fool’s money back,” he said as he pushed open the iron gate and stepped into the courtyard.
“You comin’?”
Lowell slid out of his saddle and hurried to catch up.
The heels of their boots, in spite of their effort to move quietly, knocked on the cobblestone.
“Be careful of them steps, Carter, some of them’s rotted.”
The first step wasn’t rotted, but it groaned under
Carter’s bulk. He pulled his pistol and continued to climb.
It seemed like an eternity to Lowell before they reached the top of the stairs. Pausing, Carter leaned his ear to the door.
He could hear laughter inside—a man’s and a woman’s laughter. He turned and whispered in a hoarse breath: “They’re here, Lowell.
You had better pull your piece.”
“Carter…” Lowell’s voice broke with apprehension. “Carter, it ain’t hardly worth it, shooting someone over money. It
wasn’t all that much…not more than seventy dollars.”
“Shut your yap!” demanded the older brother through clenched teeth. The laughter in the room suddenly stopped. For a long
moment, silence shrouded the house—inside and out. A mist of fog was beginning to claim the land and its buildings.
“Who’s out there?” demanded a man’s voice from within the room.
“I come to see the lady!” shouted Carter.
“The lady is bizee. Come back tomorrow, eh?” came the thickly accented voice from within.
Carter stepped back just far enough to raise a heavy boot and brought it hard against the door, rattling it nearly off its
hinges; a second kick knocked it open.
Lowell and Carter Biggs found themselves facing a naked couple entwined on the bed.
“I guess she’s home,” said Carter, sarcastically to his brother.
The man on the bed cried out, as though he hadbeen wounded. He scrambled to retrieve some respectability among the bedding. A second movement coming through the door behind
them drew everyone’s attention.
Framed there in the busted doorway stood a lithe, little man with dark slick hair, hawkish nose, and dressed like a dandy
clear down to the powder gray spats he wore.
“You have interrupted my bezniss, mon ami,” he said, pointing a nickel-plated derringer at them.
The man of the bed leapt to his feet with a scream.
“What is the meaning of this—am I being robbed?”
Carter shifted his gaze from the dandy to the naked man.
“You are,” he said to the frightened toad. “But not by us—by him! You ain’t the first chicken to get plucked by these two
today!”
The man dropped to knees upon the bed. Bringing his hands together in prayerful gesture, he pleaded: “Please…I only come
for a leetle plaisir…I beg you not to shoot me, monsieur!”
The man’s demonstrative plea was just enough to divert the attention of the gunman.
Carter snapped his arm straight upwards and in the same instant pulled the trigger on the revolver he had been holding in
his hand. The explosion rocked the room. The bullet struck the dandy high in the chest, slightly right of center, and knocked
him backwards against the door jamb. The derringer clattered to the floor.
The naked man flounced on the bed, his every sound a wail, a plea for mercy. “Oh please…please, mon ami…do not kill
me also!”
The woman had sprung from the bed like a panther. Her own screams joining those of the hysterical paramour. Too late Carter
saw the dirk clutched in her hand. Lowell, who stood still staring at the dying man, felt something like the blow of a fist
strike him between the shoulder blades.
The knife plunged in to the hilt, the blade breaking off into bone.
Carter swung the barrel of the pistol around. For one brief second, the woman stared into the large black hole of the barrel.
The second explosion sounded louder than the first. The bullet tore a neat hole through the woman’s forehead and flung her
backwards onto the bed. Her blood covered the naked man, causing him to topple over into a faint.
A movement by
“You comin’?”
Lowell slid out of his saddle and hurried to catch up.
The heels of their boots, in spite of their effort to move quietly, knocked on the cobblestone.
“Be careful of them steps, Carter, some of them’s rotted.”
The first step wasn’t rotted, but it groaned under
Carter’s bulk. He pulled his pistol and continued to climb.
It seemed like an eternity to Lowell before they reached the top of the stairs. Pausing, Carter leaned his ear to the door.
He could hear laughter inside—a man’s and a woman’s laughter. He turned and whispered in a hoarse breath: “They’re here, Lowell.
You had better pull your piece.”
“Carter…” Lowell’s voice broke with apprehension. “Carter, it ain’t hardly worth it, shooting someone over money. It
wasn’t all that much…not more than seventy dollars.”
“Shut your yap!” demanded the older brother through clenched teeth. The laughter in the room suddenly stopped. For a long
moment, silence shrouded the house—inside and out. A mist of fog was beginning to claim the land and its buildings.
“Who’s out there?” demanded a man’s voice from within the room.
“I come to see the lady!” shouted Carter.
“The lady is bizee. Come back tomorrow, eh?” came the thickly accented voice from within.
Carter stepped back just far enough to raise a heavy boot and brought it hard against the door, rattling it nearly off its
hinges; a second kick knocked it open.
Lowell and Carter Biggs found themselves facing a naked couple entwined on the bed.
“I guess she’s home,” said Carter, sarcastically to his brother.
The man on the bed cried out, as though he hadbeen wounded. He scrambled to retrieve some respectability among the bedding. A second movement coming through the door behind
them drew everyone’s attention.
Framed there in the busted doorway stood a lithe, little man with dark slick hair, hawkish nose, and dressed like a dandy
clear down to the powder gray spats he wore.
“You have interrupted my bezniss, mon ami,” he said, pointing a nickel-plated derringer at them.
The man of the bed leapt to his feet with a scream.
“What is the meaning of this—am I being robbed?”
Carter shifted his gaze from the dandy to the naked man.
“You are,” he said to the frightened toad. “But not by us—by him! You ain’t the first chicken to get plucked by these two
today!”
The man dropped to knees upon the bed. Bringing his hands together in prayerful gesture, he pleaded: “Please…I only come
for a leetle plaisir…I beg you not to shoot me, monsieur!”
The man’s demonstrative plea was just enough to divert the attention of the gunman.
Carter snapped his arm straight upwards and in the same instant pulled the trigger on the revolver he had been holding in
his hand. The explosion rocked the room. The bullet struck the dandy high in the chest, slightly right of center, and knocked
him backwards against the door jamb. The derringer clattered to the floor.
The naked man flounced on the bed, his every sound a wail, a plea for mercy. “Oh please…please, mon ami…do not kill
me also!”
The woman had sprung from the bed like a panther. Her own screams joining those of the hysterical paramour. Too late Carter
saw the dirk clutched in her hand. Lowell, who stood still staring at the dying man, felt something like the blow of a fist
strike him between the shoulder blades.
The knife plunged in to the hilt, the blade breaking off into bone.
Carter swung the barrel of the pistol around. For one brief second, the woman stared into the large black hole of the barrel.
The second explosion sounded louder than the first. The bullet tore a neat hole through the woman’s forehead and flung her
backwards onto the bed. Her blood covered the naked man, causing him to topple over into a faint.
A movement by
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