A shot sent my hat spinning. I dropped and cocked two quick shots at them. One knocked the Crow’s right eye out but the other missed Taggart.
Taggart’s revolver was right on me. I knew Taggart had a bullet with my name on it, but suddenly the side of his head went to pieces and he went sideways into the street.
I wheeled to my right. Honest Roy was holstering his .36 Navy.
“Figured I owed you one,” he said. “‘Sides, I was losin’, and it was a fair game.”
“Glad to see you.”
“I think one of them’s still alive.”
The streets had been half full a moment ago, but when the gunplay started it had cleared out. Pedestrians poked their heads out from behind barrels and saloon doors now. They went back about their business, not even curious. They had seen this plenty of times before.
Roy and I walked over to the trio, and I saw that Mix was still alive, but in a very bad way.
“Want me to finish him?” Honest Roy said.
“He’s finished enough.” I squatted down. “Where’s Carson?”
He opened his mouth and tried to spit on me, but all he managed was a gurgle of blood on his chin. I grabbed his hair and lifted up his head. “Where’s Carson,” I repeated. But Mix was dead.
I stood up. “There a sheriff in this town?”
“No. Old Man Williams will bury them for the change in their pockets. Leave them.” Roy reached down and took Mix’s hat, tossed his own on the ground. He placed it on his head. “Fits,” he said.
4
“Tell me, Red Spot,” said Honest Roy as we walked over to the flophouse. “What did you have against them fellers?”
“They killed a friend of mine. Tried to kill me. Double-crossed me on a deal.”
“Reckon that’s reason enough,” Honest Roy admitted. “But if you don’t like double-dealin’, you’re in the wrong place, son. And it’s gonna get worse. When this gold fever gets spread good, every debtor, gambler, hardcase and two-bit double-crosser in the country will be here.”
“Horse thieves, too,” I said.
Honest Roy slapped his knee. “Hell, son, they’re already here.”
Inside the flophouse, I reclaimed my gear and Honest Roy got a place for the night. He paid Moses.
“Don’t stink up my blanket,” Moses warned him.
“Shut up, puss-belly,” Roy snapped.
We went on back to the sleeping quarters. I said to Roy, “He sure is a cantankerous
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